Dumb Dog
Most of my favourite childhood memories revolve around our pet dog; an insanely amiable black Labrador/mutt. Picture him joyously bounding toward you; tail like a propeller, huge pink slobbery tongue flapping around, big fat ass, inside-out ears
flopping about randomly...

Ye gods, but he was a utter moron.

He kept trying to sniff the goldfish in the pond. Not catch: sniff.

He'd waddle up wagging to the pond, stare at the disinterested Koi in puzzlement, and stick in his snout in for a good, deep sniff. Of course, after inhaling a gout of pond water, he'd fall back sneezing and coughing, and run around the garden shaking his head and whimpering.

Not just the once, oh no.

Not only was our dog was the only dog ever to be out-thought by Goldfish, he was constantly surprised to find out water was - like - wet. My childhood was punctuated by madden dog sneezes.

In summer, the dog would also suck off the low-hanging blackcurrants from the canes - he didn't like them (bitter as hell until sugar-treated) but it was Human Food and therefore must be good, right?!

You would hear this 'shlurpk!' noise, and turn to see the dog with his eyes shut in pain, trying to chew off his own tongue. He wouldn't spit them out or anything sensible, of course; just kept desperately chewing and gagging. Oh, the variety of doggy expressions! Then you'd wait another 30minutes, and there would be another 'shlurpk!' noise...

In Scotland when on holiday, my dad managed to Caber-toss a dead pine thicker than your leg. Because you have to Do These Things when in Scotland, you know.

Of course, to Dumb Dog, tossed caber = thrown stick.

We turned around at an odd scraping noise, to find the dim-witted hound gamely struggling along, a friggin tree unevenly balanced in his jaws.

He'd fart so loud in his sleep that he awake with a jump.

Ah, I'd give anything to give that dumb dog one last hug.
(IChewCandlewax, Thu 1 Jun 2017, 16:55, Reply)

The Saturday afternoon when this episode of Dr Who came on:
The Volcano God was bemused. The mortal stood before him was clearly a man, yet expected him to believe it was female. and it wanted him to fuck it.
"Oh come ON sweetie" pouted Skagra "I'm ready for this, you CAN'T kill me, I'm immortal".
The Volcano God shrugged and started massaging his firey prick. His napalm filled balls roiled sluggishly.
"You do realise that human flesh simply can't take this temperature? That you'll be roasted from the inside out?" He questioned.
"Boring sweetie, I'm a Time Lord silly" Giggled Skagra as he presented his saggy hairy arse to the Volcano God.
"Hold on" The Volcano God said "Is, is that Vaseline you've used as a lube? Are you completely fucking insane? Not content with the fact that this WILL kill you, you've made what is about to happen worse by smearing yourself with petroleum?"
Skagra simpered "Just get on with it sweetie, I don't have all day you know. Well, actually, I do. What with being a Time Lord and all."
As the Volcano God's burning prick neared Skagra's hole his arse hairs crisped away to cinders. The Volcano God grabbed Skagra's haunches, instantly roasting his handprints into Skagra's flesh. Skagra was too shocked to even scream, and worse was to come.
The flaming head of the Volcano God's cock charred Skagra's sphincter as it entered, destroying it utterly in the process.
Skagra's rectum was flash-fried, the agony intense.
Skagra was already half dead as the Volcano God withdrew and thrust again. His flesh burned so badly that between his waist and his thighs what wasn't ashes was like overdone steak.
The Volcano God shuddered as he climaxed. His burning seed forcing it's way through Skagra's ruined colon into what was left of his intestines. The whole of Skagra's body was aflame now, his eyes boiled away in their sockets, his brain starting to crisp in his skull.
Skagra's mouth fell open to scream, but as it did his throat burned away as he finally died, and all that came out was a smoke ring.
The Volcano God looked down at the burnt corpse with little regret. He HAD warned Skagra what would happen, after all.
Here is some honey
THE END.
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Wed 31 May 2017, 16:55, 12 replies)

