I once broke into a recently disused church in my home town when I was about 10
Or more accurately slipped in through a window that had previously been jimmied by some previous intruders.

We stood flicking the V's at the brass crosses that were up near the altar and then scarpered before god gave us a good smiting.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 16:29, Reply)

I was in charge of sound and projection
for a guest speaker event on campus that the missus was hosting. The speaker was a Guatemalan woman who had been through some truly horrific shit and was trying to raise awareness in the US about some of the things that are being done there.

So I showed up an hour or two early and got the projector for her Powerpoint presentation set up and also set up sound for some videos she was showing. I got the projector figured out, got the computer to play some sounds through the speakers, but didn't have a good feel for how audible it was. So I hooked up my iPod and switched it on while I walked around the room to listen.

The iPod chose to play this.

As Annlouice Loegdlund warbled and Pontus Mantefors made demonic noises the missus burst in with fire and brimstone in her eyes as she reminded me that the space we were using was the university chapel.

It probably didn't help that at the time I was playing air bass and dancing behind the altar...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 1 Sep 2011, 16:09, 7 replies)

Bollocks
Ever played the game "Bollocks"?

Essentially, two (or more) people take it in turns to exclaim "bollocks", the aim is to be the one that says it the loudest.

The game needs to be played in a place where shouting "bollocks" is frowned upon, lest it become a game of "who can shout the loudest". My good friend James and I, being good choir boys in our local church choir, found that the best game play could be found during services, in particular during the sermon.

The trick is to follow the rise and fall of the vicar's voice and try to coincide with a forcefully made point.
(stewiegriffin, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 16:06, 5 replies)

Not me but the local vicar....
could well be posting for this.

A few years my Mum died and I was back home for the funeral, unfortunately another member of the family had died so the funeral was also when I was home. In the interest of getting the family catchup done before mums funeral I thought I would keep my dad company and go along.

The vicar starts, as they always do, with a few words about how he hadn't known Cecil for long and that 'Cecil is leaving behind a loving wife....'etc (I am sure you are getting the picture). All the time this is going on I am thinking in my head that I always thought his name was Cyril but everyone knows how it is with distant relatives you are never too sure. After several mentions of Cecil I whispered to my Dad 'I thought his name was Cyril' to which he replies that it was. A couple of minutes later (and several more references to Cecil) everyone hears the widow at the front call out under her breath 'IT'S CYRIL NOT CECIL!'. I have never seen a vicar stumble through an apology like that before or since and that moment with live with me for a long time.
(Studentken is looking for motivation on, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 16:03, 1 reply)

oh and I once had a wank in the toilet at a church
fucking hormonal I was, over the sink as well(I was the only person in the church but still, why not in a cubicle?).
(Ross McBingobangobongo bingobangobongo, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 16:02, 18 replies)

Repost: if you didn't like it the first time then you can read it again and not like it again.
Thirteen years ago I was a naive, pretentious, shy student type. Twelve years ago I was into drugs, then eleven years ago I was a burnt-out unemployed waster, still living in a monumentally dirty student house with a few other dropouts who I'd had a lot of fun with before the cabin fever set in and the drugs stopped working.
It was around this time that one housemate decided that he was going to be a graffiti artist. I wasn't very interested in this new hobby at first, but one day I joked about how funny it would be if he went round spraying pentagrams on the front of churches. Over the next couple of weeks he did just this, usually riding out on his bike to sully the entrances early on a Sunday morning to make sure the parishioners saw his handywork.
My contribution to the project came soon after. Walking back from the shop I noticed a man changing the sign on the front of the local church. The sign was for a youth group called "Urban Hymns" and each week would have a theme along the lines of "God Is A DJ" and the like. The board had no lock and the theme was merely a piece of white paper with 64-point comic sans italic writing. Hm.
The next day the front of the church looked like this:



For some reason nobody at the church noticed this, so it was up there for almost a whole week. Later I would introduce the obvious themes like "Jesus loves you, everyone else thinks you're a cunt" and "God hates you, worms". These were funny in 2001, not so much now.
The apex of our defilement was probably the alpha course sign which we stole, turned into a horrific Francis Bacon style vision of hell, re-titled "The Alpha Whores" and nailed across the front door at 5am on a Sunday morning.

