Profile for naeonlite:
Been a while since I was here last and my old hosting has long since died. These are some bits and bobs I managed to find by hunting through my archives:
This is the image I did for the Mark Thomas Coke Nazi Challenge.
Recent front page messages:
Best answers to questions:
[read all their answers]
- a member for 20 years, 4 months and 13 days
- has posted 297 messages on the main board
- (of which 3 have appeared on the front page)
- has posted 0 messages on the talk board
- has posted 0 messages on the links board
- has posted 15 stories and 0 replies on question of the week
- They liked 2 pictures, 0 links, 0 talk posts, and 9 qotw answers.
- Ignore this user
- Add this user as a friend
- send me a message
Been a while since I was here last and my old hosting has long since died. These are some bits and bobs I managed to find by hunting through my archives:
This is the image I did for the Mark Thomas Coke Nazi Challenge.
Recent front page messages:
I really have no idea
But it was kind of fun to make (and frontpaged so doubly fun - thankyou very much!)
(Wed 7th Jul 2004, 11:08, More)
But it was kind of fun to make (and frontpaged so doubly fun - thankyou very much!)
(Wed 7th Jul 2004, 11:08, More)
Olympic Blind Showjumping Final
Ooh, first frontpage. And thus a tenuous reaon to go to the pub. Thankyou very much!
(Tue 6th Apr 2004, 17:15, More)
Ooh, first frontpage. And thus a tenuous reaon to go to the pub. Thankyou very much!
(Tue 6th Apr 2004, 17:15, More)
Best answers to questions:
» Pure Ignorance
Hmm
Whilst on holiday once I saw a little boy point at a palm tree bearing several large coconuts and ask his father "What kind of tree is that Dad?" His father glanced up and replied "It's a palm tree". The lad looked at the tree in wonder and then added "What kind of fruit is that growing on it?" In a masterpiece of idiocy his father informed him "I dunno son, I think it's bananas."
One nice sunny afternoon I marched out of the back door with a bucket of soapy water to clean my car with in one hand and a portable stereo in the other. My mother called after me "Be careful not to put the stereo in the bucket" Eh?
(Fri 7th Jan 2005, 14:29, More)
Hmm
Whilst on holiday once I saw a little boy point at a palm tree bearing several large coconuts and ask his father "What kind of tree is that Dad?" His father glanced up and replied "It's a palm tree". The lad looked at the tree in wonder and then added "What kind of fruit is that growing on it?" In a masterpiece of idiocy his father informed him "I dunno son, I think it's bananas."
One nice sunny afternoon I marched out of the back door with a bucket of soapy water to clean my car with in one hand and a portable stereo in the other. My mother called after me "Be careful not to put the stereo in the bucket" Eh?
(Fri 7th Jan 2005, 14:29, More)
» I'm an expert
Every company I've worked for since university
has gone bankrupt. That's 4 companies in 5 years.
I am an expert in dealing with winding-up forms, fending off bailiffs and opening redundancy notices.
According to a recruiter I spoke to this morning I am "cursed" but I prefer to see it as being an unintentional expert at picking the least stable working environment.
(Mon 27th Jun 2005, 14:44, More)
Every company I've worked for since university
has gone bankrupt. That's 4 companies in 5 years.
I am an expert in dealing with winding-up forms, fending off bailiffs and opening redundancy notices.
According to a recruiter I spoke to this morning I am "cursed" but I prefer to see it as being an unintentional expert at picking the least stable working environment.
(Mon 27th Jun 2005, 14:44, More)
» Guilty Pleasures
I love
the smell of new Apple Macs. Don't know why, I'm not a Mac obsessive by any means but the smell when you open the box is like nothing else. I think Apple spray it in. Tragically I still have the box my iBook came in 4 years ago, and I still open it and smell it from time to time.
There's probably more, I'll post when I think of them.
(Thu 7th Apr 2005, 14:03, More)
I love
the smell of new Apple Macs. Don't know why, I'm not a Mac obsessive by any means but the smell when you open the box is like nothing else. I think Apple spray it in. Tragically I still have the box my iBook came in 4 years ago, and I still open it and smell it from time to time.
There's probably more, I'll post when I think of them.
(Thu 7th Apr 2005, 14:03, More)
» Terrible food
Yet another student-based answer
I had limited culinary skills but they were better than any of my housemates' and I'd been single-handedly keeping us all alive for the previous 9 months on a diet of spag bols, shepherds pies and chilli. But by the final night of the academic year we were completely, completely skint and the fridge and cupboards were empty.
"Never fear", announced one of my partners-in-crime. "I've been saving something for a situation like this". And he promptly marched off to his room, returning with a large brown cardboard box. "It's EU Aid Food!", he told us, as he proudly unpacked can after unidentifiable can. "You know, like they parachute into earthquake victims and stuff? I got it off my Dad. Can we make something from this?". All the cans were identical and were stamped "Beef Mix - Long Life" in half a dozen languages. It was a sickly grey colour but I figured that by this stage in the proceedings we weren't too fussy. So I elected to make a meat pie from it.
