» Shame

Caravan Strokes
When I was in my teens my mother had this mad idea that caravaning was fun.

I hated it because (a) my father snored like a chainsaw and (b) it gave little opportunity to practice for Onan's-Olympics which I did daily at the time.

However one hot day everyone went out and I was left alone. I had started to have a Sherman in the foul-smelling tiny cubicle optimistically called a toilet but was driven out by the fumes. So I thought that as there was no-one about I'd get down to it on one of the comfortable beds.

I'm just getting to the vinegar strokes when I look up and see one of my parents' friends (and old biddy) is standing at the door and watching me through the window. Before I can re-arrange my clothing she's gone but I could never look her in the face directly afterwards.

I also learnt that the showers of the campsite gave more privacy after that and never, ever to go camping again!
(Tue 29th Nov 2005, 4:48, More)

» Airport Stories

Mussels from Brussels
I had a business trip to Brussels which involved an overnight stop and flying back to Heathrow for a meeting early the next morning. So I went out on the town and made a new friend with whom I got seriously drunk and seriously laid.

Next morning I woke late and took the taxi ride of death to the airport and somehow managed to check-in, where I was told to rush to the gate as the plane was ready go.

Moving quickly had a deteriorating effect on my stomach but I managed to keep it together until I walked along the ramp to the plane, when I felt one of my infamous projectile vomit moments coming on. I spotted the door leading to the tarmac near the end of the ramp but it was locked, so I decorated the door handle with Belgian mussels and beer and then walked onto the plane - to be greeted by the cheery smile of the hostess and the disgruntled faces of the delayed passengers - which was nothing compared to the look of horror from the ground staff who was opening the door behind me.

When I got to Heathrow I felt so terrible I called in sick and went to the cafe to recover before going into work 3 hours late.

Conclusions:
- Mussels smell really bad when mixed with beer and stomach acid for 8 hours.
- Got my own back on the ground staff who piss about with the ramp for 20 minutes when you're trying to get off the place, twats.
- Belgian beer gets you laid.

Apologies for length and putting you off your breakfast.
(Wed 8th Mar 2006, 3:44, More)

» Hoarding

More Stationary Than Staples
Not me but my partner is an avid collector of stationary:
- He has drawers full of 100s of pens only half of which work and most of which he steals - although not from shops. His doctor had to chase after him as he left the surgery having "borrowed" his pen recently.
- He has piles of pads turning yellow on shelves with paper that crumbles if you try writing on one
- He has a huge collection of bulldog clips, rulers, paperclips - you name it.

He's a former civil servant and I was talking to the wife of one if his ex colleagues recently who told me her husband is the same - he even collects restaurant serviettes!

The only useful item in all of this stuff are the paperclips which he uses to clean the wax from his ears - nice!

Length? - about 2 inches once you've created a narrow loop in the wire.
(Sat 5th May 2012, 10:40, More)

» Job Interviews

Interviewing when hungover
I went to an interview having with a masive hangover having been to a party the night before.

After the interview with the prospective new boss during which I'm struggling to hold down my breakfst, I'm introduced to the management team who are having a meeting.

"How did you get into this industry?", one asked.

"I started studing accountancy", I replied, "but I couldn't face life as a boring accountant" (true).

Big laugh all round and then I'm introduced to the Accounts Manager - Richard Head!

Thanks to the hangover, I just managed to keep a straight face and after handshakes all round, I left to go back home to bed.

Got the job too!
(Sat 22nd Jan 2005, 8:40, More)

» God

Never trust an alter boy...
My SO was once a fervent practising catholic - and a god-fearing, nun-fearing alter boy - but he quickly learnt he was going to hell..

One of his duties was to pour the wine and water for the communion while the priest held the chalice. But after pouring in just a couple of drops of wine, he quickly tipped in all the water and ended up in a fight with the priest who wanted more wine - much to the consternation of the watching nuns.

Another duty was to put out a cushion for the priest when he knelt to pray. One Sunday, while showing off to his mates, he swished out the cushion and just as the priest was kneeling down he swished it away again so the priest's knees cracked onto the marble altar - another gasp from the nuns.

To cap it all he molested a young priest who had come to offer him solace after he'd injured himself playing rugby - leading to a private tryst in the boat-shed (á la Maurice) and a very public exposure when they were discovered.

Finally he ended up in a seminary(!) and after a year they had a grand parade in their new blue cloaks to be presented to the Cardinal in the chapel. This required a solo parade down the aisle - only his cloak had been tailored like Batman's so he flapped it out and swooped down the aisle - more gasps from the nuns...and his cloak wings were rapidly clipped!

Strangely, he left the seminary soon after and became a practising homosexual instead!
(Wed 25th Mar 2009, 1:53, More)