Just finished "The Wrong Boy" by Willy Russell, which was rather good. It's written in the form of a series of long letters (that will never be sent) from a troubled 19 year old to Morrissey - don't worry, you don't actually have to listen to any of his "songs".
Very funny in parts, quite uncomfortable reading in others.
Here's my candidate. It's a picture of...... sprouts. It is a genuine Xmas card as inside is printed "Seasons greetings".
Not quite sure what season it refers to, though - sprout harvesting season, maybe.
First Saturday job was working in a greengrocers, filling up the spud bins, trimming the cauliflowers, etc.
First "real" job was working in NatWest's computer centre in the City of London, running the cheque reader/sorters.
Another tip I saw a while ago suggested that when parking in a car park, always reverse the car into the bay.
This means that if there is a problem when returning to the car, you can drive straight out of the bay and be gone at speed, rather than fannying around reversing, stopping (giving the attacker another opportunity to get at you) and then moving forward.
Thinking further as I type, depending on the layout of the car park (i.e. if there is a wall behind the car) reversing into the bay means you also have the opportunity of getting the car door between you and the other person as you are getting into the car.
Waking up, looking at the alarm clock and thinking "Uhhhh, it'll be going off in 10 minutes" then realising it's a non-working day.
Lost five or six slates off the front of the house and six off the rear last night (Wednesday). Luckily the house is rented so it won't cost me anything to get fixed.
Fortunately (realising it was extremely windy when I got home from work) I parked the car away from the front of the house, and when I got up this morning there were shards of slate scattered where the car is normally parked closer to the front door.
It's a bit exposed here - the wind has a free run from the Pennines in one direction and the North Sea in the other!
It's a noisy, rattly roof when the wind blows hard, and I had to sleep in the spare bedroom last night otherwise I wouldn't have been able to sleep at all. The cieling in the main bedroom was replaced just before I moved in - no doubt it was a cheap job as I'm sure there is no insulation above it.
Welcome. :welcome: I just said that.
What has irritated me about some of the newspaper coverage of these murders is that the papers have started referring to them as "Ripper murders", purely for the sake of a headline.
As I understand it there is barely a mark on at least the first two victims, but to make more impact out of an already dreadful situation the tabloids are harking back to the dreadful mutilation inflicted by previous serial killers. Metro - a filthy rag in the worst sense of the word at the best of times - was bigging up their headlines as soon as the third body was discovered.
The tabloid press sickens me sometimes.
:therethere:
I suppose as someone who has never had and never wanted kids I can't really contribute much, but having been desperately worried about a couple of friends in the past I can feel for you and know a little bit of what you are feeling now.
No doubt you'll read many posts saying how other people's sons and daughters did much the same, so all I can really say is "know that you are not on your own".
X
Well, I had a can of Stella with my pizza an hour ago.
I have just opened a bottle of Timothy Taylor's Landlord which has been out on the doorstep cooling down for the last hour, in the fridge that is North Yorkshire tonight. The Landlord will be followed by a bottle of Black Sheep Ale.
And that will do me nicely for the evening.
:cheers:
I am what I would term an Occasional Poster rather than a Lurker. I tend to only respond to a thread when I actually have something to say. Though I often get half way though typing a reply to a thread and think "And your point is? This is going nowhere, and is of no interest to anyone" and cancel the update. I s'pose what I mean is that I don't feel I have to make an appearance in every thread for the sake of it and be a "pointless poster".
I don't read all of the threads - which tends to cut down the opportunities for posting! I scan the thread titles and read those that sound as if they could contain something that might interest me. I log on two or three times every evening, but sometimes I'm logged on and off in a couple of minutes without having opened a thread, other times I'm here for an hour or so.
I'm also reluctant to put a reply on a thread that has clearly run it's course and bring it up to the top of the list again, opinion held or not.
Finally, I often forget which posts I have put an update on, so tend not to get into to-and-fros and banter.
'Course, all of the above means that I don't get well known and - to use a pub as a simile - I am more like the bloke who turns up most nights and sits in the corner reading his book over a pint or three and occasionally pipes up, rather than one of the noisy group of regulars at the bar.
"And my point is?" Must. Press. Submit.....
No central heating and waking up to ice on the inside of the bedroom window.
Buying a Red Rover all day bus ticket and going into central London to do the museums on our own - me and my mate from school aged about 11, plus brother a year younger.
First day at school - cried my eyes out, and every time the classroom door opened I hoped it was my mum coming back to get me. It wasn't of course, just another unfortunate kid being dropped off.
Having measles before 11 years old, and being off school, laying on the settee covered by what was known as "the Scotchy blanket" - i.e. tartan - which only came out when a kid was ill.
Winston Churchill's funeral on the telly.
I must admit to having very few happy memories of childhood.
Of the half a dozen or so books I've read since this thread last had an outing, I would particularly recommend:
Black Ice by Matt Dickinson. About what happens to an Antarctic drilling expedition when one person in the camp does not intend playing nice. Incredibly tense book.
Popcorn by Ben Elton.
Whistling For The Elephants by Sandi Toksvig.
I check that the front door is locked half a dozen times an evening.
All plug sockets have to be turned off at the wall before I go to bed, unless it’s supplying a charger that is actually charging something, I which case that’s OK. If I can’t get to sleep I do a recce around the house and often find a socket switched on. Probably coincidence!
I have to have a glass of water by the bed.
I have my alarm clock on it’s side, so that it’s easy to read the time without lifting the head from the pillow.
Can’t stand the greasy texture of butter and margarine, so I have my sarnies “dryâ€.
Veg cooked for so long it can be mashed against the roof of the mouth with the tongue makes me feel sick, and I've been known to heave as a sprout disolves in my mouth.
Car keys left pocket, house keys right pocket.
Seafood. Can’t touch it. Probably from when as a young kid I recall being as sick as a dog after a Sunday tea of winkles, prawns, etc.
Suspect it means he wants to shag your missus with his rock-hard Jamaican erection.
Just join in any thread that sparks your interest and where you have something to contribute - this part of the site isn't for meeting people as such, so there is no pressure on anyone to impress. 