That morning at about 7 we were playing Beneath A Steel Sky and considering bed when we heard a noise in the kitchen and went to investigate. In there we found a dishevelled old man with a beard in a red jacket muttering about how he was being pursued by some kids. How he got into the house is still a mystery. After we'd kicked him out we arrived back in my room for a last joint and found he'd stolen two phones and several other items of value. It was Anti-Santa himself.
A sober person who didn't smoke so much hash would probably have been able to rationalise the experience, but such a person was not around. A decision was made to stop defiling churches, smoke less hash and try to find jobs. I eventually did this. The graffitist ended up getting committed a couple of years later. I think we've all learned our lessons one way or another.
( Zuowan, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:56, 5 replies)

forcing a kid to be religious is the best way of raising an atheist
I come from a semi religious family in that my dad is, and my mum isn't...

As such, and as I am (and always have been) a male, I was forced to go to church with my dad every fucking Sunday (and the odd Friday, Monday and Wednesday, and Xmas) for the 1st 18 years of my sorry life.

From the age of 5, which was when I came to realise that it was dull, I protested and generally didn't take much part in the service other than to mumble along to the various prayers (all of which I can still recite if given the opening line... like a really dull version of the rap from 'Move Any Mountain' by The Shamen). I also got miming down to a fine art - the problem you see was that not only did I get dragged there, I also had to sit next to my dad, in the choir. Everyone thought I had the voice of an angel, despite the fact that I NEVER SANG A NOTE. But luckily I was never asked to do a solo, as that would have ended up being an organ solo (fnarr fnarr).

Even when I stayed at friend's houses on a Saturday night, he would arrive at 8am to pick me up, it's little wonder that I had few friends.

The best/worst bit was when I had to take myself there because he was in hospital, I set off on my skateboard (it was about a mile away, all downhill) and as I approached, I realised that I didn't have to go, I could just skate on the park nearby...
...I arrived home at the usual time, and my mum had already taken 5 phone calls to say I hadn't been to church... spies! He had prompted the congregation to look out for me!

I was briefly an altar boy, mainly so I didn't have to sit in the choir or take part, I never got bummed, and I got the best seats in the house to watch the crazy lady go mental at the priest and get escorted out. I was also confirmed, which means that I accepted that I was definitely a Catholic by my own choice... I don't remember ever being asked if I wanted to do that, I just went along with it.

My 18th birthday fell on a Saturday, I went out on the Friday night to celebrate the last illegal night out and then Sunday came around, my dad knocked on my door and said "you coming to church then?" and I said "no thanks, I'm going to stay in bed" and my pa's little face dropped.

Flippin hogwash the lot of it, all it's done for me is give me a guilt complex and made my relationship with my dad that little bit worse than it should be.
(Ross McBingobangobongo bingobangobongo, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:52, Reply)

Well, like most, I haven't been inside one for ages
but they still try to bugger me given half a chance.

I was only overdrawn a few quid.
(roysin, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:52, Reply)

It's related to religion
When my great-grandmother (only found out she was a year ago - she had my nan out of wedlock, the dad was a married man whose identity she never revealed to anyone) passed away she left me a cold cross. It is not small, it is at least half a cm thick, and is about 5cm long by 2.5cm wide. It has all those important stamps on one edge, is engraved with a floral pattern on each side and is surprisingly heavy. I have worn it since I was 12 years old, so after 11 years of constantly having it on, I barely notice it.

This is where religion comes in, kind of. I am not religious, I am in fact morea Satanist after reading The Satanic Bible (google it, it's not what you think!). The closest I came to converting was at my cousins christening age 10 (I thought it was cool that you got a snack in church). However, people see my cross and assume I am. This means I have the ultimate defence against door-to-door converters, but best of all is when people ask (I have no idea why) "Are you christian?" and I tell them quite happily that No I am not and doubt anything could make me.

When I then get asked why I wear a cross I tell them it's because it means more to me than religion does. I'm sure they think I'm screwing with them...
(Cydonija well it sure as shit ain't sad, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:49, 4 replies)

Putting the Fun in Funeral
The best funeral I have ever been to was my mate Greg's. Greg died in a Ford Carpi that he bought for a tenner. Unluckily for him, a bus was passing a parked car on a bend on poor greg's side of the road. Bloke didn't stand a chance.

