Oop north
Ah yes, they tell me a Yorkshireman is a Scot with the generosity knocked out of him.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 16:18, Reply)

North as in Scotland is fine
it's northern England that's rubbish
( Kroney, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 16:13, Reply)

Lucky to be a northerner?
Oh yes indeed, and the further north the better it gets (well, within reason, anyway).

There's far too many people crammed into that little corner of land in the SE of England. It would make you go crazy (he added, as a feeble attempt to get back on topic).
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 15:56, Reply)

Lesbo?
For years, my Auntie (my Granny's sister, so technically 'Great Aunt') has been living with another woman, who was *I think* the carer for my Great Granda while he was alive and has never left, or...and as far as I know my Auntie has never married...she may of course be her lover.

I'm too scared to ask my Granny. I also would rather not think about old lady scissor sisters thangyouverymuch!
(Zutroy started without you, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 15:51, Reply)

lucky to be a northerner?
contradiction in terms, surely.
( Kroney, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 15:43, Reply)

words to live by
my old flatmate's grandma lives very near my brother over in rural essex (although they have the misfortune to be from there, whereas we are lucky enough to be northerners!).

so one day ginger emma and i went over to essex to see both of them together. her grandma cooked us lunch, which was very sweet of her but sadly it was scampi, which i loathe, fishy little bastards. so i was choking them down when emma said, "so are you courting at the moment, nan?"

"courtin'? COURTIN'??" her nan bellowed in disbelief. then said the immortal words for every single girl to live by:

"what the bleedin' 'ell would i want one of them ruddy things 'angin' around the 'ouse for, eh?"

she might have cooked a disgusting lunch, but the wisdom was pure gold.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 15:36, Reply)

Me Nan
My dear old Nan (RIP) was looking at our old cat for a good long while - one would have presumed admiring his glossy black furr coat or his beautiful green eyes...and then came out with (in her London accent) "Ann-ee got a big bammole?". Classic.
(NJ, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 15:33, Reply)

Seems logical?...
A few years ago I was in the car with my Gran and the rest of the family. While the car was stopped at some traffic lights my sister drew everyones attention to the little, furry-faced, old lady crossing the street in front of us. "Look at that old woman - she has a beard!" she said excitedly. My Gran simply turned round and said (completely seriously) "She's probably a lesbian."
!!
Nobody knew what to say to that.
( skullface, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 15:29, Reply)

"Found her."
When I was about twelve years of age, my grandmother came around to visit us for a week, which was saying alot considering her age (Ninety-five) and where she was coming from (Venezuela). She was my dad's mom, and my dad being a bit of a terrifying fellow at times (He belted with his right arm, but threw shoes with his left...), I wanted to see what kind of parenting could have created his personality.

Strangely though, aside from her repeated mention of my abundant boy-stomach, she was actually a really pleasant dear - laughing at my jokes, watching whatever mindless kid show was on at the time, and otherwise being very sociable. Through some conversation, I discovered that my Dad didn't treat her much better, it turned out; in fact she was terrified of him as well, to the extent that I often had to prevent her from trying to hide from him or escape the house on foot.

The last night she was visiting, my dad and she had a massive argument, resulting in him shaking with anger in the backyard and her sudden disappearance. Mom and dad naturally freaked out once they realized she'd gone missing, and we hopped in the car to see if she'd gone to try and hitchhike somewhere along the nearby highway. We returned several hours later, defeated and scared that she was some sort of dead. I went to my room and tried to relax, trying not to think of what fate might have befallen my grandma, but I couldn't help it. I could practically hear her shaky breath and smell her strange odour.

It was then that I came to the sudden realization that I actually could hear and smell her. In my room.

A quick opening of my closet confirmed my theory - she'd been hiding in the corner of my closet for the better part of two hours, trying to avoid the vengance of my dad. I tried to ask her why she chose my closet, but she shushed me and closed the door, leaving me relieved, dumbfounded, and finally assured of the fact that my dad was a scary bloke.

She passed away two months ago though, bless her.

