WELSH MINX HITS THE GUMBAL 3000 RALLY 2008!

San Francisco to Bejiing in 8 days!

What I love about life is how it throws wicked opportunities atcha if your post box is open... And when you put your attention on something, however trivial it may seem to anyone else, it will manifest if it is your dream and there is a happy longing associated with it. My letter box is like a whore’s moo moo – wide open, patiently awaiting that golden cheque of adventure in the mail, smiling…

When I was a kid, I fell in love with VW split-screen camper vans. I spent a huge part of my childhood rolling down sand dunes and body surfing on Llangeneth beach, a romantic pocket of Welsh countryside where the surfers would tumble out of these kick ass cool VWs… I was utterly smitten. In the mid 90s I learnt to enjoy the adrenalin of high speed driving and discovered that VWs are compatible with Porsche engines… Oh yes! Outwardly maintain some kind of bohemian-hippie status, but secretly hack it at 140mph… my kinda machine.

Three years or so ago, my mum dragged me to a lavishly converted barn in the English countryside to meet her new friends Nina and Dave. Nina had found my mother in the yellow pages under the ‘Feng Shui’ section. My mother was apparently posing as someone called “The Cosmic Cherry”. She would re-orient home layouts for a fee, according to ancient Chinese principles and a little bit of her own whacko-soothsaying thrown in. It turns out her work on Nina and Dave’s gorgeous property did them wonders – she even exorcised a ghost.

While wandering around the exquisite house I noticed a canvas painting of an orange and white VW split-screen camper van, the same colours as the one my mum used to ferry my brother and sisters around in when we were pseudo-hippies in the late 1970s.

I exclaimed to my now new friend Nina –

“If that had a Porsche engine it would be my dream mobile.”

Nina giggled –

“Dave’s got one of them.”
“You’re kidding?”
“In the garage, snakeskin interior and it breathes out fire… and it won the bling award on the Gumball Rally…”
“The Gumball?”
“Rich boys with toys rally, ya know, Maximillion’s gig? Dave loves it.”

At the time, I was in a rock-punk-rap band called ‘Weapons’ and we were preparing our next music video shoot for single ‘Love Is Thunder’. A hippie camper van that can trot a wild 140mph and breathe out flames sounded perfect for my vehicle in the vid!

“If I drive the camper in the band vid, what about the others? What will Justin, Mo, Pete, Blair and Tasha drive in the vid?”

Nina nonchalantly started to walk me across the manicured lawn towards a fat set of garage doors.

“Well, Tasha can have the Ferrari, Justin the Lambo, Mo the Harley, Blair the Aston Martin and I guess Pete can drive the Mclaren…”

The garage doors unfurled like an origami puzzle into another world… and my entrance into the sphere of fast cars and collectibles had begun.

Fast forward 2.5 years and I’m now settled in Los Angeles. I get a call one day from Dave –

“You wanna do the American leg of the Gumball rally, San Francisco to Bejiing with me and Phil?”
“You kiddin’ me right?”
“Nope, it’s all set. We’ll pick you up at the party in LA and drive to Vegas via San Diego and various check points along route.”
“When?”
“Three weeks time.”
“OMG!”
“You in?”
“Is Sarah Palin the anti-christ with titties?”
“See ya then, g-force…”

My dream. Not only was I gonna rock’n roll in my fantasy mobile, but I was going on the most notorious car rally in the world, alongside some of the world’s pimping-est cars.

A word of caution:

Now don’t get me wrong… at heart, I’m not someone to gush when a racing car zooms by. Quite the contrary, I’m the kinda chick staring at those balding imbeciles cruising in their convertible Bentleys who internally muses: “What a tosser!” When I hit traffic lights in Beverly Hills and an Italian stallion pulls up in a Lambo, revving to impress, gesticulating crudities at me through the slick glass, I’m that gal that turns up my stereo, picks my nose and flicks it in the direction of the dick in the fast car. In a nutshell, I don’t get wet at expensive, flashy cars, even less the drivers of such extravagances. But it’s paradoxical right? Coz I adore the rush and adrenalin and speed and excitement of stepping on the gas, pushing up the numbers on the dial and whooshing into the distance, full throttle, riding by the seat of my pants… Who wouldn’t?