His funeral was held in Hildenborough church. We all packed in there and Greg's parents wanted to play a song Greg loved. It was The Prodigy's No Good, Start The Dance. Let me tell you it's surreal being in a church with The Prodigy blaring out of the sound system.

When the actual service began my mate Chris who was next to me picked up the hymn book that was infront of him. Chris is a clumsy bugger to say the least and it came as no surprise to see hundreds of pages come flying out of this hymn book all over the floor. I tried not to laugh. I really did. The sight of him scrabbling round the floor trying to gather up all the loose papers. I suppressed my laughing into coughs. Loud coughs.

I must not make eye contact, I must not make eye contact. I knew if I did that would be it. The fucker just looked up at me from the floor and we both burst into hysterical laughter. Some people didn't appreciate this to say the least. If looks could have killed it would have been my funeral the next day.

A bit later, we were back at Greg's parents house. His mum was giving tours of his bedroom. They wanted this to be a celebration of his life. Still me and Chris felt guilty, I mean we openly cracked up at her sons funeral. We felt it was our duty to apologise for what we had done. She was surprisingly cool about it and said "don't worry boy's, had greg been with you in that situation he would have laughed the loudest."

Still felt bad though. I mean who laughs at a funeral?
(b1tchell failed to learn English, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:41, 6 replies)

Freedom!
I don't like organised religion. Never have. I find it stifling, boring, and above all, hypocritical.

So, as a Protestant, going to a Catholic school, I had a pretty hard time of it. "Why should I confess? Surely that's between me and God?" Of such questions were anti-religious wedges made. Further questions of why I should say the Hail Mary, abase myself before statues and accept the word of a man in a dress over my parents were also ignored. And as for dinosaurs, I could forget about them completely, apparently, as they are a snare for the youthful mind.

And then, one fateful day, freedom reigned. We were sat in yet another interminable Mass, and it hit me. "Actually, I don't believe in God". I was ten years old, and when I whispered it to the person sat next to me, they looked as though I'd just shat on the altar. Ho-hum.
(The Luggage is haunted..., Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:40, 6 replies)

Sorry Grandad
A few years back, my grandad passed on and we all met up at his house before the funeral. My aunt made the mistake of mentioning which particular passage from the bible was being read at the service in advance.

Cut to the service. My brother and I are listening to the sermon more intently than we ever have done before. Waiting.

"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy."

* Snigger *

"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. "

* Smirk *

"Blessed are the peacemakers, ..."

Some people probably think it was inappropriate to be laughing at my grandad's funeral but he was always up for a laugh so I doubt he took too much offence....
(BoredCouncilWorker, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:28, Reply)

I was brought up a Catholic
One of the reasons for the atheism of my adult life. My dad was in charge of the altar servers. So I too paraded around on a Sunday morning wearing a floor length red dress cassock with a smaller white frilly dress surplice over the top. I'm sure my parents thought I looked angelic I loathed it but put up with it while I was too small to argue

Now Catholics think that in order to be close to God you must have a really long service especially if it's a one of the biggies like Easter Sunday. So this Easter Sunday I would have been about 6 years old and I was up on the massive shinny floored altar along with about 15 fellow little angels. Father wossname started out on one of his legendary rambling sermons. My mind wandered to the pile of choc eggs waiting for me back home. Then a small thought interrupted this reverie need a wee. Unfortunately I was the other side of the altar from the door so I decided to hold on until Father wossname had finished. He didn't and this small thought soon became NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE NEED A WEE ohh

I pissed myself, copiously as it turned out and a shinning river of piss trickled down the steps of the altar like a little yellow weir. I bet Dawkins has never pissed on an Altar ;)

Also during this time called a nun a cunt because John Paul Parker told me it would be funny, in hindsight it was hilarious although at the time I got the bollocking from hell
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:27, Reply)

Catholic Liverpool Wedding
Oh man, I hate religion, the only thing that winds me up more is the bloody x-factor. Anyway I digress.
Earlier this year, one of the misses friends got married up near Liverpool. The misses, myself and our 6 month old daughter made the 250 mile drive from London and pitched up at the pub near the church. Nothing beats a swift pint or two before a wedding.

Realising that we were in danger of missing the chruchy bit we necked the beers and wandered down to the god house. We go in and I suggested we sit near the back, if daughter cries we can make a quick exit.

