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This is a question Conversation Killers

ThatNiceMan asks: Have you ever been talking with people down the pub when somebody throws such a complete curveball (Sample WTF moment: "I wonder what it's like to get bummed") that all talk is stopped dead? Tell us!

(, Thu 12 May 2011, 12:53)
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This question is now closed.

The wedding from Hull
I was at a particularly dull wedding a few years ago and was trapped on a table with a few of the bride's particularly dull friends. One of these friends loved the sound of his own voice and clearly thought he was hilarious. He wasn't. he was one of these "I hate anything popular" types and thought he was a total non-conformist (he wore a shit metal t-shirt - it was Bell Shaggeroth or something like that - to the wedding, because "suits are for boring people with jobs").

His "humour" basically consisted of interupting whatever conversation was going on by going "hmmm hmmm yes yes" then slagging off whatever or whoever we were talking about. Killing every conversation stone dead. He also reminded me a lot of Ritchie out of Bottom.

Now, I had been told to "play nice" by the missus since it was her mate getting married, so refrained from saying anything to this tool. However, we were talking about flms and one lass p[ut forward the poinion the Titanic is the bestest film of ever. So in chips tollboy "hmm hmm yes yes. I went to see that film with a few mates and it was so shit that I had to liven it up by making funny comments. Everyone in the cinema was laughing because, as you might have noticed, I'm a really funny guy!"

I was taking a large swig of over-priced lager at this point and half coughed, half laughed, which resulted in some beer going back into the glass and some coming out my nose. Everyone on the table burst out laughing at this point, except for the funny guy, who took offence to being laughed at and didn't speak for the rest of the night. Result.
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 9:53, 7 replies)
I think it was maybe Year 3 or 4.
During USSR (unrestricted sustained silent reading - quiet time for the teacher and a good chance to have a snooze for us). I was sitting cross-legged on the mat & as I leaned back sloooooowly dozing off I let rip with a fart that made the windows rattle. Suddenly everyone's laughing and then talking, Mrs. Robertson called me up to her desk and said "If you need to go to the toilet Mr. Fyre you can do so now." I had already done a big poo @ the end of lunch so was in no way in need of a visit to the ablution block.
Conversation Killer - "No, it's alright Mrs. Robertson I already did!"
Walked home alone that arvo.
EDIT: Realized that it sounds like I *did actually* shit my pants (which I have unfortunately done - just not on that particular occasion).
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 5:51, 3 replies)
People who ask a personal question
"Do you have children"

"We've had 3 miscarriages, and we're waiting to start ivf"

*tumbleweed* (unless I'm talking to someone who thinks they now need to tell me about their aunties friends neighbour's boss who has been dealing with a COMPLETELY different or unknown issue than us, who did ivf and now has their baby. PLEASE don't patronise me because I have done my research and the chances aren't great anyway)

If I'm feeling less charitable or can tell they're just being nosey its: "Yep. Three. Buried in the garden"

Nobody wants to hear about dead babies, except in a joke on b3ta
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 5:17, 78 replies)
Wertperch just reminded me
My sister went to uni when I was about 9 or 10 (I was one of those innocent kids who just didn't have a clue) and left a ragmag at the side of the beds (we were in bunkbeds) after a visit home for the weekend.
I don't know if she was trying to kill some of the innocence intentionally - she left a few Jackie Collins books too, which of course I read.

I loved that ragmag - 'how do you stop people with frizzy hair (afros as I recall, but I aten't a racisms) from jumping up and down on the bed'?
Stick velcro on the ceiling.
That's the only joke I remember from that now.

Some of those jokes in the ragmag made me tweenlol, but some of them, I didn't get.
I'd never heard of the word 'penis' before then (willy, dick or tassel, yes. Correct anatomy name? No.) so decided to ask my parents, ever so innocently (of course I knew it was something rude), at the family dinner table.
Perfectly mispronounced too: "Mum, what's a penn iz?"
Sibs choke back a giggle and feign extreme interest in the mush on their plate (I'm the youngest by at least 5 years).
"WHERE did you hear that?"
"Oh its in some book I found beside my bed"
Innocent blinking, maintain eye contact with the right amount of 'well? what is it then?' on my face.
That was an awkward meal - for my sister anyway.

