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This is a question The nicest thing someone's ever done for me

In amongst all the tales of bitterness and poo, we occasionally get fluffy stories that bring a small tear to our internet-jaded eyes.

In celebration of this, what is the nicest thing someone's done for you? Whether you thoroughly deserved it or it came out of the blue, tell us of heartwarming, selfless acts by others.

Failing that, what nice things have you done for other people, whether they liked it or not?

(, Thu 2 Oct 2008, 16:14)
Pages: Latest, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, ... 1

This question is now closed.

you lot should be ashamed
A couple of weeks ago i posted this . For some reason everyone ran my recipie down without trying it. Is this the thanks i get here for try in to be nice by posting a recipie for some tasty treats??? Fair enough it may not be as funny as giving your granny some spacecake, but occasionally you need some seriousness in life.
(, Wed 8 Oct 2008, 8:23, 4 replies)
The Nicest Thing
that B3ta could do for me would be to ask a QOTW that I could get my teeth into.

This week has been very warm and fluffy but, let's be honest, there's been precious few laughs.

So how about being nice to me and setting a QOTW I can really go to town on?

(, Wed 8 Oct 2008, 8:07, 11 replies)
Bortherhood of B3tans...
Judging by the replies to this question of the week the world is not such a dark and scary place but does actually some have decent people living in it.

So if anyone feels the need to talk to a complete stranger, it can be about anything i'll sit here and listen, then get in touch via email.

Or if you want to talk to me face to face then let me know and we can get coffee while you tell me what is troubling you....well only if you live / work in High Wycombe cos that's where I work.

So if I can help just get in touch and talk to me.
(, Wed 8 Oct 2008, 7:55, 7 replies)
Thank you, Pappa Ray
Ray was a family friend for years, and 4 years ago he started dating my mum. Twin and I were very happy about it, and 100% approved - even though we're now 34 and have our own lives.

When mum died, we insisted Ray was part of the family to the hospital staff so he could be there. We also included his daughters as part of the family. Well, they are. We may not be related by blood, but Pappa Ray made my mum so very happy.

We just finished having a wonderful dinner followed by drinks as it's my family's last night here in the States, and Pappa Ray picked up the tab.

But never mind that.

Ray, thank you for making mum so incredibly happy, and thank you for taking on the role of dad to two 34 year olds.
You rock, and we love you.

Workboresme and workboresmestwin

(, Wed 8 Oct 2008, 7:24, 1 reply)
This is pretty harrowing
As some of you may know, I play in a traditional band at weddings and ceilidhs etc. Well, a few years back, there was a bit of a lull in the trad scene and I decided to diversify a bit by forming a contemporary singing group. So I got together a bunch of people - my girlfriend of the time, Lisa (one of the fairly sparse times that I was actualy seeing someone regularly!), my old mate Willie, and a girl called Michelle whom we drafted in.

We had a few practices and got together a decent repertoire of standards and chart stuff, albeit we were only singing to backing tapes. We called ourselves Zest, with the hope that the snappy name would get us lots of gigs. It didn't.

Meanwhile, in my day job, I'd been supervising a project student, a Singaporean lad called Nicholas Ang Wan. Singaporeans must be the politest people on this planet. I know as I have had a few students from there over the years. Anyway, Nicholas had invited me and Lisa for a night out with him and his wife, which he was paying for, by way of thanks for my help throughout the previous academic year.

I'll never forget the date. It was Friday 18th May.

Which coincidentally was the date which we got our first gig booking for Zest. With 6 days notice. I was in a quandary - should I take the gig, as it was our only one, or turn it down as Nicholas had asked us out? After a lot of thought, I took the gig and informed Nicholas that I was sorry but we couldn't make dinner. Maybe another time?

He was annoyed, but didn't show it and was very gracious and polite about the situation - even still calling me "sir" as he always did!

So we did the gig.

