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of fact I didn't even know what a coccyx was or that<br />
I was in actual possession of such a thing until about<br />
ten minutes previous.<br />
Right, but hang on, sorry folks, let me explain.<br />
I'm on a tank driving experience here. Somewhere<br />
deep into Leicestershire with a mob called<br />
Armourgeddon, which is a cool name for any<br />
organisation that's in the S&M business, like this mob<br />
would very much seem to be.<br />
And I'm simulating battle now on a World War II<br />
bombing range, driving this tank hell-for-leather<br />
with these two lily-livered peaceniks whimpering<br />
behind me while another tank attempts to shoot<br />
us up the arse with its cannon that's equipped with<br />
massive paintballs. All a bit breathless, as previously<br />
described.<br />
The object of the game here is to basically be the<br />
tank that splatters the other tank with more of these<br />
paint bombs than the other guy, so that means us<br />
tearing ferociously around the countryside hiding in<br />
bushes and thickets and under cow dung, desperately<br />
trying not to get splattered.<br />
When the artillery and flak starts flying thick and fast<br />
we're ordered to get the turrets down and so I end up<br />
driving this hell on wheels looking through a bit of<br />
muddy glass about the size of a fag packet.<br />
Which means I have my face squished right up next<br />
to it and getting my eyes battered and blackened and<br />
my nose mashed every time we hit a bump. Which is,<br />
y'know, every other second in here!<br />
Are you sensing that I'm not that chuffed about all<br />
this madness? Good, good. Delighted I'm managing<br />
to communicate that.<br />
I mean I suppose it would be a good laugh if you're<br />
coccyx is made out of plasticine and you don't mind<br />
every single filling you ever had from the dentist<br />
being chattered and harried and crunched right out<br />
of your skull, but for me this is worse than war!<br />
For the detail fixated among you, this tank runs a big<br />
Rolls Royce multi-fuel engine and gets about 5mpg.<br />
It weighs 15 tons and can reach speeds of 32 mph.<br />
Though no one alive has ever recommended that -<br />
even under enemy fire.<br />
Apparently rough and ready types can't get enough<br />
of this stuff, booking and rebooking again months<br />
in advance, but I must be one of those unusual<br />
creatures whose preference is to enjoy his spinal<br />
column linked together.<br />
Bizarrely enough, this very tank I'm being tortured<br />
in is the same one that Princess Diana drove during a<br />
state visit to Berlin in nineteen canteen and she loved<br />
it, bless her. She must have been made of sterner<br />
stuff than me.<br />
So I've spent the worst part of an hour in this vicious<br />
hulk, seeing off the cacophonous challenges of<br />
umpteen posh boy weekend warriors and I've had<br />
enough. And am now skidaddling shamelessly for the<br />
sanctuary of my little Prius where I shall listen to the<br />
soothing cadences of Radio<br />
Four all the way home and<br />
I can tell you I hope I never<br />
see the likes of that bloody<br />
contraption ever again.<br />
I think I'd rather endure<br />
enemy fire, quite frankly.<br />
But that shouldn't stop any<br />
of you lot giving it a bash.<br />
Just, y'know, you-have-beenwarned.<br />
God speed to you<br />
and may The Force be with<br />
you and all that malarkey,<br />
if you decide you genuinely<br />
fancy it.<br />
Tanking is an adventure<br />
or a gift that should be<br />
undertaken or supplied<br />
exclusively to the very, very<br />
machoest of men. Y'reading<br />
this Mum?! Never again,<br />
says I! NEVER, EVER,<br />
EVER AGAIN!<br />
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