Profile for redexile:
none
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
[read all their answers]
- a member for 3 years, 7 months and 17 days
- has posted 0 messages on the main board
- has posted 0 messages on the talk board
- has posted 0 messages on the links board
- has posted 8 stories and 9 replies on question of the week
- They liked 1 pictures, 0 links, 0 talk posts, and 15 qotw answers.
- Ignore this user
- Add this user as a friend
- send me a message
none
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Driven to Madness
Wheelie luggage twats
People with wheelie luggage with extendible handles on escalators (particularly on the Tube in That London). Most drop the handle when getting on, carry it, then as soon as they step off the escalator, stop and fumble about trying to extend the handle again as they can't be arsed carrying it a few yards clear of the end. What they don't seem to realise is that there are other people behind them who are being spat off the escalator, and they are blocking it, with a serious pile-up being a real possibility. I've found the best way of avoiding this scenario happening is to treat them to a flying shoulder-charge in the back. Not only is seeing them face-planting deeply satisfying, but you also have the get-out card of 'sorry, you were blocking the escalator and I couldn't stop'. I commend this course of action to the board.
(Fri 5th Oct 2012, 17:56, More)
Wheelie luggage twats
People with wheelie luggage with extendible handles on escalators (particularly on the Tube in That London). Most drop the handle when getting on, carry it, then as soon as they step off the escalator, stop and fumble about trying to extend the handle again as they can't be arsed carrying it a few yards clear of the end. What they don't seem to realise is that there are other people behind them who are being spat off the escalator, and they are blocking it, with a serious pile-up being a real possibility. I've found the best way of avoiding this scenario happening is to treat them to a flying shoulder-charge in the back. Not only is seeing them face-planting deeply satisfying, but you also have the get-out card of 'sorry, you were blocking the escalator and I couldn't stop'. I commend this course of action to the board.
(Fri 5th Oct 2012, 17:56, More)
» Getting Old
Total Perspective Vortex for 50-somethings (like me)
The gap between the present and the release of 'Anarchy in UK' by the Sex Pistols is greater than the gap between the release of 'Anarchy in UK' by the Sex Pistols and the end of World War II
(Thu 7th Jun 2012, 21:31, More)
Total Perspective Vortex for 50-somethings (like me)
The gap between the present and the release of 'Anarchy in UK' by the Sex Pistols is greater than the gap between the release of 'Anarchy in UK' by the Sex Pistols and the end of World War II
(Thu 7th Jun 2012, 21:31, More)
» Shit Claims to Fame II
I don't care who you are, you're in the way
Around 1990, I was wrestling an enormous flight-case containing electric-make-music-loud stuff onto the side of a big stage in Berkshire. Someone was in the way. I requested that they allow us egress. And that is how I came to say "Get out the way you stupid fucking twat" to Mick Jagger.
(Mon 24th Sep 2012, 18:40, More)
I don't care who you are, you're in the way
Around 1990, I was wrestling an enormous flight-case containing electric-make-music-loud stuff onto the side of a big stage in Berkshire. Someone was in the way. I requested that they allow us egress. And that is how I came to say "Get out the way you stupid fucking twat" to Mick Jagger.
(Mon 24th Sep 2012, 18:40, More)
» Rubbish Towns
Ipswich
Many moons ago, I had the misfortune to spend 7 years in this god-forsaken shithole. In the 9th century, it was one of the most important ports in Europe, then the Vikings went thro it and it's been going down hill ever since. It is populated by the most miserable, unfriendly, sour-faced downright weird bastards I have ever met. More or less every working day, I'd drop in a shop on the way to work to get breakfast to eat on the hoof. Every morning, the following exchange would take place:
(me): 'morning'
(sour-faced old bag behind the counter): '...'