That night, Nicholas and his wife had made alternative plans. They were going to visit friends in Kirkcaldy, which meant a drive from Dundee down the A92, which is primarily single carriageway despite the volume of traffic it carries. Half way there, they were going round a bend; Nicholas was going a bit fast, and understeered on the wet road, into the path of an oncoming motorcyclist who was speeding towards them on a powerful Yamaha.

The resulting collision sent the biker through the windscreen of the car, colliding partly with Nicholas's wife, but also causing the biker's abdomen to contact the leading edge of the car roof. The entire lower half of his body was torn off, and was found in a lay by 50m away. Mercifully he died instantly at the scene.

Nicholas escaped with only minor injuries but his wife was seriously hurt and ended up in intensive care, and eventually was in hospital for 3 months.

But it gets worse. It turns out that by a cruel twist of fate, I knew the biker. He was an old friend of mine from school, Daniel McKimmie. I hadn't seen him much since then, but we kept up with the odd phone call and e-mail.

As you can imagine, I was inconsolable. I blamed myself for my selfishness in taking on the gig. So much so that Lisa and I left the band, and subsequently split up. The group never did another gig as Zest.

Had I not taken the gig, I reasoned, my old mate would still be alive and Nicholas's wife would not be in hospital.

But Nicholas was amazing. He would come into work regularly, and insist that it was a tragic accident and that it was no fault of mine, while all the time his wife was critically ill in hospital. He even went with me to Daniel's funeral. (Incidentally, he was cleared of any blame for the accident). Eventually, as she recovered, I began to improve too. All thanks to Nicholas and his selfless beneficence.

Which is why I'll never forget the single night Zest sung - N. A. Wan severed Dan.

Ha - beat that, Pooflake, ya bastard!


(, Wed 8 Oct 2008, 6:25, 16 replies)
Another Thing...
edit: Apologies for lack of grammar, spelling etc.. it's 8am and i've had little sleep :)

Let me cast you back to my previous post:

Last night we had to take a fun-filled trip to the emergency room. The girlfriend had decided she wanted to get heart trouble, which is never fun. She couldn't breathe very well etc.
So i called up the guy (at 11pm) mentioned in my previous post and as we have no car and barely any means of transport he came and picked us up, took us to casualty and directed us where to go (everything is in Hindi).

The Doctors were a credit to the indians, they were very professional. Everything was very well done. Aforementioned guy stayed with us until it was all over with and took us back home all the time with a smile on his face, he didn't once complain and we really appreciated it ;)

The girlfriend is feeling better now, we're going back today to get some more tests but they think she has stress arrhythmia so hopefully it shall be ok.

Boot note: Indian casualty is not the place you really want to spend your evening, it's bloody scary. There's just one room with beds and people all laying there who are dying / sick / injured, it's really not pretty. *shudder*
(, Wed 8 Oct 2008, 4:27, Reply)
Something nice I did for a stranger...
I was walking down my high street one day when an old gentleman reclining on a wall begged my attention.

"Yes mate?" I asked

"Hello, could you give me a lift?" he said

"Erm, how d'you mean?" I wondered

"My legs have siezed up, I was wondering if you were going as far as NatWest?" he explained

"Oh, well yes I am so yeah, okay" I agreed

He needed no more encouragement than that to throw his arm around my shoulders and drag me down a good foot and a half so he could support himself. From there to NatWest, about halfway down the roughly mile long high street, he explained to me why he needed this lift. His legs sieze up now and then every since a motorcycle accident when he was FIFTY-FIVE, now 30 years ago.

Weird little story from the this old gent/rocker I suppose, but I got him all the way to NatWest and he lavished me with thanks and appreciation. Still the nicest thing I've ever done for a complete stranger.

EDIT - Spelling corrections...
(, Wed 8 Oct 2008, 2:26, 3 replies)
Thank You
When i was fourteen my grandfather died completely out of the blue. It shocked me to my foundations. This was the one person who kept me going and made me feel safe within my painfully destructive family home. He more or less raised me and supported me through all my decisions. Even though i can't have made any huge life changing decisions at that age i still feel as if he did his best for me in every situation.