Childhood on Gallifrey
I have nothing but fond memories of my early life on Gallifrey. I grew up in the House of Skagraxxadon with all my cousins. We had free run of the House, and all its scrullions, barbicans, garderobes, chambers, nooks, crannies and cracks were ours to explore. Many a happy afternoon was spent with my cousins Herxag and Annepoimptimeade exploring the farthest reaches of the House. My favourite was the Engine Rooms, right at the bottom of the House. Herxag was too scared of the noise of the machinery and the danger of falling into those massive cogs and getting mashed to a pulp, but Annepoimptimeade held no such fears and it was she who accompanied me on those exploratory escapades down amidst the House engines. That was until she got her arm sliced off by a cooling fan – serve her right for getting too close – and our secret visits to the Engines were discovered, and banned. My first taste of authority, of my freedom being restricted, which planted the seeds of my eventually leaving Gallifrey forever.

Why did our House have engines, I hear you all wondering, my smexy sweetieze? Well, it’s because it was a mobile House, a giant black conical construction, like an enormous witch’s hat, that would trundle around the deserts and plains of Outer Gallifrey. It was fuelled by Time Lord smugness, so our power supply was practically limitless. Every day, I woke up to a different view: one morning, I would pull back my foreski- er, curtains, and be greeted by the sight of a wondrous forest of silver-leafed trees; the next, the view would be of a vast shimmering purple lake; the next, oh look – rocks! It was this constantly changing environment that instilled the wanderlust in me, and contributed to my eventual decision to leave Gallifrey.

But this tale is not about me leaving Gallifrey, but of my fond childhood memories of the place. I have a great many lengthy and fascinating tales about this period of my life, you will no doubt be thrilled to hear, my loveliey sweetieeze, and I may get the chance to post them ALL here, as long as this QOTW doesn’t change! Lucky you!

Let’s start with the story of Oigzeb.

One day, the House broke down, and we were stranded in one place for several days whilst the necessary repairs took place. Something to do with the caterpillar tracks getting all bunged up with mud and shite, or something. At this time I was being ostracised by all my cousins, even the once-loyal Herxag, as I had meddled with their matrix interfaces and got them accused of retroparadoxical hysteretic chronoclaggage. So I was on my own without a playmate, stuck in the middle of nowhere, my wanderlust temporarily thwarted. Of course I would go exploring! What else would you expect of one such as I?

So, whilst my cousins shriddled inside like a bunch of pallid, feckless, useless, witless, brainless, worthless worms, I roamed the Outer Gallifreyan countryside in which I was stranded. It was a fairly nondescript area, a lumpy plain dotted with dense forests and little hills like tits popping up every now and then. A muddy river ran through this desolate landscape, and this had carved its own deep V-shaped valley, which ran east-to-west not too far from the immobile House. On the second day, I followed this valley, looking for fish in the river, but it was dead and muddy like a stream of Sontaran diarrhoea. The second sun was directly overhead, it was a hot day and I sweated ‘neath my Prydonian tunic, and was glad I had donned my shiny silver shorts and big white hat. As I ambled along I began to get the strangest feeling that I was being watched. I thought I could hear a scrambling from the bank above me, but when went up to look, there was nothing there. Just my imagination, I thought; my prodigious, wonderful imagination. But then stones and grit came skittering down towards the river in front of me. There was someone, or something, there! I was being followed!

I immediately suspected one of my cousins, probably Herxag, and resolved to shove a dozen scrunge worms up his ass, next we meet. But it wasn’t Herxag, or any of them.

Twisted, thorny shrubs grew by the bank of the river, and as I drew nearer to a particularly thorny and twisted one, I again got the sense of being watched, this time extremely powerfully. I stopped walking and stared at the bush. After a few seconds I was shocked to see that there was a pair of eyes staring back at me! As I gasped in astonishment, a strange figure stepped out from the thorny branches, glaring at me all the while.