Then it started, a full on rant about God and Jesus. It was around this point (5mins in I think) I started willing my daughter to cry.

Then the priest started shouting that "If you think you know better than Jesus you are wrong" and "damned to hell". Sorry heard enough, picked up daughter and left the misses there. We went outside sat on a blanket in the sun and waited. And waited, and waited. Gradually more parents with babies emerged. Followed by people coming for a smoke, and then a couple more people, one of which said to us "Well I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell now, anyone fancy a pint".

Turns out the brides family were all full on Catholics. Did I mention I hate religion. Bastards.
(b1tchell failed to learn English, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:25, 2 replies)

We were young ...
... and the world was our shag place.

Including St Ann's, Radipole.

I'll never forget SJW and still wonder which mental hospital she is in these days ;-)
(Biff..., Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:21, 2 replies)

La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona
On our honeymoon in Barcelona I decided that we should climb the spiral tower rather than queue with the plebs for the lift "How hard can it be?" I thought. Not very as it turns out, unless like my wife you are petrified of falling down very steep steps. Going up was a doddle, coming down was like trying to persuade an octopus to get in a rucksack. For those of you that haven't had the pleasure of these stairs I attach link to a photo:

tinyurl.com/3f47vxn

If you add in the open parapets leading to the pavement (via a brief plummet) it did not make for a relaxing descent.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 1 Sep 2011, 15:11, 11 replies)

Cologne Cathedral.
It's the nature of many people that once they see someone else do something, they feel they can do it themselves and so, having not stopped it in the bud, the inside of Cologne Cathedral is now full of graffiti by idiots from all over the world.

Being Germany, this allows for a fun "spot the swastika" competition you can play whilst climbing up the turret. I found at least 5 on the way up.

(Someone has some pictures of the mess here:
www.blog.ni9e.com/archives/2005/10/koln_cathedral.html )
( monkeon schmonkeon, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:58, 1 reply)

St Mary's Church, Whitby
... always seems worth a bit of a visit. It's full of these weird box pews that were installed in the 19th Century, and has assorted other Things Of Interest. Years ago in the area where there's now a sort of A/V show I found a pew that had clearly been shot with a shotgun at some point, probably from the balcony. It was full of holes, and indeed there was the odd lead pellet still embedded in there. It looked like rather old damage, since the splintering around the holes seemed well aged.

So I asked one of the people working there about it, expecting some interesting story to be forthcoming.

"Don't know anything about that" she said. "Never been any shotguns in here."

Oh.

Still, I thought it was an intrinsically interesting thing in itself - I mean, how often do you find evidence of gunfire inside a church? - so next time I was along with a friend who'd not been before I took her along to show her the gunshot.

All the holes had been filled in and coloured to blend with the old wood.

I'm now convinced that there's a juicy story being covered up.

As I was doing my CSI:Whitby act on the concealed damage, a member of staff came out of the shop and started watching very closely to see what we were up to. Naturally, we weren't up to anything, and to prove my innocence I moved casually to another pew, turned the handle and opened the door.

And the whole bloody thing ripped off its hinges and crashed to the floor with a horrendously loud bang that you could have heard in Pickering, effortlessly attracting the attention of all the tourists in the silent church, and bringing the other members of staff out of the shop at a trot.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing?" raged staff member #1. "That's an 18th Century pew!"

"Oh really?" I said, demonstrating my sang froid in a tone rather more falsetto than I'd hoped, "I thought they were 19th Century."

On the face of it this didn't really make it sound much better.

I wedged the door back into its frame, gave it a friendly pat, polished the fingerprints off with my cuff, and made my way out avoiding everyone's accusing eyes.

I've not been back since. Doesn't seem much point, now that the gunshots have been covered up and the pews go for you if you so much as look at them. And there's only so many giant ear trumpets a man needs to see in his lifetime.
(richardm, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:58, 5 replies)

I don't really spend much time in churches
due to not believing in any of that stuff.

However, the wife to be does and wants us to get married in one. At the recent visits to "show our faces" and see if anyone objects to our marriage, I was told off for saying "Allahu akbar" instead of "Amen", and for apparently "singing hymns in a deliberately silly voice". Just trying to liven things up a bit.