He died and i felt incredibly alone. I was angry, broken and afraid. My relationship with my mother was violent and crippling. I had no support and my friends found me difficult to deal with. They didn't really know what was going on behind closed doors at home so i can't blame them for anything.

I stopped going to school and just spent time sitting around town reading, drinking and thinking about what i should do. Making more and more a mess of things.

One day i was sat on a bench in the middle of the battered shopping precint. I don't remember what was on my mind or what i was supposed to be doing that day. I heard the jangling of coins and keys behind me. Something my Grandfather used to do absent mindly alot. I looked up to see an old man, probably of a similar age of my grandfather. He just smiled and said 'Don't worry, you will be okay. He still belives in you'.

I have no idea who that man was, or what urged him to say that to me. But Thank You. A part of me then thought somehow that was my Grandfather talking to me. Just giving me one final push and letting me know i wasn't alone even though he was gone.
(, Wed 8 Oct 2008, 2:03, 2 replies)
I was 14, and for the first time in my life I had friends who liked me. The best out of all of them was Steven. He was a couple years older than me, none too confidant, and a bit plump. But he was fun, kind, and treated me as his equal. So, needless to say, I was madly in love with him, and he seemed to have some feelings for me. But he had a girlfriend in another state, so I had to make do with being his best friend.

As for the nicest thing he ever did - we were sitting on a friend's couch, talking as we always did, when our friend Jackie came up. Jackie was - I assume still is - a rather lovely specimen of of femininity. I must have said something about how I wished I was as cute as she was, when he uttered these fateful words:

"You're cuter than Jackie."

It's been several years since then, and plenty of other boys have called me pretty. I don't think those compliments ever meant as much as that one sentence did, though. It was just the very beginning of my turning into someone worthwhile.

Steven is still my best friend. We've been through a lot - gender crises, a period of ill-advised dating, a break up. I'm having a bit of a hard time right now, and I get the feeling he'll be the first to know the whole story. There's really no one else like him.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 23:32, Reply)
Oh yeah, whilst I remember
Back in February, when I was spiraling out of control (I had split up with my longterm girlfriend and been diagnosed with bipolar type 2, all in the same week) I got chatting to a friend about how people are shitty, etc.

She brought up the fact that she knows a bloke at home who she really likes but doesn't want to ruin their friendship if she asks him out. Me being me, I said "Well, to be honest, you've only got one life, you might as well make the most out of it and ask him out."

She did. They get on fantastically, and are now engaged and due to get married fairly soon.

All because I told her that she should take a risk. I like to think that I made her very happy through a few nice words.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 22:56, Reply)
Not the nicest thing ever
But it was pretty damn nice all the same.

Just a simple, yet huge, thanks to the guy who let me talk to him about all my relationship mess-ups and not want anything in return.

I haven't even known him that long, but now my head is a little straighter even though I still don't think I'll be able to have a "normal" relationship for a while.

Thankyou, and I'll do the same for you if it's ever needed.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 21:26, Reply)
a few weeks before my last birthday,
my wife came into my shop. 10am monday, which isn't unusual. She usually comes in for gas money or to see if we want breakfast. My partner handing me a weeks salary on a monday morning was unusual though. He laughed, told me to leave my keys so he could use my truck for the week, and leave. My wife had somehow gotten my three best friends to take the week off, packed my bags for me and booked three nights in NY, three nights in Boston, and arranged with my family to stay with them for one night in New Hampshire. So my wife, my three friends and I got to watch the last red sox v yankees series in yankee stadium, (where my wife had paid to have "Glen I WIN." put on the scoreboard) watch the white sox v red sox at fenway and be drunk out of our minds for a week. My dad now thinks I'm an alchoholic for showing up on his doorstep 1000 miles away from home hammered, but thats ok. Oh, and my wife is pregnant, so she got to enjoy playing chaperone to four drunk idiots trying to piss off everyone in new england. Apparently they had been planning and saving for it for over six months. I had no idea. Now I have to think of something better than that for her birthday next year.
fantastic. Any ideas?
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 21:16, 2 replies)
Thanks Dad
My parents were in love.
Then they weren't, but I was almost about to pop into the world, so they stuck together for a few more weeks before he vanished after taking me to the Registry office to give me my name.
Dad thought it was funny, and probably something to annoy my mum with my real christian name.
Not an ambiguous name, Vivien I could live with, Lesley or Kim...
Needless to say I got used to my mum using my middle name.
And then I went to school, and they had registration WHERE YOUR NAME WAS CALLED OUT !!
No sooner had the kids at infants got used to it (and learnt to use it at their own risk) than there was juniors... then seniors...
I learnt to control my temper, sometimes, and solved problems more with wit than fists.