*pop*
(NraButtons is a 'Merican., Tue 10 Jul 2007, 15:20, Reply)

My Dad.
My old man is an extremely intelligent eccentric. We've clashed over a few things, but Im glad he's my dad.

A very minor example to start with. As a boy/teenager, if I had friends around, and one broke, say a cup, my dad would then start throwing other crockery items around to make them feel less like they'd done wrong. However, this isn't what makes him stand out as crazy.

The defining anecdote about my dads mentalness is this...

Scene setting. Its the early eighties. 82/83. A housing estate in sleepy cheshire. Dad and one of his friends head off in the car (Vauxhall Marina) to do something. Can't remember what. Me and my Sis and Ma are sat at home doing whatever it was we did in the eighties.

Dad has a car accident. He's only got 3 or 4 hundred metres away from the house, when another car crashed into him.

Now, he was wearing his seatbelt, but they werent so tight or responsive in them days. Dad goes through the windscreen. Then the seatbelt pulls him pack through.

He turned the car around, and DROVE HOME!!

Calmy comes in through the front door, blood pumping out from all around his head and neck. We all scream. He looked like he's just re enacted the school ball scene from Carrie.

Wanders up stairs, spends a few minutes trying to clean himself up so he can assess the damage, before giving in, wrapping towels around his severely lacerated neck, and letting my mum drive him to the hospital.

Now, I don't know about you, but if I went through a windscreen both ways, my story would be end something like "I screamed like a girl for an ambulance."

And a final round up. When I was fifteen, I was going out with a seventeen your old girl. The week before my sixteenth, he suggested I might like to invite my girlfiend over for the weekend, which I duly did. Friday cometh, he bought me durex, and he moved into a hotel for the weekend.

He came back on the saturday morning. Bought us a full fried english brekkie in bed. Did a bit of nudge nudge wink wink, then buggered off again and left us to it.

What a legend.
( Dr Nick Riviera, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 15:10, Reply)

Not me a friend
Went round to see his Grandma the other day, when he got there he noticed her false teeth in a bowl of water on the kitchen worktop. He picked it up said 'Why aren't you wearing your teeth?' and showed her the bowl.

She dipped her finger in the water, tasted it and said 'No thanks, i'm not that hungry' and wandered off.
(Pesky Eskimo Gadzooks!, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 15:04, Reply)

my parents are totally mad
They talk to me like I'm a baby. They make me eat this crappy meatloaf stuff, even when they're having something special.

And they won't let me go out at night in case I get into fights!

God, and that ribbon they want me to wear all the time. I know you think it's cute, I just don't want to wear it OK?

I just wanna be myself you know?


(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 14:59, Reply)

My Uncle Doris
I'm not sure if this is me being the crazy relative. Anyway, here goes.

My Nan's sister Doris. For years I though, and still think, that she is infact a man.

Now, I have very precise logic on this one. When you are young (about 4), men do certain things and look a certain way. The same applies to women, in a young child's mind women do certain things and look a certain way, this is how you define a man from a woman.

Lets not get into the whole, take a look at the other end business.

So, for years I thought that I was humouring my whole family by calling my Nan's sister "Aunt Doris". Quite clearly in my mind she was a man, so thus she should be called "Uncle Doris"

(s)He used to ride a motorbike, have a job, a greenhouse in which various fruits and vegetables were grown, go out drinking with her friends and ALWAYS wore trousers.

All in all, I must have seen her in a skirt in three times. I seriously thought that it was some sort of public indecency, because of course to a 4 year old a man doesn't dress in women's clothes. Again I thought that I was humouring my family by not saying anything.

She was always very forgetful and would often run through a load of family names before getting to yours. Which actually was really good because I have heard of relations that I didn't know about. Apparently I do look a lot like Audrey.
(lympicita_ie, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 14:55, Reply)

This is a true story*
*this may not be true

It was the night of the first moon landing, and my family was gathered around the television. In fact half the village was crammed into the small dark room. The Minister had the warm seat by the smoldering peat fire, then my great grandmother in the next best seat, everybody else finding space where they could.

Those who know the Isle of Lewis will not be surprised to hear it was stormy. The house creaked and shook, the rain hit the windows like little bullets and the sea could be heard roaring. It was weather that nobody had any business going out in.