So GUMBALL hit Los Angeles and I was ready. The party kicked off at ‘The Roosevelt’ in Hollywood with a champagne-toxic bang. 8am the following morning and I was standing outside the Kodak Theatre surrounded by a throng of the world’s fastest cars, as well as a celebrity addition – THE ORIGINAL KIT CAR! Yep, Knight Rider was on the rally, driven by Hasslehoff’s adopted kid friend “Hasslehog” – an Austrian BMX pro who despite his petite teenage frame was reknown to have a cock the size of the Andes mountain range. Every time we sped past him on the freeway, he would wave a huge brown dildo out of the window at me. It was quite disconcerting… Just where had it been to be that color?

The film crew joined Dave, Phil and I in the VW for the first leg. We hit the 405 and well… I’ve never seen the 405 display as many skid marks as a horny trucker’s pants. It was a Lamborghini convention snaking the freeway. All those driving their cars to work that morning were hit by a futuristic looking chase scene straight outta a movie… it was electrifying. And there was I, full body out of the convertible VW, hacking it at 130mph, weaving in and out of the daily grind with music blaring, the wind rushing through my veins. Dave triggered his various horn sounds as he proceeded to overtake everybody on the inside lane - no one expects a hippie van to whoosh past at that kinda speed – and well, suffice to say, I was pumped. The 405 had a lot of smiling faces ;-)

Fast-forward to the first check-point at Huntington Beach where we ate a luxurious breakfast, had a photo shoot with the Jackass boys, and witnessed a bikini fashion show modelled by cyborgs with down syndrome. Gumball is full of surprises. And that was blatantly evident when, at lunchtime, we cruised into the private estate of the wealthiest guy in California who had a private Ferrari collection he wanted to share. It felt like I had entered the homestead of a bad guy from a BOND movie. A sick house… I mean we’re talking SICK! I was waiting for Oddjob to come out and smash me in the face with his bowler hat. Worse still, I got cornered during dessert by a gangster rapper from Vegas known as “The Panty Sniffer”. He proceeded to place large headphones over my ears so that I was looking across the bling baddy estate listening to, “I get an erection when I whiff your yeast infection…” Certainly not the kinda thing to write home about… less still publish in a blog?

Check-point three was an industrial estate where the boys with toys were able to show off their speed skills and spin 360s without worrying that the explosive sounds and petrol fumes would offend eco-friendly locals. The VW wasn’t equipped for such debauchery, so we showed off our impressive 4 sec or so 0-70 as we sped away with flames shooting outta our ass… it was kinda appropriate that we had a flaming ass hole as Dave and Phil – pilot and co-pilot respectively – had ever so gradually begun cloning one another… I was slightly concerned when their t-shirts were not only similar, but matching. Same hair do and everything… hmmm…

The sun was shining and I was getting hot. A new film crew had joined us and needed some action. So I launched myself out of the roof, gumball stickers on each nipple, arms aloft like the home coming gladiator entering the ring… only I was showing off in front of a bunch of fat families lining the San Diego check-point, waving their Gumball flags. I’m a cheap date.

After posing for hundreds of eager car lovers, we received a police escort to our luxurious hotel – THE SAN DIEGO IVY - the owner of which, it transpired, was driving in the rally with his sexy playboy fiancé. As we pulled up, the streets were all cornered off for our welcome. The crowds cheered, cameras clicked and the resident Gumball Tanoy Monster yelled crudities down his speaker for all to hear. I leapt out of the VW and launched myself onto a waiting police motorcycle. As I straddled this beastly machine, Gumballers planted stickers on the back of the cop’s bike. He was so heavily engaged in feeling my pert behind grind his armoured cod-piece, he didn’t notice the camera crew surrounding us and the blatant disregard to his authority. Before he knew it, we were being filmed as I ran my hand up and down his menacing baton, yelling, “Yanky cops sure know how to ride it rough.” Then, to my horror he started getting “fresh” when our photos were being taken -

“Which room are you in?” he asked, eagerly salivating…
“Huh?” I replied, assuming I had misheard him.
“Your room number? Tonight?”

Did I really feel his outstretched arm move towards groping my left tit? Nah! Really? …

I made my escape, but no sooner had I entered my gorgeous suite in The Ivy – there he was standing in the street below… right in front of my window! I could hear Alfred Hitchcock’s PSYCHO blade-curdling SCRATCH noises tear into my brain as I ducked on all fours and proceeded to pull the blinds down without being seen. PHEWee! Close call. I’m never returning to San Diego.