It was a tall, gangling thing, like a giant bird, with a skinny body covered in iridescent blue-green feathers. It had a long scrawny neck, and a tiny head topped by a giant green comb. Two dim, tiny eyes gazed out moronically from above a massive orange beak. Its wings ended in spiky three-fingered hands.

I stared at it. It stared at me. Suddenly, it screeched in a voice like rusty nails being dragged across a cheesegrater:

‘Oigzeb!’ it shrieked. ‘OIGZEB ARALUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!’

Somewhat surprised, I nonetheless kept my presence of mind, and responded with my own battle-cry:

‘Skagra!’ I yelled. ‘SKAGRAXXADON WOOOOOLWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!’

This caused the strange creature to hop about screaming with what seemed to be laughter. I too laughed and began to chase the thing up and down the riverbank. Although it had wings, it clearly could not fly, managing only a brief stumbling flutter achieving only a temporary separation from Gallifreya Firma. At one point it stopped, turned, and began to chase me up and down the riverbank. After about an hour of this we collapsed exhausted next to each other, and Oigzeb commenced to jabber away in a tongue so primitive and obscure that my translation matrix could make head nor tail of it. When I got my breath back I bade Oigzeb farewell and returned to the House. I remember well his plaintive squawks as I turned my back on him and strode away.

Back at the House, which was still up on blocks, I did some research, to discover that creatures like Oigzeb did not exist on Gallifrey, therefore he must be an alien. This presented me with some disquieting questions: how did he get through the Transduction Barrier? And was he the spearhead of an alien invasion? I almost spoke to one of the Elders about it, but decided not to, and carry out my own investigations.

The next day I walked back up the river, but there was no sign of Oigzeb. Well, not until something heavy and spiky dropped onto my back and bore me to the ground, shrieking with insane mirth. Oigzeb! We spent the whole day playing games, such as racing, trying to leap over the river, splashing each other, and inserting pebbles into our arses and fart-firing them at each other. All too soon it was time to go, but this time Oigzeb grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me away from the river, towards a small gully nearby. I tried to free myself but the darned thing was too strong, and I began to fear that I would soon become Oigzeb’s supper. But of course not – he just wanted to show me something.

And that something, smashed into the bottom of a gully of its own making, was a small spaceship. That at least answered the Transduction Barrier question: it must have burned up coming through, and crash-landed way out here in the Gallifreyan wasteland. Scrambling down, I examined the vessel – it was burned out beyond repair, and in the pilot and co-pilot’s seats were a pair of bulky humanoid bodies, charred and unrecognisable. I thought they might be Sontarans at first, but it was the wrong sort of ship. Oigzeb pecked at these figures piteously, and then gazed imploringly at me, as if I could bring them back to life. But they were too far gone – not even the Elixir of Karn could bring them back. Oigzeb was quite clearly not of the same species as them, so I concluded that he must have been their pet or sex slave. How he survived the crash, fuck knows.

I coaxed Oigzeb away from the wreck back to the river and we had a quick game of fart-pebble before it was time for me to go.

And for the next three days, I visited the river, and played with Oigzeb. They were some of the happiest days of my life. But soon, the House was fixed, and I had to leave him. I tried to explain it to him, that fateful afternoon when I had to say goodbye, but I could not make him understand. He watched me go, chirping happily to himself and flapping his useless wings, clearly expecting me to be back the next day.

But I wasn’t.

Many, many years later, I took a skimmer out to the area, to that muddy river valley, to search for Oigzeb, but of him there was no sign. I checked out the gully as well – but the crashed ship had completely disappeared. I stood staring at the empty space for a while, trying to fathom what had happened. Perhaps Oigzeb’s masters’ people had come to rescue it and Oigzeb? But there were no Matrix records of any breaches of the Transduction Barrier, when I checked later. The way the ship, and Oigzeb, had come and gone remain a complete mystery to this day. And in all my travels since I have never encountered Oigzeb or any of his race, whatever they were.