Although there was the odd mutter about the moon landing people weren’t saying too much. The Minister had yet to pronounce the Churche's opinion of the activity, and nobody wanted to be praising that which could be the devils work. Finally the Minister said a few words. He commended the fact that the first people on the Moon would be Christians, and said the undertaking was indeed for the glory of god.

With the room now relaxed people spoke freely. Donald McDonald spent some time talking about dangers of the journey, the vast distances traveled and the high probability of something going wrong…

“And to be all the way up there on a night like this” added my great grandmother
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Tue 10 Jul 2007, 14:47, Reply)

My Mad Nan
My Nan was going senile for years before my Mum packed her off into a home for her safety (and for my Mum's own mental health!)

Before she was sent away, we used to have her over for Christmas. EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. Which was fine apart from she used to sleep in my room EVERY. SINGLE, YEAR.

Anyway, one afternoon sometime between Christmas and New Year, we were all sat down watching mindless afternoon TV.

On came a programme about a dairy farm, which showed cows being milked by machine. To this my Nan said to my Mum "Carol, wouldn't that hurt if you had that on your teets?" At the time I really didn't know quite my Mum ignored the comment.

Nan you were a total gem.
(lympicita_ie, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 14:40, Reply)

well, i'm absolutely furiously ravingly mad right now
after an hour yelling at barclays. after reducing the first girl to tears and then ripping my way through her supervisor's supervisor, i finally get her to say in trembling accents:

"i'm not supposed to do this, but i can give you the name and number of your relationship manager."

"good."

"it's mr rachelswipe of the stockport branch..."

"oh, you silly girl. that's my father as it happens and i am able to inform you, being as you don't seem to know yourselves, that he left that particular branch 15 YEARS ago and your bank about 5 YEARS ago," i said politely. or less than politely and full of many many asterisks, followed by: "is that how often you update your customer records you fucking money grabbing corporate cunts???"

so now i'm mad as fire and wondering why it's a prerequisite for anyone who works in customer (dis)services and specifically for barclays to be utterly useless. any ideas?

although i bet that poor girl couldn't believe her bad luck, how often does that happen? cocksmokers.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 14:39, Reply)

both my parents are completely mad!
My Dad walks around in tracksuit pants and a Hawaiian shirt looking like a homeless person, my Mum seems to think I'm 4 years old and kisses me goodbye and tells me to be careful in front of my friends. Both of them sing old songs very badly and very loudly...

sometimes I think that they literally don't care what self-absorbed adolescent hipsters think!
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 14:32, Reply)

It's me, me, me, I'm the crazy one, look everyone I'm MAD!
*In support of Fishyfishyfish*

I'm, like, sooooooooo mad! No I really am the mad one in our family, I paint my fingernails black/write poems about Michael Hutchence on my AS Level Business file/drink Mad Dog 20-20 until it comes out of my ears/watch Teletubbies/use my maths compass to carve the initials of my tutor on my hand/always wear odd socks/wear too much green eyeshadow/still suck my thumb/won't eat meat/dairy/wheat/sugar/food yada yada yada

No-one understands me, that's how mad I am. Like, we went to see Great-Uncle Norman and he didn't recognise my mum and she cried and said something about him looking after her in the war but who cares about that, it was soooo boring and I'd written a poem about dead leaves but no-one wanted to read it... bastards.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 14:20, Reply)

bath time
My great auntie was staying at my auntie's house once. Coming from a generation where you should never waste anything she once had a bath, nothing unusual you might think. My auntie has one of those jacuzzi's sometime after my great auntie was out the bath she heard the jacuzzi still going, walks in to find the contents of the laundry basket spinning around the bath. Her reason - didn't want the hot water going to waste, but how much electricity did it use to power the jacuzzi for an hour???

She's 90 this year and although not certified crazy still does things like this
(phe, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 14:05, Reply)

Granny Jackboots
Well, she may be gone now, but she'll never be forgotten... She earned the nickname for a reason.