Thinking about it now, I'm not sure why they didn't just say that it was the medical name for 'tassle' and carry on eating(!) with a straight face. It is possible I never actually found out until I got to the Jackie Collins novels
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 5:09, 5 replies)
Rugger Buggers

A bloke I know reasonably well once walked in to the local rugby club bar, ordered a large whiskey and said, in a very loud and angry voice:

"The next one of you bastards who fucks my wife, I'll do time for! Clear?"

Necked his whiskey and walked out. You could have sharpened a knife on the silence.

(, Mon 16 May 2011, 5:06, 1 reply)
I blame Rag Mags for this.
When I was a smallish wertperch, around fourteen or so, I'd found a Nottingham University Rag Mag. For those not in the know, these consist of old, bad-taste and disgusting joaks "edited" into a magazine and sold by students, allegedly to benefit charity.

Now most of the jokes were too foul to remember, but one of them was a delight of surreal humour, so I memorised it.

Some time later, I was at a dinner party thrown by my father (at the time an RAF officer), and decided, in a lull in the conversation, to tell the following:

Q: What's grey and comes in pints?
A: An elephant!

In the stunned silence that followed, I realised that Something Was Wrong in a Big Way. Thankfully, everyone put it down to childish misunderstanding, which it was, and no-one said anything to me. It was only much later that I finally understood the joke, and even now, I cringe as I recall this incident.
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 3:01, 1 reply)

At a friends rather grand wedding in Greenwich when we are about 23 or so. All the gang are there, including W, a guy who is known for a lack of subtlety, especially when booze has been imbibed, so we are all curious as to which table he's to be sat on.

Turns out its with myself, one more of the gang, and 5 or 6 of the brides relatives, a bunch of considerably older, richer and quite well to do Americans. Not the best line up, but it could be worse, as at least myself and D are there to help steer W though his more impetuous conversational sallies.

All goes well, much wine and beer is drunk, and W is on a well behaved roll much to our happy surprise. The meal is finished and the speeches done, everyone is sitting back with coffee, and whiskys etc, and the all female string quartet have fired back up to entertain us all though our digestifs. Job done we think, we made it. and there were no major US UK diplomatic incidences or annulments or anything, brilliant.

As we are thinking this, W leans over, and engages the brides family with a

"You know i really like this string quartet."
"Yes ?"
"yeah, they look like they drink red wine by the case and can really take it up the arse"

Fuuuuuuuuuu......More coffee anyone?"
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 1:50, 7 replies)
... and don't fuck monkeys
It was the mid 1980s in Australia. The media was awash with news of a new killer disease, HIV/AIDS. The public was panicked and ignorant.

It was a launch party at one of Sydney's free-to-air broadcasters. As was (is) the case, lots and lots of alcohol had been consumed. Towards the end of the evening one of the sound engineers nicknamed Bones (as she was slight and waif-like), stood on a table and loudly announced her strategy for avoiding catching HIV/AIDS:

"Bums are for pooing and don't fuck monkeys."
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 1:31, 2 replies)
on a much cleaner and less fail-archive-worthy note
we were all at school one boiling hot summer's day sitting on the grass in the sunshine, shoes off, blazers off, enjoying the sunny day and the lunchbreak and the gossip.

after half an hour or so, my friend evie wiggled her toes and said luxuriously and obliviously, "aaaaaaaaah. my socks are dry now."

utterly fucking rank. we were all too busy screaming to speak for the next 10 minutes.
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 0:38, 4 replies)
this might well count as sharing too much. my flatmate certainly thought so...
now, i have never really got why porn is supposed to be sexy. i have absolutely no problem with other people, including boyfriends, watching it. i'll even watch it with boyfriends, if they really want me to, but it's just never going to do the trick for me.

however, a while ago, i was out with the girls and everyone was very drunk. friend after friend was admitting to watching porn, and interestingly they were all saying that they preferred watching women to men, even though they were all straight girls who had never even kissed a girl (apart from one friend, who shrugged "i took a lot of drugs at university" when asked that).