Oh well. At least I still have those fond memories of playing fart-pebble by the muddy river with a gibbering bird-man.

LAIGH8TERZ SWEEETEIZE!!!!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Wed 31 May 2017, 15:51, 7 replies)

Remembrance of cowshit past
Had a generally crappy childhood, the high point of which was the annual camping holiday on some distant relatives' farm.

It was great to be out in the fresh country air and climb trees and collect my daily battering in such a bracing environment.

This was a cattle farm so the place stank of cowshit, so for the rest of my life this aroma has brought back happy childhood memories. Sort of symbolic.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Tue 30 May 2017, 0:01, Reply)

Back on the Sixties...
Yeah, I'm old.

We lived on a dirt road in the middle of nothing, woods all around. Along the sides of the road were raspberry bushes, overhanging the road. In June you could walk along there and eat raspberries to your fill and never come close to depleting them.

Once a ear Mom would send us out with plastic containers to gather as many wild raspberries as we could. We would spend the day gathering them, bringing back our containers to Mom who poured them into a kettle on the stove. She spent the day making jam out of them, and at the same time baked loaves of bread.

That night we would eat jam and bread for dinner, as much as we could fit.

It only happened once a year, and maybe all of five times. But I still remember the wonderful smell.
( Wanderer, Mon 29 May 2017, 21:05, 2 replies)

My old Dad used to take me shooting for pheasant
Not a big, expensive shoot - bag was only about 50 for the whole day - but a ragtag group of gin-sodden locals at an ancient retired admiral's country house in the soft Fife countryside.

I loved those days. Once I stood on a hill and watched a fox hunt pass through the winter landscape: it's still, by miles, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Now I live in London and the only change in the seasons I see is what comes out of my wardrobe. On the plus side, when the zombies come, I'll know my way round a double-barrelled shotgun.
( After you my dear Alfonse No. After you., Sun 28 May 2017, 16:24, 1 reply)

I once wanked into a car exhaust

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Thu 18 May 2017, 21:47, 2 replies)

I once wanked into my grandfather's Wellington boots
and he never even noticed.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Thu 18 May 2017, 20:25, 1 reply)

I once wanked into a cocked hat

( Two Hats I saw someone eating M&M's with a spoon, Thu 18 May 2017, 16:44, 2 replies)

God its a drab fest of replies
Fave child(ish) memory, reaching 15, being allowed a pt-time job at the local Supermarket and earning money! Then one night me and a friend had this idea of hiding behind a hedge and stretching some disused fishing line across a quiet road to a random door knocker. Back behind the hedge we pulled on this line for what seemed like an hour.
"Knock, knock, knock"
"Knock, knock, knock"
"Knock, knock"
"Knock, knock, knock"
Hilarious stuff but no-one answered so I yanked on the line, broke it and we emerged from behind the hedge.
Then this woman screamed "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!!??", so we scarpered. A day later the local paper ran this article about how hooligans had played a deadly prank and stretched some line/cable fuggin Destroyers anchor chain etc across a road that could've garrotted a motorcyclist. Bad enough but the best was yet to come.
Cue Saturday morning and I turned up to my Supermarket job. What news awaited? That enraged woman who screamed at us for the prank - I fucking worked with her.
(luckylife , 0 guests and 3 bots are online, Wed 17 May 2017, 23:30, Reply)

Space, The Final Frontier.....
Before I tell my story, a quick Public Service Announcement. In about 14 hours, Mrs Legless will be giving birth to our first child.

A B3ta baby. We met through B3ta, QOTW to be specific, and have been together for more than ten years and married for almost 3.


I know we're not the first B3ta baby - I know of any least one who was conceived on a bash - but, if B3ta is still going in another 15 years I'll tell our daughter where her parents met and how we got together.



Anyways - on with the tale.


