Profile for L-Space:
nothing to see here... move along please.
This is me, as taken by our very own Rosie, and below as depicted by Donkey Gums.
I am a fat-handed twat, and have a certificate to prove it, courtesy Enigmatic.
I am a contender for the oldest b3ta talk regular (although there appear to be a few more ancient than I), I am male and live not far from sunny Sarfend. I ride a Hayabusa or a GSX-R750 depending on my fancy and work as a Technical Support Engineer for a fibre-optics company. According to Flapjack, I am a fantastic old candlefucking cunt. If I am voted Miss World, I plan to use my influence to obtain a great deal of random sexual favours from strangers.
Gmail me on cam.weir.
BIRTHDAY LSPAEC POEM:
L-space! It is your birthday
A chance to cherish you
And all the joy you bring us
With your filthy hands and tiny legs.
You remind me of my uncle; Colin.
He isn't really my uncle.
He is some sort of cousin.
STOP!
Your features
Your facial features
Look like a photo-fit gone horribly wrong.
Happy birthday, L-Space.
Oh yes. Happy L-Space.
Rejoice.
by baldmonkey.
It wasn't even my birthday.
There once was a b3tan called Campbell
Who'd pontificate, natter and rampbell
He can teach you a lot
some days; others, not
But it's mostly worth taking a gampbell.
Cheers, Flapjack.
Flickr here
Oh dear:
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
- a member for 21 years, 6 months and 11 days
- has posted 397 messages on the main board
- has posted 11196 messages on the talk board
- has posted 2 messages on the links board
- has posted 2 stories and 3 replies on question of the week
- They liked 11 pictures, 6 links, 167 talk posts, and 11 qotw answers.
- Ignore this user
- Add this user as a friend
- send me a message
nothing to see here... move along please.
This is me, as taken by our very own Rosie, and below as depicted by Donkey Gums.
I am a fat-handed twat, and have a certificate to prove it, courtesy Enigmatic.
I am a contender for the oldest b3ta talk regular (although there appear to be a few more ancient than I), I am male and live not far from sunny Sarfend. I ride a Hayabusa or a GSX-R750 depending on my fancy and work as a Technical Support Engineer for a fibre-optics company. According to Flapjack, I am a fantastic old candlefucking cunt. If I am voted Miss World, I plan to use my influence to obtain a great deal of random sexual favours from strangers.
Gmail me on cam.weir.
BIRTHDAY LSPAEC POEM:
L-space! It is your birthday
A chance to cherish you
And all the joy you bring us
With your filthy hands and tiny legs.
You remind me of my uncle; Colin.
He isn't really my uncle.
He is some sort of cousin.
STOP!
Your features
Your facial features
Look like a photo-fit gone horribly wrong.
Happy birthday, L-Space.
Oh yes. Happy L-Space.
Rejoice.
by baldmonkey.
It wasn't even my birthday.
There once was a b3tan called Campbell
Who'd pontificate, natter and rampbell
He can teach you a lot
some days; others, not
But it's mostly worth taking a gampbell.
Cheers, Flapjack.
Flickr here
Oh dear:
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» My Worst Date
Ok.
Met Louise in a club, and after much alcohol, flirting and filthy talk, we went back to her flat with her friend, Lisa and Lisa's boyfriend Peter. It turned out that Lisa was a bit more than just a friend, and I got treated to an amazing exhibition followed by an even better spot of audience participation, so to speak. An incredible first-night experience.
I received a text message the following afternoon which read "Had an amazing time last night - let's get together without the others tonight for some even filthier fun! Meet in The Traveller's 7 o'clock?"
I know you can probably all see what's coming - but I had no idea, and it didn't even click when I turned up in the pub and saw Peter sitting at the bar. I thought it was coincidence, and the penny didn't drop until about twenty minutes later when he put his hand on my knee.
Rabbit, headlights, Stella through the nostrils, and many subsequent hours of wondering if I was really sure about whose hands belonged to whom on that first night. *shudder*
I've seen Louise a few times since, and she still thinks it's hilarious to remind me - especially during the more intimate moments. Bitch.
(Mon 25th Oct 2004, 16:23, More)
Ok.
Met Louise in a club, and after much alcohol, flirting and filthy talk, we went back to her flat with her friend, Lisa and Lisa's boyfriend Peter. It turned out that Lisa was a bit more than just a friend, and I got treated to an amazing exhibition followed by an even better spot of audience participation, so to speak. An incredible first-night experience.
I received a text message the following afternoon which read "Had an amazing time last night - let's get together without the others tonight for some even filthier fun! Meet in The Traveller's 7 o'clock?"
I know you can probably all see what's coming - but I had no idea, and it didn't even click when I turned up in the pub and saw Peter sitting at the bar. I thought it was coincidence, and the penny didn't drop until about twenty minutes later when he put his hand on my knee.
Rabbit, headlights, Stella through the nostrils, and many subsequent hours of wondering if I was really sure about whose hands belonged to whom on that first night. *shudder*
I've seen Louise a few times since, and she still thinks it's hilarious to remind me - especially during the more intimate moments. Bitch.
(Mon 25th Oct 2004, 16:23, More)
» Near Death Experiences
Being a biker and an ex climber, I have several...
Two that spring to mind:
A friend and I were asked to help out on an outward-bound course teaching a group of kids to abseil. A girl of about fourteen got a case of the fear halfway through her first descent from a sixty-foot scaffold. I stepped through the guardrail at the top of the tower and gently talked her down. As I slid back under the rail, my hand automatically swept behind me to lift my rope clear so that I didn't trip over it. It wasn't there. I'd been leaning over the edge of the tower with the safety rope in my hand attached to a panicking teenager and I'd forgotten to clip myself on to my own rope. Ironically, we had incessantly drilled one rule into all our students: "What is the most important knot? Your own". Close enough for me, thanks.
Ice-climbing in Glencoe, second man up a waterfall following a nice route with protection all set. I felt a shudder, and sensed myself falling. Standard practice is to flatten yourself against the ice to reduce the leverage on the axes and crampons and this is what I did. Unfortunately, with my face pressed hard to the ice, I could see the scenery to my side still creeping upwards - the sheet of ice onto which I was firmly anchored had broken away and was slipping down the mountain with me on it. It stopped after about twelve feet. No tunnels or lights, just a nice warm feeling as the contents of my bladder ran down my leg.
(Mon 29th Nov 2004, 11:21, More)
Being a biker and an ex climber, I have several...
Two that spring to mind:
A friend and I were asked to help out on an outward-bound course teaching a group of kids to abseil. A girl of about fourteen got a case of the fear halfway through her first descent from a sixty-foot scaffold. I stepped through the guardrail at the top of the tower and gently talked her down. As I slid back under the rail, my hand automatically swept behind me to lift my rope clear so that I didn't trip over it. It wasn't there. I'd been leaning over the edge of the tower with the safety rope in my hand attached to a panicking teenager and I'd forgotten to clip myself on to my own rope. Ironically, we had incessantly drilled one rule into all our students: "What is the most important knot? Your own". Close enough for me, thanks.
Ice-climbing in Glencoe, second man up a waterfall following a nice route with protection all set. I felt a shudder, and sensed myself falling. Standard practice is to flatten yourself against the ice to reduce the leverage on the axes and crampons and this is what I did. Unfortunately, with my face pressed hard to the ice, I could see the scenery to my side still creeping upwards - the sheet of ice onto which I was firmly anchored had broken away and was slipping down the mountain with me on it. It stopped after about twelve feet. No tunnels or lights, just a nice warm feeling as the contents of my bladder ran down my leg.
(Mon 29th Nov 2004, 11:21, More)