Apologies for lack of funnies, or anything interesting, but as I said I don't really spend much time in churches. Might as well not bothered typing this...
( M3rx likes the Asian ladies, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:57, 1 reply)

Nicosia
On a group tour of some Greek Orthodox Church in Nicosia led by full-on bearded, black-robed, funny-hatted priest who looked and sounded (with the aid of his megaphone) like Brian Blessed.

As we approached a spectacularly tacky gilt crucifix of our Lord I whispered loudly into the ear of my friend, only for "Brian" to take his first pause for breath of the day, thus enabling my comment of

"Nailed the bastard"

to be heard by everyone.
(Dildo Bugger destroyed a ring on, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:54, 1 reply)

Nothing to do with god.
It was November 1989 and I was nine years old at the time. Most of the toys available were merchandise from the Ghostbusters franchise and for my recent birthday I had received a proton blaster (which was effectively a plastic gun, with a projector built into it that projected pictures of various ghostly apparitions onto nearby surfaces.)

I took this round to my best friends at the time, who happened to live opposite the local CofE church. He was a year older than me, and looking back, somewhat of a prick, but upon seeing this, he had an idea that was pure genius. Why not go to the local church's graveyard and we can use the proton blaster to bust actual ghosts?

Of course, I thought this was a fantastic idea! So we waited until it got dark and walked all of the forty-five seconds it took to get to the church yard and begun our busting activities. Unfortunately, due to a lack of actual ghosts we ended up just projecting the images of the ghosts onto headstones whilst mimicing the noise the blasters made in the original film. What we hadn't counted on was that there was a small service happening within the church and their leaving time corresponded perfectly with us projecting an image of one of the more grotesque creatures on a headstone opposite the church entrance.

The screams we heard pretty much told us that we needed to scarper and quickly.

edit: Found the damn thing on the internet! ghostbusters.wikia.com/wiki/Weapon_Action_Figure_Toys_1

It was the one in the top right hand corner that provided the panic! Happy days.
( Muns, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:48, 2 replies)

Reflected Glory
As well as mosques, Shia Islam builds shrines to its various saints, seers and holy men. One of these shrines, the Imamzadeh Ye-Ali Ebne Hamze in Shiraz, is decorated on the inside with hundreds - no, thousands - of mirrored tiles. (There's a video that someone shot inside here.) The place leans dangerously towards being horribly tacky, but irrespective of your taste, it's quite a stunning place to enter for the first time. Having removed my shoes, and gone in, I stood for a moment, taking in the amazing sight.
"Jeeeeesus Christ," I murmured.
And a voice from somewhere over my shoulder said, "Not quite..."
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:41, 3 replies)

Losing my Atheism?
I am a pretty committed Atheist. Not Dawkins level, I'm not going to harangue and hector believers, I'm not going to try to dissuade you from your views or enter an argument with you when we both know at the outset that the other isn't going to change their mind, so don't worry, no lecture coming if you believe. I will just silently judge you and find you intellectually lacking.

Anyway, I have a little secret. When I enter a church, I get this strange feeling come over me that I find hard to describe. I only have to step through the door and I can feel it deep inside of me. It gets worse if I speak to a vicar or priest, it's quite strong then. Gnawing at me, unsettling me, making me think that there is something going on that I need to address. And it's overpowering sometimes. Weddings, funerals, Rememberance Sunday when I used to be forced to go with the Scouts. I sense something so overpowering that I can barely control the urge to tell people about it, I get the overwhelming desire to share, to see if anyone else gets as moved by it in church as I do. It's a sense of something so great that sometimes I want to stand on my feet, raise my hands to the ceiling and yell at the top of my voice 'FUCK I AM BORED!'
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:27, 7 replies)

Lourdes: - this could be a separate topic in itself.

I’m sure there are plenty of you on here who have ventured south across France to ‘help the sick’ – that was why you went wasn’t it?

Not because you were 15-16 and getting spannered at night with 100’s of others, not because of the fantastic girl to boy ratio, not because you were getting a handjob by the river at night… ?

I went 6 times during the 90’s and although you did have to put a shift in and go to mass, the rewards after dinner as 400 teenagers all descended on one bar and tried to carry on from where they left off the night before was priceless. It was pretty much a free for all – 99% of the people there all had the horn big time and as the night goes on – much Stella is consumed. Too much for some… I had many ‘Firsts’ in my time there.

