The worst lift I ever had was mindnumbingly boring. I was sat next to a fellow who had felt duty bound to pick up the hitchhiker and it was pretty obvious that we had nothing in common so he drove and I sat and stared out of the window at passing clouds. The car was not especially fast or out of the ordinary and the stereo (mono?) did not work. But enough of that, I shall tell you about the wierdest lift I ever had. I was going back to London from Newport and foolishly following the advice of someone who knows fuckall about hitchhiking and shall remain nameless to prevent future arguments, I decided to hitch from the Coldra roundabout where the M4 meets the A48 at the Eastern end of Newport. It was a nice day and I stood on the roundabout under the vigilant gaze of the traffic police in their souped up Granada waiting with my thumb and little cardboard sign for someone to give me a lift to London please. After a short wait a crazy looking car? being driven by a crazy looking guy pulled over and motioned for me to get in. This was a bit difficult as he was already sat in the passenger's seat and he motioned that I should walk around the car? and get in the driver's seat. This done I saw that he had somehow rigged up the controls so that they were accessible from the passenger's seat and that I would not need to do the driving for him. The police obviously did not know this and thinking that I was going to drive they followed us on to the M4 and stopped us on the hard shoulder. My long hair seemed short in comparison to my benefactor's three feet and the car? I was in had DRUGS subliminally written all over it. I thought to myself Oh Shit the filth will take us and the car? apart looking for some dope and I am never going to get to London in time for werk. The car? was a kind of cross between an estate car and a small van. There were two seats and a double bed behind them. Not that you could sleep in it as it was covered with all sorts of junk such as unfolded linen, clothes, books, little packets of cigarette papers and food and stuff. In front there was a kind of homemade leaflet holder on the dashboard constructed from the cover of Frank Zappa's Hot Rats album and a spot of sellotape. The clock was a digital watch strapped around the rear view mirror and the floor was littered with cassette boxes and empty? cigarette boxes. One of the policemen spoke fluent German and asked the hippy from Germany for his driving license and other documents. These other documents were swiftly produced and authenticated but the search was on for the elusive driving license. I then noticed that there were pockets in the ceiling full of papers and maps and who knows what else and the guy was turning out his own pockets and looking under the mattress and in the glove? compartment and all to no avail. Finally he found it behind his Hot Rats cover and it must have been a good one as we were allowed on our way. My friend was a student in Brighton from Germany and had just been checking out some friends in Bridgend. He did not have a lot of money and to conserve this he drove at fotty miles an hour along the M4 as trucks, coaches and juggernorts thundered past us. So I ended up being late for work anyway.