It's not my happiest childhood memory but it is one of the most profound. It was on July 21st 1969. At school, my class had been taken down to the TV room to witness the moment when Armstrong said those iconic words:

"One small step for a man - one giant leap for mankind"


My little brain almost 'sploded. We (meaning the Yanks) had put a fucking man on the moon!! It was beyond awesome. I was already a prolific reader but most of my adventure reading was earth based. Exploring the Amazon, Eygpt, Africa. I was into H. Rider Haggard, George McDonald Fraser (Flashman), Rudyard Kipling and early Tolkien - pretty much, The Hobbit.


But the moon landing changed everything. I discovered sci-fi. Asimov, E.E.Doc Smith. Hienlen. I read everything from the Golden Age of science fiction. Space was the next frontier. We'd reached the moon so Mars would be next. We'd build a lunar colony, humanity would start to reach for the stars...


But it all turned to shit. Then we had Nixon, the oil crisis of the 70s, and stagnation in really getting our arses off this rock.

But now we have new blood. Neil Dr Grasse Tyson - one of the most elequont speakers for science and space I've ever listened to. Elron Musk - a complete nutter who risks everything on his vision. The guy has huge balls. But he wants to get us into space, onto other planets and start mining asteroids and comets.


I'm rambling now but, the point is, when I was a child, I dreamed that I might get to space. Today, I'm on the cusp of being a dad for the first time and I really think that my daughter might have a fighting chance of doing what I dreamed about as a child.

But only if she wants to.


Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Wed 17 May 2017, 14:26, 19 replies)

Endless meadows of fun
I grew up in a house surrounded by open fields. Behind us, cows grazed during the autumn when the grass had been cut, but during the summer it was waist high grass. Ideal for making "tunnels" on your hands and knees that connected flattened areas to sit in an hang out. The farmer would cut and bale the grass, and pay us 20p a day to help load bales onto his flat bed trailer. In the next field, there was a pond to catch newts and sticklebacks, and plenty of dry stone walls to sit against as shelter from the wind, or again just hang out.

The very next field was a pre digital Porn Hub. It was a common that was used to dump spoil from a few houses near by. As a dumping ground we would find various items - tins of dumped paint that I liberated so my dad could paint the inside of his garage, old bikes and mopeds etc. But there was almost an endless supply of jazz mags - with tattered edges and sticky pages, and big titted birds with what looked like tribbles glued to their gashes rather than the modern day fish-finger. My greatest find was a set of playing cards with nudes on the back, that was so appealing in many ways - fitted in my Wrangler pocket, could be concealed under my bed or in my school (carrier) bag, and produced at will as a source of merriment or when relaxing in a gentleman's way.

Oh, and we used to get really fresh eggs.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Wed 17 May 2017, 12:42, 1 reply)

I won a Scalextric, aged 6.
It was a Kellog's competition on the back of a box of Frosties. Some tie-in with rally cars where you had to put various car components in order of importance - we didn't even own a car.

I found out I'd won, many months after, when "father christmas" delivered a Mini Cooper Rally edition Scalextric and a letter from Tony the Tiger telling me to stay "Gggggggrrrrreeeeaaaatttt!".
( Linbox has a serious dunk habit, Wed 17 May 2017, 2:51, Reply)

Tits

( broadsword w⚓, Tue 16 May 2017, 23:34, 1 reply)

The Grand Tour...
My father was very fond of history, and decided that since I had reached the grand age of 7 he would take me to Rome to show me the sights. We walked the catacombs, took a fascinating tour of the Colosseum, explored and marvelled at the majestic St. Peter’s. He explained to me the magnificence of the Pantheon and regaled me with tales of the Circus Maximus, and the marvelous machinations of the forum. He was overjoyed when I was impressed by the beauty of the Trevi Fountains and the stunning art on display in the many galleries and churches, and we really did have a great father/son time.
Months later he visited my school and was looking through my work and spotted a folder labelled ‘Trip to Rome with dad’ – he opened it with a beaming smile and read my essay:
“Me and Dad went to Rome and saw lots of history things. On the way back we went to London Zoo and I saw a monkey eat another monkey’s poo and throw it at other monkeys. It was ace.”
(Tugnut I got them all..., Tue 16 May 2017, 12:01, 2 replies)