First cigarette
First lads night out on the lash
First blowjob
First time getting caught having a blowjob
First time getting pissed on a train
First time missing a train home
First time I ‘motor-boated’ boobs
First time I shave someones eyebrows

Very fond memories of taking a middle aged chap to the pub on a bed with wheels – he paid for me and my mates for a full 5 hour session on the stella – we had a great afternoon until it was time to go back. – he was bed ridden and we had now lost the ability to walk – we had to request help from the hospital to help push him back home. I still say that he even though we were his main carers and couldn’t look after him, he had a much better day with us in a bar than he would if he had gone to mass – and I guess that’s why he goes every year….

I have nothing but amazing memories of that place and put serious consideration to having my Stag Weekend there, but I guess it wouldn’t be as good now as it will be full of teenagers running around dripping with hormones.

I will go back… one day…
(Pat mustard, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:23, Reply)

The Almighty...
Back in the day I was SERIOUSLY into a band called "The Almighty", these boys however were not a Christian band, oh no...

I proceeded to wear my tour t-shirt to Sunday service one weekend.

All went well, until I removed my coat..

In HUGE letters on the back of the the shirt was the phrase..

All Loud, All Wild, All F***ING MIGHTY..

(With out the censorship)

I was asked to leave and never wear the shirt to church again. I didn't, I did however wear my SLayer - Mandatory Suicide shirt and my Testament - Practice What You Preach shirts without incident.

Oddly, some of the old dears at church thought Testament sounded like a "nice band,, what kind of mucic do they play..."
(Azrael316 Fiss Plaps, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:11, 4 replies)

York Minster
Those of you of as similar vintage to me will remember the York Minster fire of 1984. Well, in 1986, as the restoration was under way, Blue Peter held a competition to design Bosses (look it up if you are not sure) to replace some of those lost in the fire. They had a few categories I think, although I can't remember any other than the one I entered, which was 'Historic Events'. I spent a while wracking my brains trying to think of something worth a memorial before I was struck by genius - just a few months earlier the Space Shuttle Challenger had exploded over Cape Canaveral, killing all those on board. Surely they were worthy of being remembered as more than a string of cruel playground jokes? (What does NASA stand for? Need another seven astronauts; What is an astronauts favourote drink? 7-up; Did you know the pilot was blue eyed? One blew left and one blew right; What were the pilots last words? What does this button do).

So I decided to commemorate the Space Shuttle Disaster of 1986. There are a number of things that I am not sure about anymore though. One, why on earth I thought that they'd want to commemorate an American disaster in a grand old British Cathedral. Two, Even if they had, why I thought they would want to do so with a picture of a blue sky and a branching column of grey smoke with the words 'Challenger, January 1986' under it, and Three, what in earth my parents were thinking when they let me post it, it was more offensive than any of the jokes.

And this is why, when you look up at the ceiling of York Minster, my handiwork is sadly not displayed.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:01, 5 replies)

Least classy wedding I ever went to
A church in Birmingham where a family friend was getting married. This was about 1998. The groom's brother, who - to be fair - I think was mildly mentally handicapped, sat at the back listening to his portable Radio through his headphones during the service. After the bit where everyone applauded the couple kissing, he stood up and shouted "and the Villa have scored, too!", prompting a second round of applause from several of the Groom's mates.

Later, at the reception, the bride complained to the caterers because they'd garnished the plates of sandwiches with a bit of salad, and "no one wants to see salad on a special occasion", and the Best Man told a lovely nostalgic tale about him and the Groom battering two blokes in a pub fight.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:01, 5 replies)

Standing out like a nun at a rodeo
My family isn't religious, so I'm not terribly familiar with the nuances of most religious customs. One thing I have noticed is that people who do know these things assume that everyone around them shares that knowledge and will fail to enlighten newcomers, such as the time I went to my husband's cousin's wedding. Catholics all (save for my husband, who gave it up years ago), and not a one so much as hinted that in addition to the usual wedding goings-on there would be a full Catholic mass.

Out of around 100 people, I was the only one who didn't stand up and get in line to eat the wine/biscuit. Awkward.
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 14:00, 7 replies)

I went round the Ark Royal preservation building once.
It was impressive!
(speedevil, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 13:57, Reply)

turd
nuff.

make that first. up yez
(NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo, Thu 1 Sep 2011, 13:52, 1 reply)