so a couple of nights later, i was in bed working on my laptop. very prim and slightly dull flatmate was out, for once. i was bored. the bf of the time was away. i was fed up. but not tired. maybe it was time to give porn a shot. i plugged in my earphones, because the walls are thick here but my neighbour's bedroom is right next to mine, and googled some random shit. a few mins later and i was listening to two americans going on about each other's "titties". not hot. also, i could hardly hear them. i turned up the volume, not that i thought this would actually improve it. more banal shit. and i could still hardly hear them. i turned it up some more. watched a bit more. unimpressed. now they were naked and one of them was clearly sporting a really bad waxing rash. i turned the volume up again. at least i could hear them faking it now.

after a couple more minutes, i gave it up as being even duller than my work and pulled out the earplugs. and realised two things simultaneously. firstly, the toilet had just flushed. my flatmate was home. secondly... the fake cries of ahhh maaaah gaaaawwd were still ricocheting around my bedroom even though i had taken the earplugs out. i never knew two girls could scream quite that loudly. and they were so very very loud. because i had turned them up so much.

quick panicky investigation revealed that i had plugged the headphones into the wrong outlet port. without my ears slightly blocked with the earphones, the "dialogue" was horrifyingly crystal clear. i sat in bed and realised that i had just treated my neighbours and my flatmate to about - well, about 3 minutes of fake lesbian sex, but that is surely 3 minutes too much for anyone. except a 13 year old boy. maybe.

being a natural optimist, i decided against killing myself with embarrassment. perhaps, just perhaps, she hadn't heard anything. it really was only playing for a few minutes, and she had been in the bathroom, with running water, surely it was fine. brazen it out. brazen, brazen, brazen. so the following morning, i breezed past her with a brazen "morning! what time did you get home from work then?"

"oh," she said, avoiding my eyes. "you were in bed."

if you think you've seen a conversation be killed, you should have been in my kitchen that morning. it was deader than a dead thing on dead drugs. in deadsville. pretty much like my feelings for porn, really - i've never watched it since!
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 0:37, Reply)
Girl talk
This happened at college... There were seven or eight of us (girls) sitting around in the art room waiting for class to start. We were having the typical girly chatter mostly consisting of "don't you hate it when..." followed by a chorus of validation from the other ladies.

Buoyed by the camaraderie over previous disclosures of body odour and nocturnal flatulence, my friend Carol chimed in with her offering.

"Don't you hate it when your sweat makes the armpits of your clothes all stiff and bleaches the fabric?"


That was awkward.
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 0:32, Reply)
Have a pea
Had told a mte a particularly horrible joke the night before his birthday, the one about the man walking his dog along the cliff tops when he spots a young girl crying. He asks her what's wrong and she tells him her mum and dad just fell off the cliff, so he looks at the girl and as he starts to unzip his pants says,'just not your day is it love?'.
So the next night his wife had organised a small soiree for him. The only blokes there were him, me and another mate along with our three partners and 4 female collegues. He thought it would be a great time to tell the ladies this joke. I knew it wasn't a good idea and tried to talk him out of it. After the silence that followed 3 people left and the others never spoke to him again.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 22:44, Reply)
Science lab
Was in a first-year university science course lab. Students paired off into partners at lab stations. There was this girl I always flirted with in class and she coyly agreed to be my "partner" and we had a giggle at the double-entendre. We were sat side-by-side in front of a lab table with equipment and whatnot, me on cloud nine, and angling to score a date.

The task of the lab was to calibrate a thermocouple, which required a small vacuum beaker of liquid nitrogen. The professor came round to each station to fill the beakers from a large insulated flask.

Just before he started pouring our beaker, I let go a silent fart... that smelled like the apocolypse.

As the cold liquid nitrogen filled our beaker, she said, "Ew, that stuff stinks" and covered her face with her hand. The professor was not sure what to make of her comment, and said that it was an odorless liquid/gas so it shouldn't have a smell, then he looked at me, with my beet-red face... then she looked at me, and all was clear.