We pooled our meagre resources and one of us was despatched to the corner shop to buy an onion while I made some pastry. I then drained as much liquid as I could from a couple of the cans and fried off the meat and the onion. Then I made a heavy gravy from the last of the Bisto, put the pie together and stuck it into the oven.
Once cooked, we all settled down in the living room with a hearty slice, congraulating ourselves on our good fortune at having made it to the end of term without starving to death. The bloke sitting opposite me sank his teeth into his portion in an exploratory way and we watched fascinated as his face turned greyer than the colour of the meat. I'd already bitten down on mine so I was busy retching gently while he was describing it loudly as tasting, smelling and feeling like "fucking catfood". Its been nearly 8 years since then but occasionally I still wake in the morning with a hangover after a drinking session and I can taste the salty, slightly metallic and darkly lumpy catfood pie at the back of my throat.
(Thu 17th May 2007, 17:35, More)
Yet another student-based answer
I had limited culinary skills but they were better than any of my housemates' and I'd been single-handedly keeping us all alive for the previous 9 months on a diet of spag bols, shepherds pies and chilli. But by the final night of the academic year we were completely, completely skint and the fridge and cupboards were empty.
"Never fear", announced one of my partners-in-crime. "I've been saving something for a situation like this". And he promptly marched off to his room, returning with a large brown cardboard box. "It's EU Aid Food!", he told us, as he proudly unpacked can after unidentifiable can. "You know, like they parachute into earthquake victims and stuff? I got it off my Dad. Can we make something from this?". All the cans were identical and were stamped "Beef Mix - Long Life" in half a dozen languages. It was a sickly grey colour but I figured that by this stage in the proceedings we weren't too fussy. So I elected to make a meat pie from it.
We pooled our meagre resources and one of us was despatched to the corner shop to buy an onion while I made some pastry. I then drained as much liquid as I could from a couple of the cans and fried off the meat and the onion. Then I made a heavy gravy from the last of the Bisto, put the pie together and stuck it into the oven.
Once cooked, we all settled down in the living room with a hearty slice, congraulating ourselves on our good fortune at having made it to the end of term without starving to death. The bloke sitting opposite me sank his teeth into his portion in an exploratory way and we watched fascinated as his face turned greyer than the colour of the meat. I'd already bitten down on mine so I was busy retching gently while he was describing it loudly as tasting, smelling and feeling like "fucking catfood". Its been nearly 8 years since then but occasionally I still wake in the morning with a hangover after a drinking session and I can taste the salty, slightly metallic and darkly lumpy catfood pie at the back of my throat.
(Thu 17th May 2007, 17:35, More)
» Jobsworths
South West Trains
Valentine's Day this year, I have been out for a very nice time in London and we're heading back out to my house in the suburbs. We board a train at Waterloo taking us in the right direction and sit down. The departures board states simply that the train is going to the right place and stopping at my station. Fine.
The ticket inspector bloke had already been along, checked our tickets (which state clearly where we're getting off) and wandered off seeming happy enough. About 10 seconds before we pull into our station he announces over the tannoy that the train is two coaches too long for the next station and passengers in the last two carriages should move up the train to alight. Guess where we are sitting? That's right! The final carriage, in fact in the last row of seats.
Well we moved as fast as we could, struggling between the misaligned seats and through those stupidly slow automatic connecting doors, arriving at the first accessible door to the outside world as the guard stood next to it is pushing the button to set the train off. He won't stop it for us, instead preferring to lecture me on the importance of checking the length of the train before boarding (and ignoring my protestations that he KNEW we'd be getting off here as he'd checked my ticket).
The next station up the line is only 2 minutes away by train though. Or 20 minutes walk. In the cold. Through a dodgy estate. How romantic.
(Mon 16th May 2005, 17:53, More)
South West Trains
Valentine's Day this year, I have been out for a very nice time in London and we're heading back out to my house in the suburbs. We board a train at Waterloo taking us in the right direction and sit down. The departures board states simply that the train is going to the right place and stopping at my station. Fine.
The ticket inspector bloke had already been along, checked our tickets (which state clearly where we're getting off) and wandered off seeming happy enough. About 10 seconds before we pull into our station he announces over the tannoy that the train is two coaches too long for the next station and passengers in the last two carriages should move up the train to alight. Guess where we are sitting? That's right! The final carriage, in fact in the last row of seats.
Well we moved as fast as we could, struggling between the misaligned seats and through those stupidly slow automatic connecting doors, arriving at the first accessible door to the outside world as the guard stood next to it is pushing the button to set the train off. He won't stop it for us, instead preferring to lecture me on the importance of checking the length of the train before boarding (and ignoring my protestations that he KNEW we'd be getting off here as he'd checked my ticket).
The next station up the line is only 2 minutes away by train though. Or 20 minutes walk. In the cold. Through a dodgy estate. How romantic.
(Mon 16th May 2005, 17:53, More)