(me): 'sausage sandwich please'
(sfobbtc): 'one pound fifty'
(me): 'thanks, bye'
(sfobbtc): '...'
the newspaper sellers were a sight to behold. one was a hunchback, one only had one arm, and the other was a dwarf with a cleft palate. they used to play darts in a pub which our department favoured for an after-work sharpie. First time I was taken in there, the one-armed bloke was playing the hunchback, with the guy with the cleft palate shouting out the score. It took quite a while for my new work collegues to reassure me that it wasn't actually a piece of Dadaist theatre. There was also another newspaper seller who was always stripped to the waist all year round, except when it snowed; then he'd put on a string vest.
Ipswich - 55 miles east of Cambridge. I escaped to Northampton eventually, and was dazzled by the bright lights after seven years in the Suffolk Shithole. Well, Alan Moore lives here...
First post!
(Tue 3rd Nov 2009, 22:23, More)
Ipswich
Many moons ago, I had the misfortune to spend 7 years in this god-forsaken shithole. In the 9th century, it was one of the most important ports in Europe, then the Vikings went thro it and it's been going down hill ever since. It is populated by the most miserable, unfriendly, sour-faced downright weird bastards I have ever met. More or less every working day, I'd drop in a shop on the way to work to get breakfast to eat on the hoof. Every morning, the following exchange would take place:
(me): 'morning'
(sour-faced old bag behind the counter): '...'
(me): 'sausage sandwich please'
(sfobbtc): 'one pound fifty'
(me): 'thanks, bye'
(sfobbtc): '...'
the newspaper sellers were a sight to behold. one was a hunchback, one only had one arm, and the other was a dwarf with a cleft palate. they used to play darts in a pub which our department favoured for an after-work sharpie. First time I was taken in there, the one-armed bloke was playing the hunchback, with the guy with the cleft palate shouting out the score. It took quite a while for my new work collegues to reassure me that it wasn't actually a piece of Dadaist theatre. There was also another newspaper seller who was always stripped to the waist all year round, except when it snowed; then he'd put on a string vest.
Ipswich - 55 miles east of Cambridge. I escaped to Northampton eventually, and was dazzled by the bright lights after seven years in the Suffolk Shithole. Well, Alan Moore lives here...
First post!
(Tue 3rd Nov 2009, 22:23, More)
» Bodge Jobs
Many moons ago, I had an ancient, rusting 1000cc BMW bike, with rotting twin exhausts. Off for a weekend of alcohol-fuelled debauchery in the middle of nowhere at a mate's. Nearly there, then the end of one of the rotting exhaust pipes disintegrated and fell off. Arrived with bike sounding like a pneumatic drill. Mate looks at exhaust, strokes beard, disappears into garage. Much drilling and hammering ensues, then he emerges with a Fray Bentos Steak and Kidney pudding tin with a hole cut in the base and three holes drilled around the rim. Coats with inner of the tin with exhaust paste, this then slides perfectly over the jagged end of the exhaust, drills thro the three holes into the pipe, then screws tin to pipe. I started the bike, sounded like normal, all good. It was still on, with the writing clearly visible, when I took the bike for its MOT 6 months later, and it passed. The tester told me he'd only passed it mainly because of the hilarity it had caused at the testing centre, altho it was apparently techically legal.
(Sat 12th Mar 2011, 12:52, More)
Many moons ago, I had an ancient, rusting 1000cc BMW bike, with rotting twin exhausts. Off for a weekend of alcohol-fuelled debauchery in the middle of nowhere at a mate's. Nearly there, then the end of one of the rotting exhaust pipes disintegrated and fell off. Arrived with bike sounding like a pneumatic drill. Mate looks at exhaust, strokes beard, disappears into garage. Much drilling and hammering ensues, then he emerges with a Fray Bentos Steak and Kidney pudding tin with a hole cut in the base and three holes drilled around the rim. Coats with inner of the tin with exhaust paste, this then slides perfectly over the jagged end of the exhaust, drills thro the three holes into the pipe, then screws tin to pipe. I started the bike, sounded like normal, all good. It was still on, with the writing clearly visible, when I took the bike for its MOT 6 months later, and it passed. The tester told me he'd only passed it mainly because of the hilarity it had caused at the testing centre, altho it was apparently techically legal.
(Sat 12th Mar 2011, 12:52, More)