Work, I managed somehow to avoid ever providing official proof of my name.

Romance, I made the mistake of telling one of my first girlfriends who after drying her pants told me it was her sisters name.

Roll forward to my 21st birthday party, friends took me into Manchester and we ended up at a club.
There he was.
I recognised him from pictures my mum had kept for me, trimming herself off them in an attempt to get distance between them.
I'd already got a couple of drinks in me, so I went over and asked if he was paofpao2. Getting an affirmative answer, I introduced myself and threw a punch.
He went over, but shot straight back up with what I thought was a broken glass but turned out to be a knife, and sliced at my face but luckily missed and caught my ear.
We both got caught up by the bouncers and slung into a back alley where we carried on until we were both so knackered that as my last punch dropped him I fell on top and found the knife just by my hand.
I lifted it up, expecting him to ask for mercy but all I got was laughter.
"Your mums a bitch, you know that don't you?"
"She's my mum."
"And if you gave her chance she'd wipe your arse for you, wouldn't she?"
Well, okay, my mums a bit stifling, she'd wanted to come on my bloody night out with my mates for goodness sake. And I can be certain of an ironed pair of underpants whenever I want them.
"So, I knew I wasn't going to stick around to help you, so I did the best I could. And lets face it, if it had been down to your mum you'd never have fought like that, would you?"

I dropped the knife.
He was right, it was his trip to the registry office that had made me the man I was.
We hugged, got let back in and drank the night away.

But, at the end of the day, if I ever have a son, I'm going to call him Bob, or George, or Harry.... anything but Sue.

Length: 5-10 in Folsom.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 19:58, 4 replies)
Dunno where this fits in, but...
A few years ago Mr Quar obtained a pair of free tickets to see Robbie Williams, who was then at the height of his popularity.

The idea was to offer the tickets to my teenage daughter and a friend of her choosing, and we'd drive them to and from the gig.

Daughter immediately chose a girl called Samantha, whom she didn't know very well but who was a HUGE Robbie fan. Samantha had even done her GCSE Art project on Robbie images.

So off they went together, Samantha gibbering with excitement, and had a great time.

How kind of the young Juanette to take Samantha instead of a close mate. Made her Mum cry, it did.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 19:54, Reply)
On a few occasions a lady
let me put my winkie into their special hidden mummy place.

That's right, the laundry basket in the airing cupboard next to the bathroom.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 19:45, 2 replies)
my mate
sorted me out with a quart of weed for a tenner..

unfortunatly I never recieved it due to certain circumstances, he was in a rush, he forgot to pick it up, his brother stole it, his dog stole it, etc..

he was also going to buy my mate a weekend download ticket..
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 19:25, Reply)
The Police
At the beginning of this year I was going to see 'The Police' perform in Manchester. I've alway's been a big fan, and as a classical music buff too, I'm really into the lute stuff that Sting has been doing.

I used to work backstage at our local theatre, and I knew a few contacts, so I made a couple of calls and got in touch with the assistant stage manager for the gig to see if he could get me backstage to meet the band after the show. I didn't expect to hear anything, but a week before the gig, an envelope arrived - with a backstage pass in it!

I was chuffed to frigging bits! I went to the gig, and decided to slip backstage to see if I could spot anyone before the show. I showed my pass and was allowed straight in - to almost bump straight into the front man himself! I couldn't help but notice that he was looking a bit more frail than I remembered him.

