So there I was thinking I hadn't much chance of a lift with other hitchers there before me and two well-dressed guys who had failed so far when a miracle happened. A mud-spattered car pulled in by where I was at the end of the line of hitchhikers and a girl got out.
"You got any money?" she asked. "Only a fiver," I replied.
"Well, we are going to Wales and need money to pay the toll on the Severn Bridge. If you can give us that we might just about have enough to get over it."
Of course I agreed and so we set off. It turned out they were going to Haverfordwest in West Wales a long way past Cardiff. At least that is where they were aiming for if the petrol they had lasted.
Finally we were on the outskirts of Cardiff and the driver said that they could drop me at the next junction. It was Junction 32.
Bearing in mind my terrible time getting stuck there before, I was pleading with them to please give me a lift just a few miles further on down the motorway to the next roundabout.
But the girl said:"Sorry, man, we would if we could but we need the petrol. I'm supposed to be in work tomorrow and who knows if we will make it or get stuck somewhere on the motorway."
There was no answer to that. I had to accept getting off at Junction 32 knowing I had virtually no hope of getting a lift from there, and to make things worse it was now dark. Just five miles or so away down the motorway was Culverhouse Cross roundabout which is only about 10 minutes walk from where I live.
I decided that I would risk walking the final stretch down the motorway and didn't care if the police stopped me. I set off carrying my bag, tent and guitar but as I wearily plodded onward I suddenly realised I had gone the wrong way. Instead of seeing a sign for Barry and Ely roundabout the next sign said Merthyr which is to the north of Cardiff.
This meant I was well off track and instead of making progress towards where I lived I had done the opposite. I wasn't go to go all the way back so I got off the motorway at the next turn off for Cardiff north. I had to walk another four miles or so and the ordeal got worse as I continued.
The stuff I was carrying bashed into my legs, my feet were blistered and I had to sit and take a break every now and then. I finally made it back to my house at 4 am in the morning and I was exhausted!
Oliver phoned me later that evening to say he was sorry but he had taken hours getting back into the Glastonbury Festival grounds and by the time he had done so I had gone.