Every time there was soemthing like the olympics on and there was a black British athlete (say, Lindford christie for example), she'd peer up close at the TV, and say "Well! He's not British". She abhored comedy of any kind except Jim Davidson....

This wasn't all however... She would take umbridge, and bear a grudge for all eternity. Once, when I was still in the pram, she was staying with my parents and one evening offered to do the washing up. They politely said thank you but it's OK, we've got a machine. Fair enough, off she goes for a bit. Later in, she decides the time is right to be outraged by this refusal, storms into the kitchen with a bowlful of water and chucks it over me, strapped into the pushchair where I can't escape. Apparently she meant to get my dad.

Also, when she was very young, her father came back from a Naval voyage with two teddies, a slightly bigger one for her older sister. She never let her sister forget this until her dying day. Even when Alzheimers had ravaged her brain she remembered getting the smaller teddy and was still incredibly bitter about it.

When my great grandmother died, she left her wedding ring to my mum in her will. Granny Jackboots however decided that my mum shouldn't be allowed such precious things, and snuck into her room one day and stole it - and never gave it back.

This is the clincher though - When my mum announced she was pregnant with my eldest sibling, the response was: "Oh, and when are you going to get rid of it then?" Followed by constantly offering the services of an abortion clinic.

So, RIP Granny Jackboots, no-one cried at your funeral.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Tue 10 Jul 2007, 14:01, Reply)

Mum
My very prim and proper Mum (never swears) and I were watching Coronation Street last week. If you watch it, you will be aware of a character called Blanche Hunt, who is Deirdre Barlow's Mother. Anyway, that afternoon Blanche was sitting in the Rovers being rude to someone (as usual) and came out with "It's Mrs Hunt to you". To which my Mum retorted "More like Mrs Cnut". Arrgggghh, I nearly died laughing! :D
(NJ, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 13:58, Reply)

My grandmother.
I'll set the scene for you. My gran is a stubborn as ever Irish lady just within her 80s, she was in her late 70s at the time of telling of this story I believe. She's not lost her marbles: she's as devious and manipulative as ever; though this doesn't stop her from being batty.. She's in hospital in the story and she has a sister.


There she was, in bed awaiting what I believe was a knee operation. Insisting that her Consultant was Betty and her Nurse Mr. Pradhan, because that is what it said on the board. Despite the numerous attempts to tell her that someone wrote it down wrong, she was having none of it.
Her 'nurse' approached her, with a board,

"-Good Morning, you're Granny_Banana, yes?

-Yes, who d'hell do you think I am?

-Good, thank you. Could I ask for your date of birth, please?

-Why the bloody hell d'ya want know that? «She snapped the words out in her usual increasingly aggressive tone»

-For Medical reasons, Granny_Banana.

-3rd June 1927.

-Do you have any next of kin?

-What do I need a bloody next of kin for? It's just me bloody knee that needs looking at!

-Please, Granny_Banana, just bear with me for the moment. Do you have a next of kin?

-Put me sister down.

-Okay, and could we please have your sister's date of birth also?

-«Granny_Banana started to look increasingly angered. The cheek of the man!» I don't know it.

-Your sister's date of birth, you don't know her date of birth?

-That's what I bloody said! How am I supposed to remember that, eh? I don't know when it is."

This went on for a while with her adamant that she did not know her sister's date of birth. By 'for a while' I mean a good day or so, before the hospital rang up her daughter (my mother) in order to find out the date of birth of her sister and to find out that this is the date of birth of her twin sister.
(Frozen_Banana Shaved against the grain; thoroughly unrewarding., Tue 10 Jul 2007, 13:39, Reply)

Ok ex partner not a relative
Borderline PD is a bundle of laughs....here are a few examples.