"Wow, hello Mr. Sting," I said, "It's great to meet you. I must say, you've lost some weight."

"Fuck off, " said Sting, "I've got a gig to do, you twat."

Although he was downright rude to me, I was still grateful to my pal who'd got the pass for me, that was 'thin arsey Sting' someone's done for me.

Gosh, is that the time?

(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 19:11, 4 replies)
Parents, who'd have 'em?
My mother's compulsive lying and her gambling addiction (which I just found out about, woo), plus my in-denial, verbally-abusive father have generally taught me that you really can't trust most supposedly "decent" folk, and that blood is approximately the same consistency as water.

Ahh, life lessons well and truly illustrated. Thanks mum and dad, sure was nice of you to demonstrate them firsthand.

Honestly, though, I have a lot of friends (and bosses!) who have been amazingly kind and understanding even when I was being a total idiot. No one should have to deal with me on a daily basis, much less me when I'm whining and generally making an ass of myself, and I applaud those who can and have, and who hopefully don't think much less of me for it.

Sorry for bitterness, lack of funny and general rantyness, it makes up for not having any length...
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 18:48, Reply)
I was at a mini-rave on the grounds of the UEA about (ooohhh...) 7 years ago.

Anyway - usual rave things (well - for the time, this was in my pre-mashed-off-my-face-pillmunching-rave-loony-days) were going on. Including hippies whirling firy sticks and things around.

Included in the whirly fire crew was a shortish, prettyish girlie doing fire-poy.

(Firey marshmallows on the ends of chains for those that don't know - all very trippy when you are hammered).

This girl had that extremely tightly curled hair like some girls do, and she was wearing it in the typical "bolt it down with hair clips" way.

What this meant was that when she lost control of the firepoy and it bounced off her head was that, when her hair caught alight, she didn't notice, due to the think layer of hair between fire and skull.

Now the thing is there were probably 50 or 60 people stood about watching her, standing there sorting out the now tangled poy, doing a reasonably successful candle impression too.

I was one of them briefly, until I realised that she really hadn't noticed that her head was on fire, and that it was only going to get worse.

So what did I do. I calmly wandered over to her patted the fire out, asked if she was "alright" and wandered off.

So there is my good deed.

What I realised later is that she probably didn't know her head was ablaze so from her perspective

"I was doing poy at this party, right. I fucked it up and was untangling them when this random guy just wandered over, patted me on the head, looked me in the eye and said "Alright?" before just wanderin off. What a patronising cunt!"

I am assuming that either a) her friends pointed out my kindness b) she found a welded matt of burned hair in the morning c) she still remembers that night some patronising cunt patted her on the head like you would a slightly stupid puppy.

I think option C is the best.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 18:11, 4 replies)
To The Mrs
This has to go to the Mrs for putting up with me.

I was in and out of foster care as a sprog and as such have what can best be described as "attachment issues".

I learnt at a young age that the only constant thing in my life at that time was me and as such pretty well did what I needed to do to get by on my own.

One ex wife and a shed load of failed relationships later I started to date the Mrs.

Well we'd been together a few years and were bumbling along as we do when out of the blue she informed me that I was about to be a dad.

Let's just say I was not best pleased, I was terrified.

How could "I" know how to bring up a kid, I'd had a shit time myself as a sprog, would history repeat itself?

There would be none of this "my world" any more I'd have responsibilities, somebody to have to "really" care for, look after.

How the fcuk would I do that?

How do you do that??????

It wasn't my place to tell her to get rid of it but she knew how I felt, dark silent moods, I didn't do the antenatal classes, I had the snip "before" the bairn was born to make sure there would be no more "mistakes", hell I was even at home in bed "when" the bairn was born.............

Really, really not nice..........

But when I first set eye's on my daughter my life changed.

So this is for the wife for putting up with me and living through nine months of hell because of me when they should have been some of the best days of her life.

This is for the wife for teaching me what patience and love and respect is, for allowing me to stay in her life and live in a family that's there.