We did our task in silence, and never spoke to each other again.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 22:11, 2 replies)
A pearoast
a popular colleague was leaving for a better job, and on his last day, someone dug out a pack of photos of a night out or other such event, and on these pictures was a collegue who had lost a considerable amount of weight since then. I picked up one of the photos.
"Was this you?" I asked.
"Yeah, that was me before I lost 4 stone" she replied.
What was meant to happen next was me uttering "fuck me" under my breath followed by "haven't you lost weight?"
However, I said the 'fuck me' bit out loud, and then realising what I'd done, stopped talking.
So now, most of the office staff are staring at me wondering why I've just said "fuck me" whilst looking at photos of a fat collegue
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 21:49, 3 replies)
My Father's Last Words
I won't get into the medical details surrounding my father's death, but it did involve hospice care, ensuring he passed away at home surrounded by his closest friends and family. While he didn't utter many words to me during his final weeks, I considered this a good sign as he spent a lot of time dispensing final tidbits of advice to my ne'er-do-well brothers and a few friends he felt could have done better with their lives. The last few days saw him in a near comatose state, only occasionally uttering a phrase or two to whoever he recognized by his bed.

On what turned out to be his last day of life, the local Episcopalian priest visited to give a blessing and last rites to one of her dearly beloved parishioners and patrons. While the priest was herself well loved in the community, it was known that her later morning Sunday sermons could extend well beyond the normally scheduled hours, and the less patient would attend the early morning service as that guaranteed a set exit time. My father was among those who attended the early service, although to accomodate my late morning schedule, he would endure the extended services when I was visiting the islands and sleeping late.

As her soft voice filled the alcove, I realized the priest was going into "extended sermon mode". After an interminable interval, my father levered himself upright, looked her straight in the face and said:


He immediately collapsed back onto the bed and resumed his slow breathing.

The silence which accompanied this utterance was nearly absolute, broken only by my father's continued breathing and the faint sound of the remote air conditioner. The priest was clearly discomfited by the incident, and not knowing precisely what to do, reached down to pat one of my father's dachshunds who had taking up station sitting close by her feet. The dog softly growled at her, which prompted my mother to defuse the situation.

"Thank you very much: that was wonderful."

Knowing she was being given a way out, the priest softly said, "thank you: I think I should go now." I accompanied her to the door and attempted to comfort her by saying, "he loved helping the parish - but he was never very patient." The priest quietly replied, "he always did prefer the early service."

Several hours later, my father breathed his last, with my mother and myself sitting next to him. 2 days later, a service was held at the tiny church he loved. The same priest gave the eulogy, and everyone was astonished at its brevity.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 19:02, 4 replies)
I wish it had been me , but my brother told me this one.
He was out on the ching and boozes when he spotted a large group of ladies enter the bar. He was straight over there, and discovered it was a hen party, so he bought the hen a bottle of champagne, and set about separating his chosen target from her friends. Not too difficult a task after the champagne.

As an aside, that's a favourite trick of his. I've been in a few clubs with him when he's said,'Champers never fails' and bought a bottle, and sure enough five minutes later a couple of girls have joined us.

Anyway, back to the tale. So, he's on the dance floor with this girl when he drops a massive fart. All our family fart a lot; mine are odourless of course, but his reek of rotten cabbage. The conversation went like this:

-Have you farted?


-Yes you have.

-I haven't.

-You have. It fucking stinks.



-OK hands up. Bye then.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 18:26, Reply)
A pearoast, I think...
About 20 years ago when I was still young and happily married to Nurse Ratched, she and I were going to meet her mother for lunch. While I genuinely like Rita a lot, she always has the affect of a 1950s sitcom mother, slightly ditzy and always looking to the sunny side of everything. She's sweet, but at times a little maddening. She's a devout Catholic besides, and is very socially conservative.

At the time Nurse Ratched and I had been speculating quite a bit about her brother, who had never had a girlfriend yet seemed to always have male companions around. It seemed clear enough to me, but any reference to it in his presence would make Rick start shouting and generally being a dick. (As one of my sons put it, you are what you eat.) And he was especially rude and brusque to his mother, which she of course found upsetting.

So as we drove to the restaurant I commented that I knew exactly how the lunch conversation would go- "Now, have you spoken to Rick lately? You know, I worry about him- he never tells me anything on the phone, and he's always so abrupt. What do you think's going on with him these days?" I had heard the same conversation at least a dozen times, and could mimic her precisely.

Sure enough, within five minutes of sitting down, the conversation started down its inevitable path. When it got to "What do you think's going on with him?" I calmly replied, "We're pretty sure that Rick's gay."