That night, The Ivy threw a rather outlandish affair by the pool. I suspect that every working girl from Hong Kong to Miami had been flown in for the occasion. The elevator would PING open every five minutes and outpour a school of lipstick in dresses so short I caught a few spider’s legs creeping out for breath. Scantily-clad girlies danced on the bar, twisting their teenage hips to filthy Prince tunes and we hit the sack from exhaustion… I slept like a princess.

The day we had all been waiting for arrived… the trip to VEGAS!!!

8am and we were on the road. This time our destination was on a serious time constraint. We had to reach a private air force base and have the VW checked in for its trip to Korea… The journey was awesome as we bombed through the desert roads, taking-in the fire-orange mountains shaking on the horizon like old men with Parkison’s disease. Dave was in his element carving the narrow roads, hurdling bumps and probing pot holes, while Phil and I sung along to “God Is A DJ” blasting out of the stereo.

2pm and we hit the private airport. The VW was stripped and carted away for its long flight to Korea, and we were elegantly transported to the ‘Million Air’ waiting room to get our own private jet to Vegas. Turns out, the jet was the Rolling Stones private jet they use for touring the US. And there it was on the runway, all-tempting like Mick’s glossed rubber lips approaching the mic…

I spotted the enormous silver turbine straight ahead of me and, turning around intuitively, my jaw gaped open in awe as the dreamy vision of the Sheikh of Saudi gracefully walking towards me in his perfect, crisp, white dress appeared on the horizon. I gushed and knew I had to get in that turbine with the Arab. Moments later I was standing in the massive turbine singing Sean Paul’s “Shake that thing!” while booty grinding with the Sheikh. “Sheikh that thing, c’mon let’s sheikh that thing…” He certainly did shake it… loose.

When I was supped, I entered the plane and had the fortune to share seats with Maximillion, who gave me the low down on the thriving Gumball enterprise he runs with his beloved, hot wife Julie. Turns out, the guy has quite a history with extreme sports – skateboard champ, BMX-ing, entrepreneur since ever since, and a Spike Jonze buddy from way back. And his co-pilot for the Gumball transpired to be a photographer I hung with in South America back in 1995. I’m not certain either of us can pin-point the exact location or nature of our meeting, although it’s certain that it involved some kind of Colombian-Peruvian-Bolivian intoxicant and a wealth of amnesia.

TOUCH-down in Vegas and the Gumballers were chauffered to the Hard Rock Hotel where Dave had secured us the celebrity suite – equipped with pool table, bar, and… a BUTLER who could get one anything one desireth. Dave and Phil ordered pizza and I booked three midgets, a ball gag and a hostess trolley. We hit the casino and after Dave had lost about as much as a deposit on a small country, we decided to quit our losses and head into the Gumball Party. And what a party it was! - THE CUBAN BROTHERS (aka filthy Glaswegian comedians) were on stage as we entered, stripping off while performing break dance antics that happily reinvented mentally retarded looking dancers with dislocated limbs into sexual icons. I was impressed. While I was secretly fondling myself to the sight of the filthy Glaswegians waving their trouser snakes at a drooling throng of Gumballers and Vegas hookers, Dave purchased a champagne bottle the size of a wig-wam. He nourished the entire club with champagne out of that single bottle – no shit! It kept pouring on and on… by the time we ‘d exhausted its liquid nectar, the whole club was screaming and dancing and it kicked off into the early hours… This was a party to remember!

At some point we were in a cab racing to the nightclub JET where I lost my sandals and found myself dancing next to a ladyboy with awkward boobs. Then we were somehow back at the Hard Rock and I was forced to watch an inebriated Dave and Phil, in full blown clone attire, speak to their loved ones on skype, expressing in northern drivel how much they love them. It was at that point that I puked. Then I called ‘the Butler” to remove it and feed it to the midgets I had stowed away in my closet.

Deliriously, I whispered farewell to Dave and Phil at 6am as they departed for their connecting flight to Korea to continue the rally all the way to Bejiing. Then I passed out until I was myself heading homewards to Los Angeles…

I got back and received a phone call from my very gorgeous new boyfriend. He said, “Come over to the house, I got something funny to show you.” For a moment I thought to remind him that after the 405, the cop, the school of hookers, the Cuban brothers, the butler and the dwarfs, there wasn’t much left to shock me into giggles… but there, in his driveway, was a white, very nice, Lamborghini. His mate Ken had just dropped it off and given him the keys… weird right? So a week later, I watched him rev the lambo to my birthday party and I thought to myself - that dream wasn’t on my list? - but it’s sure funny how life surprises you if your letter box is open!...