This is for the wife who could see past the distant stares, who could see past the feigned indifference

This is to the Mrs for giving me a life that I never knew could be so good...... for giving me the best twelve years of my life so far.

(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 18:03, 5 replies)
My great grandad was far too kind.
My great great grandad was a rich man. He had done well on the stock market and had a fair few country houses. He was also a very generous man as epitomised by the scene on his deathbed (As told by Granny Foz)..

Now having many houses means the upkeep on them is phenomenally difficult. How muc you say? Well back then, you'd have a gardener, a maid and a butler, as well as a nanny, a few lesser servants and who knows? Maybe a lady of the night for good measure.

On his final day the butler, main kitchen maid and gardener were called to be outside his room for the final goodbyes. The butler of the main estate, where my great great grandad was dying. was called into his room for a private word.

"Alfie", he says, "You have been of great service to me over the years. For 33 years you have answered my calls, helped to host my extravagant parties and read me bedtime stories. For this great service I am going to give you Conniston Hall, my home near the Lakes. It has water views and 33 rooms. Enjoy."

Alfie is stunned by this and bows his way out of the room after a heartfelt final goodbye. He whispers to the kitchen maid, Roberta, that she has been called for.

Roberta wanders into the room and is about to launch into an emotionally charged speech on how much she will miss my great great grandfather. But he silences her with a wave of the hand.

"Roberta. You have been in my service for eighteen years. You have always provided the finest quality food no matter if it was caviar or that fine foie gras you do for me on Sunday evenings. You always cook up the most unbelievable buffets for my renowned dinners with the wealthy, and you have always mesmerised my tastebuds with your flavours. For this kind and loyal service I am going to give you Hardacres Hall. It is found in the New Forest and has a wonderful 24 rooms. I hope you enjoy it."

Roberta, like Alfie, tearfully thanks her boss and exits the room, telling Gerald the gardener he has been called for. Gerald enters the sumptious surroundings still in his dirty boots, but alas, my great great grandfather is too unwell to force the man to take them off before entering.

"Gerald, Gerald, Gerald. What can I say? when you arrived fourteen years ago, this estate had the finest garden in the UK. The grass was neatly trimmed daily, the maze was revered across the world and the flowers were beautiful. And the river! Oh the river was so clean you could drink it with no fear of illness. But..." Continues my great great grandad, "...Since that time, the grass is overgrown and creeping into my window, the maze has no obvious pathways and flowers downright refuse to be planted in the grounds - they wither and die upon impact with the soil. Finally my river went murky brown a few years ago and has since dried up and disappeared to be replaced by what Alfie tells me is being called amongst staff 'The Great Sludge.' For this service I have no choice but to give you bugger all."

"And how many rooms has that got?"

Sorry for length but i love that joke...
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 18:01, Reply)
My Old Boss (Yes there are a few good ones out there)
I have been working at the same company for 9 years now, Last year the directors decided to sell the company.

so the owner left after this & I have not heard from him since...... Untill

he came to see me the other day & had an envelope with my name on it. I opened it up & I could not believe what I saw

A cheque for 5,000

He just said it was a little thank you for my support over the years.

now that is a nice boss to give me that from his own money !
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 17:41, 2 replies)
Many people have done nice things for me.
But a little girl broke me up and, at the same time, made me feel better about myself as a person.

I'm a divorcee with 2 grown-up girls, I have a great G/F with a 10 yr old daughter. She's a little ray of joy, an intelligent, caring and talented pretty little thing who doesn't deserve all she's been through. She was a miracle baby for her mother after years of trying and many heartbreaking failed pregnancies. Her father is a philandering thoughtless self-centred fuckhead with all the empathy of a rabid rottweiler. To cap all that, he's a control freak who's shacked up with a loonball violent drunk.
Over the last weeks I've been going with my G/F and her daughter to see secondary schools. Her dad is pressuring her to go to a particular school, pressure she doesn't need at the moment with the 11+ and her beloved grandfather in hospital, probably for the last time.
Anyhoo, when touring the schools I've been referred to as "Dad" by the staff many times. I gently point out (out of her earshot) to the staff that I'm not actually her dad. No biggie in this age of divorce.