Nurse Ratched almost sprayed her mother with a mouthful of gin and tonic, Rita's jaw landed in her lap, and I sat back with the satisfied glow of knowing that I had ended that particular conversation permanently and had steered it into new waters.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 17:53, Reply)
In a lift with the 4 year old child of my new girlfriend
who I was looking after alone for the first time . His mother and I lived on different floors of the same tower block and had got to know each other deliciously slowly over a few months . I had never really fancied anyone with children before but I was smitten and wanted to have a relationship with them as well as her and so as things progressed we decided that the time had come.
I had spent the day encouraging the wee chap to look at things and ask questions so we could get to know each other , and was enjoying seeing the world through his eyes .
I was , right up till we were in the lift back at the flats and just as the door closes junior takes my hand, looks pointedly at the only other occupant of the lift and says 'Horace,why is that lady so fat ?'
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 16:59, 10 replies)
struck dumb
I happened to go to an opera with a teacher, his wife, and a priest. The wife was a young looking blonde woman. I was a young blonde teenager. After the opera the priest engineered it so that the teacher was left parking the car while the rest of us went to get a table at an Italian restaurant. The SPLIT SECOND before we walked through the door the priest linked arms with both of us ladies and loudly announced his arrival in booming Italian.

The entire restaurant fell silent at the sight of a priest with two dollybirds on his arm.

I have never been stared at so much. In total silence where there had been a busy hum of conversation. At the time I was mortified, but now I realise just how brilliant that priest was. Comedy gold.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 16:57, Reply)
A few weeks ago in my eating disorder class,
we had to do a group lunch (yes, to learn how to order healthy food). I turned around to the token bulimic among us and asked if she wanted a doggy bag for her leftovers or a sick bag.

Almost got thrown out of the class for that one.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 16:36, 43 replies)
I'll just roast this pea, as it seems to fit.
The scene is a dingy basement club in Edinburgh.

A while ago, I tried to chat up a lovely-looking Turkish girl on a sticky and murky dancefloor, a task made at once easier and infinitely more difficult by the fact that I was pissed as a bastard and in no fit state to be out in public. To her credit she dealt my drunken advances fairly patiently, up until I pulled my trump card: an absolutely ripe one that smelled like the aftermath of a mighty battle between cabbages and eggs.

I couldn't really hide that I had just stenched the house down, but by God my alcohol-raddled brain thought it had just the plan. She provided me with the perfect opening when she asked "did you just fart?". Aha! thought I. There's room for doubt! It all depends on my next line!

"I thought that was you."

Needless to say, she didn't go near me for the rest of the night. I had the last laugh though, as I cracked one out when I got home that night and managed to avoid weeping.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 14:22, 4 replies)
Last night
Picture the scene, if you will. A girl I've only recently met invited me and several pals over to her new flat for Eurovision. Many genial Australians, a smattering of Scots, and a lot of tasty punch. At some point in the evening, conversation turns to the fact that this girl has managed to score (a very rare, as I understand) dual nationality for Germany and Australia, due to the fact her grandad has his nationality illegally revoked by the Nazis, cos of being a Jew and that. This is important.

Conversation moves on. More punch/wine/crackers are consumed. Silliness abounds.

Later, we're discussing places we'd like to live. My friend Andrew starts waxing lyrical about his time in New York after working for one of those American summer camps that parents spend thousands of dollars on. Apparently, it was a camp for Jewish kids. Someone overhears this, and asks 'What's a Jewish camp?'

Everybody turned to Andrew, and in the split second of silence before he answered the word just fell out of my mouth. 'Auschwitz?'

