Heheh. Talking about demic trundle-wagons, that reminds me of a university field weekend in 1972, up near Whitby collecting Jurassic fossils out of the sea cliffs. Just our luck - in an otherwise mild winter, that weekend we endured a force nine gale with driving snow right off the North Sea with minus two even by day. I wore every stitch of clothing I'd taken with me, including me 'jamas, on that beach. If that wasn't bad enough, the trip back to London was a nightmare. The van that our teacher had hired had one of those fan things in the middle of the roof, only this one had the fan missing and just a gaping hole. All the way back we had to take turns to sit under the hole in the teeth of a blast of freezing air from it that directed itself at one's general goolie area. The van's heater was busted as well. To cap it all the fuel gauge needle froze up and we ran out of petrol somewhere in Lincolnshire. It was a dark, freezing snowy night and Dr Alvin finally managed to stop a passing car by virtually lying down on the road in front of it. I tell you, it could be classified as a near-death experience. When we got back we just sat in the union bar for a couple of hours. It took six pints before my legs would bend at the knee again.