A couple of nights ago I was sitting watching TV (ooh, how domestic!) with her snuggled in to my not inconsiderable shoulder when she asked "Does it bother you when people think you're my dad?"
I replied "Not at all munchkin, I'd be proud to have you as my daughter".

She thought for a bit.

"Sometimes people ask if you ARE my dad, I don't like telling them you're not, 'cos I really wish you were."

I found it hard not to cry.
I feel I wasn't the best dad I could have been to my own two daughters, too self-absorbed, too angry at the world, too tied up in my own career etc etc.
This little girl with all the world on her all-too-young shoulders made me feel I CAN be a better person.

I'm filling up.

Thanks to you Emily, I AM going to be the best dad in the world, you deserve it.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 17:25, 11 replies)
A nice thing just happened to me
But as it was an inanimate object rather than a person who did it it prolly doesn't count.

Still, it made me smile, so I shall recount it here.

I was driving along and saw some traffic lights up ahead. Temporary ones for roadworks. They were green and I could see a car waiting at the other end. As I approached they turned red, and I reproached myself for not having my green light manifestation switched on today. Must try harder, I thought.

And they turned green again! Not more than two seconds after they'd turned red, they went green, just for me! "Oh it's you!" they seemed to say, "come on through!"

I did a big grin and felt that the gods of traffic lights were smiling upon me. I drove through and smiled and shrugged at the lady still waiting at the other end. She scowled and edged closer to the lights...

I'm sure there's a pithy moral to this. Think positive and the universe will play along. Scowl, and you'll get red lights while some other jammy sod gets home slightly quicker.

Either that or they were broken.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 17:06, Reply)
I hit a guy in the face with my surfboard
some of you will have heard this story.

It was part accident on my part, and part dumbarsery on his for not getting out of the way.

I then had to save him from drowning.

Then he came to try and pick a fight with me in the car park afterwards....

edit: I'm sure when I wrote this that I intended to put a bit about something nice happening in it...can't remember what that was though.

we'll make do with: I saved a guy from drowning (although it was partly my fault anyway)
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 17:03, Reply)
I did a nice thing for someone once.....
I was on holiday in Dorset with my brother in law, We stopped in a busy pub for a pint and on the floor I found a wallet that was literally bulging with money, Now I am not any sort of angel but on this particular day felt sorry that someone had probably lost their holiday spending money. I handed the wallet in behind the bar with all of the money still there, ten minutes later a guy looking rather flustered approached my table and asked if I had seen his wallet, I said yes and stated that I had given it to the guy behind the bar, guy got his wallet and money and left without even saying thanks to me.....
Miserable sod put me off doing any more good deeds in this life.

Lenth, about six inches when stuffed with cash, If I see the Bloke again I'll feed it to him.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 16:52, 1 reply)
A couple of days ago
I was just comming to the curb at a Pelican crossing when I glanced at a message on my phone. I could see the lights were green, and I had seen the approaching bus. But the driver, seeing me looking down, at my phone gave a little bib on his horn just to make sure I didn't step out.

What a top man. Most drivers act as if nothing ever's going to go wrong, and claim 'it was an accident' when they've smeared some poor bastard up the road. This guy was taking care and responsibility towards strangers...and I like that.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 16:50, 1 reply)
Really really nice.
When I was a kid, we had this mog. Ugly mofo he was too, but he was special - being a male tortoiseshell. A genetic freak. (1 in a million).

We entered him in a show once (simmer), he must have thought it was a doddle, show 'em your nuts and win a prize!!!!!
We came back to the cage to find it liberally festooned with **first prize** rozettes.

But this aint about that judge - it's about you lot, out there in the ether, tapping away, looking busy.

Sometimes, when I open up and try to write eloquently, if the story cuts it too, you notice.

Coming back to find comments on my posts or occasionally best of, fair warms my cockles.

