Three British expatriates share a near death experience from a trip to Kuala Lumpur ...
[ilyafew years I hosted comedy shows in Kuala Lumpur with great British comedians Mike Best and Steve Gunn. After a very successful last show we fought the temptation to party and went straight to bed because we had an early flight the next morning to Jakarta for shows there. Just before dawn, we left the hotel, flopped painfully into a taxi and headed for the airport. I took the front seat and asked the great Indian man trapped in the driver's seat to take the toll road for the sake of speed and he growled at me in grim recognition. It was obviously not a morning person.
About half an hour into the trip I watched amazed at the window, still half asleep, when I noticed the sound of heavy breathing in the car. I guess one of the guys were asleep so I did not take notice until the noise began to get stronger, then turned into heavy nasal snoring. I looked around at Mike and Steve in the back seat to see who had dozed off, ready to do some smart "b ** later lazy" comment, but Mike was busy reading a newspaper and Steve was away looking absentmindedly through window.
My sauteed eyes quickly toward the driver. He was there, arms straight in front of him holding the steering wheel, his head flopped forward with its many chin resting on his chest fat, eyes closed and breath separating the nostrils of his thick black hair on his chest as he breathed he was fast asleep
My eyes jumped to the road and the speedometer -.. we were doing 120 km an hour and he climbed regularly relaxed his foot on the accelerator. Luckily it was still early, so there was very little traffic and the road was clear.
I panicked for a second, but fought the 'wanted to shout (or hit him in the face, which was what I really wanted to do), knowing that it would shock the conscience in and bring him to jerk the wheel one way or the other and send us hurtling down the road to oblivion.
I quickly thought what to do while silence "shushing" Mike and Steve as their eyes widened rapidly in realizing what was happening. I tried to move his foot from the accelerator, but his huge legs filled the space in front of the driver's seat if it was completely impossible. I steadied the steering wheel with his left hand and placed my right hand slightly on the bulky shoulder of the driver, swaying gently to wake him up, while saying "Hello ... Hello ..." in a hoarse whisper from stage to what his eyes open slowly.
Once his brain had processed what was happening, his eyes turned instantly into saucers and he dropped a quick succession of Indian blasphemy unintelligible that the car, despite my efforts to stabilize the wheel, swerved wildly through two - fortunately - empty roads. He eventually regained his composure and repositioned the car safely in the slow lane, and I looked back to see Mike and Steve. They were frozen in terror, their faces ashen white in mid-cry like a candid snapshot taken on the scariest part of a rollercoaster ride.
I opened my window all the way and asked Mike and Steve to do the same, and then listening to the radio station and an Indian turned up to full speed. By the time we arrived at the airport, the driver was smiling, singing and dancing vigorously his head at the sound of Bollywood.
I imagined what the headlines in the newspapers the next day would have been if we crashed and died that day: Almost
"Last laugh for British funny men.".