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This is a question Dad stories

"Do anything good for your birthday?" one of your friendly B3TA moderator team asked in one of those father/son phone calls that last two minutes. "Yep," he said, "Your mum." Tell us about dads, lack of dad and being a dad.

Suggested by bROKEN aRROW

(, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 11:50)
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There are many many stories I could tell about my dad
but here are a few memories that leap to mind:

The first time my best mate AJ ever came round to my house, we were watching Bottom live 3 in my bedroom when this sort of "Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyoooooooooooooooooooooown!" noise came from downstairs.

Aj looked at me: "What was that?"

"What was what?"

-"Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyooooooooooooooooown! Neeeyown! Neeeeeeeeeeeeyown", it came again -

"That."

"Oh, my Dad's downstairs, watching the late night F1 highlights..."

On his own. Drunk.

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We were staying with a friend of his in Brighton for the weekend, and had gone for several beers around town. We were quite drunk by this point, and had found our way to a pub in Brighton that used to be a church (don't know the name of it. Anyone care to enlighten me?).

The pub was a horseshoe shape with a kind of balcony that went all the way round, looking down into the bar below. On the back wall of the bar were a load of plaques for different beers, screwed into the wall. We got to talking about them. Jeff, my Dad's mate who we were visiting, pointed one out for Boddingtons:

"They've got a Boddies, Manchester one there..."

"Oh yeah..."

"That'd look good on your wall..."

"Yeah, it would..."

Then they got up to go to the toilet. Or so I assumed.

40 seconds or so later I see them, dangling over the balcony precariously, trying to unscrew this plaque from the wall about 15 feet above the barmans head. My Dad was about 48 at this point.

I have no idea where they got the screwdriver from.

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We used to have a caravan in the Lake District that we would go and stay at occasionally on weekends. I remember we were driving up the motorway, when my Dad decided to pull in for petrol. He turned off the motorway, onto the road leading to the service station, when another car that almost missed the turning also, pulled sharply off the motorway and into the back of us.

My Dad lost his rag. Which, believe me, is a sight to behold. He's basically a bigger, angrier, swearier version of me.

"Oh for fucks sake!! That fucking idiot just went right into the fucking back of us!!! Fucking tosser!!!" etc..

My Mum is saying to him "calm down, it was an accident. Don't do anything stupid".

But he's raging. He's about ready to clock someone I'm thinking.

He jumps out of the car, slams the door behind him, and marches over to the other car to yell at this prat thats gone into us.

The door of the other car opens, and this tall, slim, young and attractive blonde girl gets out:

"Oh God, I'm so sorry!! I missed the turning and I didn't see you on the road!!!"

My Dad, who is red in the face, fists clenched, teeth gritted goes, suddenly as jovial as could be:

"It's fine love, it was an accident. Couldn't be helped!"

He then returned to the car and sat back in the drivers seat. My Mum looked over at him and went: "Pathetic."

"Shut up."

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I have many other fond memories that aren't violence or alcohol related too, just to clarify...
(, Sat 27 Nov 2010, 17:16, closed)
If you're still interested...
it's the Font and Firkin.
(, Tue 30 Nov 2010, 15:31, closed)

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