It really wasn't funny.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 12:09, 2 replies)
Not swearing, sex or dead relatives
The brewery I used to work at had it's fair share of odd balls. People who didn't know where the sun went at night, who thought WWF was real, people who had never left the country.
One day Pete, who was not so much from the shallow end of the gene pool rather than the footbath of genetics, was having what bordered on the lines of a conversation with another member of the cellar crew.
I can't remember the details of the conversation, but, as usual when Pete was out of his intellectual depths he came from left field with a non sequitur that would stun a cow.
"Pete, you're surreal" was the response to his confusing comment.
"Who's Cyril?" Pete asks, in all honesty.
The conversation died right there.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 11:57, 1 reply)
In which a young Colonel Boris finds himself demoted to nothing but a wimpering mass.
As a thirteen-year-old Colonel, I was sent on a week-long school science trip, staying in a somewhat militaristic youth hostel on the south coast of Blighty. Being fairly young, the height of hilarity was the joke "what do you call skinheads on a raft?" with the oh-so-rib-tickling rejoinder "beans on toast."
Come lunchtime one day, we're chatting away, queuing up for slop/food and a major component of this was a primordial mass, complete with tomato-based stromatolites in the form of baked beans. I'm known for some frankly obscene eating habits when the mood takes me (which is thankfully rare these days), but I draw the slightly boking line at baked beans.
"The works, but none of the skinheads, please." Ha-fucking-hilarity-ha.
The chap behind the counter, all six-foot-five of him, framed by the grease-filmed beige kitchen backdrop, fixed me with a look compounded of pity, wonder and hatred and slowly lifted his paper cap to reveal the extent of his non-hirsuteness.
Desperately, pointlessly, I tried to explain before the laser-like glare broke contact and locked on to the next in line which was now as silent as the grave.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 10:38, Reply)
the wedding reception
My wedding dress was fitted with metal boning in the corset and I discovered that I couldn't really sit and breathe, let alone enjoy the nice three course meal we had planned. I explained the situation to my bridesmaid and she went to help me change in the room adjacent to the dining hall. Everyone is sitting waiting for their starters and chatting to their new relative-in-laws and having a drink. The plan was to just come back in my reception dress instead and get on with the lovely wedding day.

Mum had other plans, calling out across the hall as I re-entered "what is this? Why isn't your wedding dress on?" Just as the room was hushed by the serving staff to announce the start of the meal she exclaimed

"Is it because you're too fat now, is that what it is?"

Soup and a roll had never been so interesting and there was no conversation from the other twenty five guests. I can't remember my reply as my brain has mindbleached it for my comfort.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 10:20, 1 reply)
My brother and a mate were out one night for a few drinks...
After striking up a conversation with two ladies at the bar and offering to buy a round of drinks, his mate Phil (who is a serial bullshitter) blurts out:

"Just a coke please, I have a mission briefing for black ops in the morning"

The two ladies tried not to laugh, they really did but you see Phil has a pair of glasses as thick as the bottom of a milk bottle.

My brother had left the bar by the time the drinks had arrived....
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 9:14, Reply)
Ultimate conversation killer?
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 8:29, 7 replies)
About 10 years ago when I was doing an IT contract a new employee joined the team.
He was one of those annoying little shites who thinks they're amazingly cool and blithely ignores the world's attempt to tell him otherwise.
It would have been about two or three days after he's started and the team had got togeather for lunch at a café (we worked over a number of different sites so only got togeather a couple of times a week).
We'd had our lunch and were sitting back having a beer and a bit of a chinwag. The new guy decided to tell us a story; it was basically one of those meant to demonstrate sexual prowess and machismo and generally display how cool the teller is. That was the intention.
There's a very awkward and a quick subject change when he'd finished regailing us with the tale of the time he was shagging a cheap prostitute and she only did half the job and tried to finish him off by hand, followed by the attitude he'd given her and his refusal to pay. Upon finishing he then looked round with a look that expected us all to agree and say we'd do the same and/or how we wished we had balls as big as his.
He only lasted a few more days. He got no work done and the third time he's screwed up a computer to the point that someone had to go round to do a complete reinstall he was sacked.
I did bump into him about a month later on a platform at Piccadilly Circus. He was dressed as you'd expect a pot washer to dress when they'd just got off work and he told me he'd decided to leave the job and he'd got an offer to be a top chef in the West End. Apart from the evidence before me I very much doubt that top West End restaurants are run by 20-21 year old failed IT contractors.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 8:14, Reply)
...from the mouths of babes
Bathing my toddler daughter one night before bedtime, we're chatting away about the day and she pipes up:
"Daddy? When I get older will I get boobs like you and mummy?"

Speechless. I nearly gave up the booze and fags. Nearly.
(, Sun 15 May 2011, 7:35, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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