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I'm a lovely chap.

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» Social Networking Gaffes

Open mouth, insert... something
One of the women at work was nattering on about her kids and how she vets internet sites before she allows them to join. I'm nodding and "Mm-hm?"ing and not really paying attention.

"They want to join a party site, I forget what it's called now but I need to check it - is it faceparty?"

"No, you're thinking of lemonparty."

I got a bit of a shouting at the following day. I mean, it's not like she doesn't KNOW I'm a complete bastard.
(Fri 12th Sep 2008, 7:55, More)

» Turning into your parents

You're not turning into your parents until
you're on a night out and see a policeman -

and get less nervous.
(Wed 6th May 2009, 17:43, More)

» Conversation Killers

Back when I was in my early 20's
I used to hang around with a big group of people. Not all of them, all the time, but most nights there were a dozen of about 20 semi-regulars in "our" pub. And a lot of the time people were in entirely different states of sobriety - some were on a serious session, some were just getting drunk, and some were just hanging out.

On this particular occasion about 10 of us had taken over 3 tables and the hardcore drinkers, me included, were at one end. We'd been playing drinking games and I was pretty much into "I'm just going to rest my head on the table for a bit" stage.

Somehow the conversation at the other end of the table filtered into my brain over the noise of the jukebox and various too-loud people surrounding me, and I realised that E, a lovely young lass, was bemoaning her latest breakup by enumerating the guy's many flaws, obvious only in hindsight. Plaintively she cried, "Why can I only get shit boyfriends?"

Aha! I felt confident I knew the answer to this one! Into the silence as the jukebox switched tracks and those around her looked for a supportive comment, I raised my head from the pillow of my arms and loudly declared,

"It's because you're fat."

Satisfied I'd solved the problem, I put my head back down again and went back to resting my eyes.
(Thu 12th May 2011, 22:27, More)

» Unexpected Nudity

I remember my first mars bar
It was unexpectedly nougat-y.
(Mon 1st Jun 2009, 10:28, More)

» PE Lessons

The Loneliness of the long distance runner
A chance to pearoast this...

There's nothing quite like P.E. for separating the strong from the weak, and even sorting them into a pecking order. The particular bÍte noir in this case was the Cross Country Run - out of the school gates, along the gully to the park, along the canal, down the hill, through the wood, across the playing field and back to the sports hall. Two and a half miles, come rain, snow, sleet or hail.

Like most people with an ounce of sense I figured this for more of a "taking part" than a "try your utmost" type lesson, and so used to regularly come in the last 5 out of 30 in about 26-28 minutes. The other five were a couple of other smart-and-uninterested types, and three fat kids. In retrospect an attitude of "we're too good for this" probably didn't endear us to anyone.

Now I didn't have slope-browed, knuckle dragging bullies. I got a set of smart, easily bored sociopaths who identified early on that it's more fun and less danger to bully other kids than set fire to pets. So one fine frosty morning, as we're all milling aimlessly prior to the start, 5 kids approach me and the other strollers.

"We've got a new game, lads!" they announce gleefully. I get that sinking feeling. "It's really simple. Whoever out of us you don't beat, gives you a beating. If you don't beat any of us, we'll all give you a pasting. If you beat all of us, you get off scott-free!" Chortling to themselves and smacking fists into palms, they stroll over to the start line.

Now, to be honest, while they carried themselves with confidence they probably weren't that good. But I didn't know that, and we were so consistently bad they must have figured it was a done deal.

"Go!" yelled the PE teacher, heading indoors for a cup of tea. I suspect that nowadays you couldn't get away with letting 30 young boys run off into the local woods unsupervised, but those were simpler times when a paedophile was just encouragement to run faster.

I was first to the gully. Third as we reached the canal - so far, so good; the two who'd passed me weren't "game" players. I settled into an easy rhythm along the towpath, surprised to discover that I'm not actually that bad at running. A glance behind me as we came to the end of the canal stretch revealed one of THEM closing on me. Nooo!

I stepped up the pace. So did he. For the next 3/4 of a mile he was right on my shoulder but I refused to let him pass, my vision narrowing to a tunnel. Finally he gasped, "Christ! You're giving it a proper go. I'm out - I won't beat you up." I glanced back and he nodded at me with something like respect as he passed.

I was flagging now and more runners came up behind me as we wound through the woods, but none were my nemeses so past me they went. Just the playing field to go, there's Sir in the distance sitting in his deckchair checking times.

I crossed the finish line in 6th with a time of 18 minutes 50 seconds. My fellow victims, it turned out, were either insufficiently motivated or genuinely crap at running, as they got the shit kicked out of them.

Of course, by the next week it was back to beatings for looking at them funny, but just for a little while life was good.
(Wed 25th Nov 2009, 8:32, More)
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