Lavender
The scent still clings, somewhere. I'm sure it's synthetic; some jarring in my olfactory bulb that confuses my brain and makes me think I can smell her. My memories are hazy and piecemeal, like a synaesthetic collage. The curve of her hair, the warm softness of her hand, enveloping mine. The rich sound of her voice, bestowing a safety and security that I've never really felt since. But mostly, the smell.

Her perfume was Yardley English Lavender. She wore it subtly, so the smell mixed with her own aromas: vanilla, cocoa butter, Imperial Leather soap. It was a smell that filled my nostrils as I hugged her, when I'd skinned my knee, when I'd broken my toy car, when I'd eaten too much jelly and ice cream and felt sick. It was a smell that I'll forever associate with comfort, with complete love and protection.

The smell lingered for a while after she'd gone. I think my father was loathe to clean too much, lest he completely washed her away. His need for it was probably as great as mine. In time, we healed, albeit with scars: invisible to the naked eye, but very real, and very tender when prodded in the right way. I kept a bottle of the perfume, and every year, on her birthday, I spray just a little bit onto my pillow, and cuddle it, pushing my tear-streaked face into the warm softness, just like I used to as a child.

Sometimes I catch the tiniest amount of it on the breeze. Perhaps someone wears something with a hint of lavender; maybe someone has a bush in their garden. For a second, I'm caught up in the swirling vortex - the curve of her hair, the warm softness of her hand, enveloping mine. The rich sound of her voice, bestowing a safety and security that I've never really felt since.

I might not remember you too well, Mum, but I miss you.
(SalariosDecentes was under the radar on, Tue 16 May 2017, 8:33, 1 reply)

fighting and fucking my way through Streets of Rage 2
Cheers
( $$ ✅, Mon 15 May 2017, 13:36, 5 replies)

Wanking over the ladies underwear section of the Gratis catalogue

( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Mon 15 May 2017, 12:34, 2 replies)

Disney in California and Florida as a kid
They were pretty epic. Running around all day in the sun, eating ice creams, going on rollercoasters, watching fireworks at night, your entire life seeming to depend on getting the unbelievably cool glow stick bracelets (the devastation when they stopped working the next day was also quite epic!).

It will be great to take the little one someday, but it's probably not quite as much fun when you've paid for it/nagged about suncream/worried about sugar and calories in ice cream/lost the energy of a 9 year old...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 15 May 2017, 11:18, 5 replies)

Me and my then best mate in nursery school flooding the nursery toilets to turn them into a paddling pool.

( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Mon 15 May 2017, 2:33, Reply)

Calling Mrs Dillon a bitch after she marked 3 of my maths homework answers wrong when they were right.
The bitch.
'Don't lose your cool in MY class, stuj!' She shouted before sending me to the headmaster for a caning.
'Don't mark me wrong when I'm right then bitch!' I muttered under my breath, replying 'Nothing Miss.' When she said 'WHAT did you just say?'
Still got me another 6 with the cane. Even though the headmaster checked my fucking maths book and saw my answers were correct.
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Mon 15 May 2017, 2:32, Reply)

My dad taking me to see Jaws.

( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Mon 15 May 2017, 2:21, 2 replies)

Playing with my friends in a shallow river; we built dams and smoked and built a den. Then some local bullies attacked us. And there was a fucking clown and a spider-thing in the sewers.

And then we all shagged the Bird 'cos she was well fit.

And there was a Turtle for some goddam reason.

Fuck clowns.
(kitescreech still here, Sun 14 May 2017, 20:44, 2 replies)

TotP, 1982
I remember watching Top of the Pops in 1982; Culture Club were on, with their poptastic hit "Do you really want to hurt me". Boy George was like something us middle class, rural kids had never seen before.