Threatening to kill me.
Threatening to kill himself
Physically attacking me.
Physically attacking his brothers (they don't talk to him now).
Throwing tantrums a 3 year old would be proud of on at least a weekly basis.
Biting himself while having said tantrums.
Randomly chatting up any female in the vicinity when drunk (including my best friends).
Being drunk most of the time outside of work.
Accusing me of sleeping with random men.
Answering the phone by shouting fcuk off and slamming it down again.
Changed jobs every few months as no one could see his potential.
Ditching his friends slowly but surely as he got bored of them and of course it was something they had done.
Regular public humiliation of me usually through loud accusations of infidelity and calling me some very unpleasant names.
Extreme jealousy of anyone who he perceived had more than him this included some of my family.
Total paranoia over his cock size (cos of course that's all women worry about) oh and it was average by the way.
Mood swings, up and down like a bloody yo-yo.
His favourite line was no one tells me what to do. I do what I want, when I want.
I wish I'd got wise to that sooner and told him to fcuk off and do it elsewhere.
I mean, really, I put up with that crap for 6 years WTF was I thinking?....I now have some self esteem thankfully (and feel so much better for getting that of my chest).
(cmouse is pondering about life in other jobs, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 13:38, Reply)

My mother...
... will not answer the phone. Ever. The reason? "It might be people who want my money." Apparently she's petrified of telesales people. Fine, but at least pick up the phone to see who it is, because it might be your darling daughter stuck somewhere, trying to phone for a lift.

I quickly learnt to ALWAYS have a back-up plan.
(cherrygloom could kick your ass at Guitar Hero any day, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 13:11, Reply)

My Gran
Has to be seen to be believed.

First time she met Mrs Brocky, she made her pull her finger, then farted.

Any meal we go out on and take her along, she brings her own doggy bag with her and literally pours the entire plate into it. That will last her a full week for food.

Is by no means short of cash and is very generous on birthdays, Xmas etc. but won't spend any on herself. Buys all her clothes from Jumble Sales, sits in the dark when watching telly at night to save electricity and is never seen without at least 3 cardigans on (even on the hottest days in the summer).

Claims that she isn't racist but threatens to vote BNP. She says she can't be racist as she likes people from Australia, New Zealand & Canada and once new a "coloured" person who was nice (from Jamaica). Basically anyone is OK as long as they are from the Commonwealth and are white. Don't get her started on the Germans or the Japanese as the war will raise it's ugly head again.

I've lost count of the number of arguments we've had where I try to explain that people of different races can be British or English if they were born here and have the same rights as everybodty else. She normally ends the argument by tutting and saying that she'll be dead but "they'll take over the country, then we'll be sorry".

Still love her to bits and wouldnt change her for the world though.
(brocky, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 12:57, Reply)

Not related to me...
My girlfriends nan. At the annual family BBQ this year she sat outside in the cold and rain whilst the rest of us were indoors drinking. When we asked her why she was outside her reply was simply; "Well it was really sunny at last years barbeque so I need to balance it out".

Whatever the fuck that means.
(Pleonasm Artichoke Dum-Di-Dum-Di-Dum, I'm Obi Wan Kenobi!, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 12:43, Reply)

Clinically proven
My great Grandad was certified a bit touched, spent half his life in Broadmoor after lamping my Gran over the head with a poker stick thingy for fires.

This of course turned her a bit touched and as we see, the madness grows throughout the generations. My Dad? Hmm, well. And me? Hmm, well..
(The_Greyhound wrote www.luckymcdanger.blog.co.uk on, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 12:38, Reply)

My Gran
once asked me when I start my new job 5 times in 1 hour, oblivious that she had asked me before...She then proceeded to try her hardest to shit in her own mouth...well thats a lie, but she does ask questions over and over again.

(w00t, first post)
(Total_Waster once pitchforked a dog, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 12:21, Reply)

my uncle is a gravedigger
and a few years ago when i was a wee laddie i spent a few weeks with my aunty and said uncle,

my aunty sent me out into the graveyard with his lunch (they lived in the house thats usually on site)
anyway i went out there looking around for him
and finally found him finishing up a grave and he was dirty and tired.

he got up and took his lunch when i noticed what could be only called 'gore or human matter' on his hands, i asked what it was and to my horror he said it was human brains.....

i threw up there and then and ran all the way back to the house..

turns out he just accidently killed a rabbit and had to finish it off and that wa sits guts etc

sorry for the length but i was worth it

(yay my first post!!)

x
(tweedleDUMB Giving Up Smoking, Tue 10 Jul 2007, 12:06, Reply)