The Great Escape… part one

This, to many of you, will remind you of an epic film where a handful of middle-class Englishmen managed to outwit the whole (rather dim-witted) German Army in one of the Great Wars. I think it was the Second World War, though don’t quote me on that; to be honest I’m not that bothered as we have the DVD at home and I can easily check at any time.

Anyway the main point is that we, the English nation, (note I did not say British, French or American), managed to hoodwink the Germans’ so much so that even a blind man was able to escape the so-called inescapable prison. Coupled with an unforgettable theme song, aptly named the “Great Escape”, this film couldn’t go wrong.

So why at this precise moment in time have I decided to remind you of this? Could this have something to do with the recent endemic that is “World Cup fever”?

Maybe you can see the parallels between the fact that the World Cup is being held in Germany (note to all women who read my Blog, if any; the World Cup IS being held in Germany, and no, I’m afraid I will not explain the offside rule), and that we, as a nation (if you are English), need to escape our “Choke-at-the-last-moment” attitude. Alternatively, maybe you can’t see this analogy.

To be honest, this is really inconsequential as, although football is important, I have a far more exciting tale to tell. This though isn’t for the faint-hearted; read ahead at your own risk.

The date, Thursday 8th June; the time, 12:05pm. As I looked out of my bedroom window in Liverpool for the last time, I look at how my life has changed in the past year. I’d settled into a new Church, made a great new set of friends, become a Hall Group leader for the Christian Union (granted, I am probably the most laid back and subsequently the worst leader there has ever been in the CU; but the way I look at it - every machine has a dodgy gear and therefore I am happy to fit this role). Lastly, one of my proudest feats was to become the Christian Union’s football captain, despite the fact that I can’t play football for toffee; this involved a lot of bribing and blackmail on my part – this I learnt from the Italian football directors at Juventus (note: this is a joke specifically to those who follow football, not a racist remark about the Italians; if you don’t understand, I frankly don’t care, but if you want me to explain it please ask in the comments section – not really worth it though). Anyway, whilst on a trip down memory lane, my phone went. Looking to see who the caller was I could feel my palms becoming sweaty; this was down to my nervous apprehension about what was about to unfold, not to the fact that I hadn’t moisturised my eczema-ridden hands. Looking at the screen on the phone, I could just make out the caller ID; “The Mighty Aslan”. To those of you who don’t know who “The Mighty Aslan” is let me explain oh so briefly; after all he’s practically a living legend. Anyways, Aslan, aka Jonnie Welford, is a good friend of mine from Liverpool University, studying some kind of Geography Management for chicken farming (I think, though my memory does fail me sometimes). He was dubbed “Aslan” because of his excessive hair which formed a kind of mane. Not sure who actually came up with the name (a prize for the person who tells me first), but it definitely stuck, and now, even though the mane has long been swept off of the barbers floor, the spirit that is Aslan lives on within him. He is quite candidly an example to us all.

In true form to his selfless and lion-hearted persona, Aslan had offered me and Ms Parsons (Cathy to most) a lift home WITH all our stuff. Unfortunately, Cathy couldn’t join in on our escapades. This was because she is a very resourceful lass and consequently managed to use her room as a metaphorical Mary Poppin’s bag; she seemed to have an endless supply of belongings. Regrettably, not even Aslan could match her packing abilities and had to, with a tearful expression and a dry throat, break the bad news to her. As he waved his fond farewells, she was left standing helpless at the doorway to Carnatic Halls, without any hope or meaning; despair ridden across her face (poetic licence has been used here; not all these things are accurate – just sound a bit better than the truth. In short, Cathy had too much stuff to fit in Aslan’s car so she altruistically declined his offer, for the good of the mission).

Anyway, back to the “Great Escape”. Where were we? Oh yeah, 12:05am, phone ringing, sweaty palms and the Mighty Aslan…

Tentatively I answered my phone.

Strange deep voice: “You ready?”
Me “Yeah, I think so”
Strange deep voice: “It’s on… I’ll be round in half an hour”
Me “Okay… bring on the road trip!”.

1¼ hours later, (lions aren’t known for their time keeping), Aslan arrived in what I can only describe as “The Beast”. As I stood open-mouth he turned to me casually and, noting my dumbfounded expression, smiled sweetly and said “it’s an XJ3000 Roadster”. Quickly coming to my senses I invited him in (there was no way I was going to let him sit in the beast whilst I collected my belongings from my flat) and between us we packed up the car; like true men this took several attempts to try and maximise the space, and consequently this left Aslan’s Didgeridoo dangerously positioned just behind the front passengers head. When I protested against this Aslan’s reply was, “Oh well, I’ll try not to brake hard… well not too often anyway”.

As Aslan reversed round to the front gate, (those unfamiliar with my previous accommodation I will let you in on a little secret… this used to be a prison; it had high-rise metal fences, with sharp pointy things on the end, and a magnetically-locked door and gate - the only way in and out was with a key, or the porters mercy), I walked round to the porter’s (I don’t have the right key for the big gate at the front; it was open earlier so we just Aslan just drove straight in) my heart sank. The porter was nowhere to be seen!! We were trapped indefinitely until the porter arrived. When I told Aslan of our predicament he just told me to try and force the gate open. I looked at him sceptically and thought to myself “they’re magnetically locked, there’s no chance they’ll budge”, but being the good Christian I am obliged to his, rather optimistic, request. As I approached the gate I could see that the left hand side of the gate was slightly ajar, so I tackled this side first. Glancing round quickly to check there was no one looking, I leaned back allowing my full weight to oppose the electromagnets holding the gate in place. With a shudder, slowly but surely the gates moved. Buoyed by this small victory I pulled harder and the gates creaked still louder (they were on hydraulic arms too) I managed to price the left hand side of the gate open. Triumphant and very pleased with myself I told Aslan to drive through the gap, so that we might escape and be on our way. His reply was quick and to the point, “I can’t fit this car through that gap, you’ll have to open the other gate too”. It felt as though all the air had been let out of my balloon. Humbly, and rather more quickly I pulled open the other gate and joined my companion in the beast. 1:40pm and we were off!

The roadtrip had finally begun…