Next day at school the conversation always drifted back to "Did you see Top of the Pops last night? Was that a boy or a girl".
(kitescreech still here, Sun 14 May 2017, 17:48, Reply)

When a skip was delivered...
...and everyone in the street came out to watch it being unloaded. I always feel a pang of sadness watching this wondrous ceremony unfold as people hurry past oblivious.
(Flare, Sat 13 May 2017, 18:22, 1 reply)

Summers at my aunt's house
Waking up to the sound of a cockerel crowing, going downstairs to find a peaceful kitchen and breakfast waiting, before a day out in the car to the lake district or the beach or even just to the shops. Having a nice time without 2 sisters and a brother screaming for attention and stressed out parents trying to cope.
Selfish, i know, but those were my happy times.
( Smash Monkey 2 The damp spastic, Sat 13 May 2017, 12:03, 1 reply)

Narrow escape?
I wrote to Jim'll Fix It, begging to go on It's a Knockout after a torturous family holiday in Conway where I'd had to watch my favourite show setting up opposite our B&B in preparation for a recording the day AFTER we were to leave.

On another occasion, I wrote to Jim'll to ask him if I could do some cartooning with Rolf Harris.

Basically, I spent my childhood writing to the Beeb;s pedo kingpin, asking him to introduce me to the other pedos.
(Tstar73, Sat 13 May 2017, 0:17, 1 reply)

Not a specific memory
but memories of childhood in general

Xmas day just after you got home from mass, knowing you had the rest of the day with no religious interruptions (forced to attend church :( )

On holiday and finding a shop that had a treasure trove of toys that you dont get at home.

Speaking of which - those polystyrene planes with the little propeller at the front.

Playing out with friends and getting so exhausted you cant breathe for gasping for a drink of water.

When you are 2 and the highlight of the day is seeing the bin men in their lorry outside

Being off sick, and finally getting your head around how to load a C64 game, and knowing its all yours for the rest of the day.

Being off sick and your mum making you food whilst you play on said C64

camping in the back garden

Eating breakfast the next morning in the tent

Finding an old toy in the loft and discovering it all over again - ie scalectric

Hearing someone shout "Cartoons are on" at 5:15 on a saturday, bolting it into the front room, and watching each one hoping at the end you dont see "thats all folks" , or fist bumping and shouting "Yes" when another cartoon starts up

Getting up so early on a saturday for cartoons, that the TV schedule hasnt actually started yet. (ie girl at the blackboard test screen)

the very rare occurance your parents take you to mcdonalds. They always get a tea/coffee which just looks wrong with a burger and fries.

sitting watching casualty on a saturday knowing its 15 mins past your bedtime. So you keep as quiet as possible to stay up as long as possible

Being in bed during daylight in the summer when you can hear the kids next door still playing out

supermarkets being no bigger than the average corner shop. Yet still being able to do a weekly big shop from it

Milk delivered to the door

Ill think of more.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Fri 12 May 2017, 18:09, 7 replies)

I did something good at sport!
The first and only time this happened. My sporting abilities were atrocious, a byword for shitty incompetence. I got to bowl at cricket. My balls were all over the place. They got walloped, which pained me quite a lot.

Then a magical thing happened. I bowled out the games teacher in a fluke so rare I assume a comet was going past. I was everyone's hero. Very briefly, until they remembered how many runs my terrible balls had cost them.
(AvocadoHenry, Fri 12 May 2017, 17:45, Reply)

I once had a question read out on BBC's Look North
It was to their nature section (they had one back in the day). I asked how slugs had babies. I can't remember the answer, but they did read it out on air and said my name. Fame...
I also wrote to Jim'll Fix It. I wanted to have a pack of maltesers but without the chocolate. They never got back to me. Probably a good thing.
( parttimebabe is almost there..., Fri 12 May 2017, 16:49, Reply)