Cheers :)
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 16:40, 2 replies)
For a lovely lady.
I was mercilessly bullied at school. Graffiti about me adorned the girl's toilet walls, taunts followed me around the corridors, I was spat at and everyday people would shout at me that they hated me. I had very few friends and felt very much alone when I attempted to take my own life for the second time at 15 years old.

Dosed up to the eyeballs on antidepressants, I left hospital a few weeks later.
In a bid to cheer me up a few friends took me to a gig at a local sports club.
I'm sure many of you have been to something similar, drinking illicit cans of cider and having a crafty fag at the back of the hall while 17 year old boys with shaggy hair and bum fluff saunter about trying to impress the girls.
Everything was going well and for the first time in months I was actually having a good time.

I met a boy a few years older than me. He was funny, charming, engaging, well liked and good looking. Everything I was not.

I didn't resist when he tried to kiss me.

When it was time for me to leave he became slightly more forceful and then progressively more agressive. I tried to get away but he was stronger than me. He pulled me down an alley way, hit me, muffled my cries with his hand and raped me.

I was in counselling at the time of the attack at it lasted for a few months afterwards. It didn't help though, I was overwhelmed by everything and was sick of talking about my feelings all of the time.

Not a day has gone by without me thinking about that night. I was so vulnerable at that time and just as I thought things might be getting better for me something happened that very nearly destroyed me. I sometimes even now still have nightmares.

I was going through a really rough patch a few months ago, everything caught up with me and I was pretty close to the edge. I was so desperate for someone to talk to but so scared of being a burden on my friends and family.

Then, I saw two posts on the 'This book changed my life' QOTW written by two women who had been in similar situations.

I contacted one and have since met her.
She is an amazingly strong, brave, caring and truly wonderful person.

I really hope she doesn't mind me posting this but I wanted to say. Without her I wouldn't have had the courage to go to my GP and rape crisis and ask for the help I needed.

She made me realise I don't have to be alone.

That is without a doubt, the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 16:40, 18 replies)
Way back in July 2002 - I was working as a ski-tech in the Australian ski resort of Thredbo. Fitting skis and boots in the morning, skiing at lunch time and then collecting skis and boots in the afternoon. Hard work, but there was great snow and sunny weather...

Anyways, one particularly fine day it seemed a good idea to ski at lunch in nothing but combat trousers and a t-shirt. Bearing in mind that the Australian sun is a cruel beast at the best of times. 1000m above sea level and the snow reflecting everything the sun could throw back up again, was to be an interesting experience.

Back at work after an hour of zipping about the mountain, I started to get a bit dizzy. Then a lot dizzy. Then really nauseous. Then a bit hallucinating.
I managed to zig zag over to Bob the boss and dribble something about 'sick...dizzy...home'.

Bob was great. The only man who could get away with a silver foil puffa jacket, orange ski pants and mirrored goggles. Actually, I'm not sure he got away with it, but he wore the combination with no shame and talked about the weather a lot to distract from his shinyness.

Luckily, one of my flatmates Saskia worked in the ticket office and they finished at 2pm, so I met up with her and we went to hitchhike back to Jindabyne, the local town where all the workers lived.

A nice coach driver let us get on board and he drove us the 30km back down the mountain to Jindabyne. Very nice drive, wombats, kangaroos and wild horses to gawp at.
For me though, getting on the coach is the last memory I have of the trip.

The next thing I know, is that I'm in bed and it's after 9pm. Saskia is bringing me a cup of tea that I apparently just asked for.
Five minutes later and I'm feeling tons better, the nausea has gone, I'm not seeing things and I'm not talking like a tramp on his third bottle of Absinthe.

Apparently, I turned into a delirious wreck for 6 hours and Saskia was deliberating whether to call for an ambulance or not when I lucidly requested a cup of tea.
Clearly my subconcious knew what was required.

So I have to thank Saskia, for getting me home and making me the best cup of tea I've ever had.

I think the lesson here is:

Don't go skiing in the Australian sun without a load of sunscreen, a hat and a flask of tea.

Or you'll get really bad sunstroke.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 16:03, Reply)

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