Dad, please note...
1) My driving is not so bad that you have to dig your fingernails into the dashboard, similarly unless I hit the wall I am not 'too close to it',
2) The Daily Mail should not be used as a reference document in medical or socio political matters,
3) Roast beef is not improved by cooking it for 'another half hour'.
4) You look like Barry McGuigan in all of your wedding photos, which is a bit weird.
5) Still to this day I do not understand how you managed to work the hours you did to raise a family without killing yourself and I am eternally grateful.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Fri 26 Nov 2010, 16:24, Reply)

just been talking to my dad
about bernard matthews dying. the subject naturally changed to turkeys, with my dad saying "he made his fortune raising turkeys"
my mum said "he didn't raise them he got other people to do it for him." my dad's reply was "he did raise them, from chickens."
wtf? how can you raise a turkey from a chicken? i am seriously beginning to question my parentage
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 16:17, 4 replies)

I'll just leave this here...
One of the things I am most looking forward about being a Dad (my boy is nearly 1), is lying creatively about things I know nothing about...

Like this Dad-Trolling Museum
(Sir Itchalot has a very self-referential signature, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 16:10, 6 replies)

my dad is a legend
Parkinson has had its nasty grip on him for over a decade now but some of the shit he used to pull makes me want to shudder and cheer at the same time. Only now, prompted by qotw have i actuallly stopped and taken stock. I now realise that a touch screen phone just wont cut it. I will probably grab my laptop and set aside an hour for this.

watch this space
(OTT, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 15:45, 2 replies)

My Dad story. This is actually true.
I was 14 at the time. One Saturday in 1981, we were all at home. Dad says to me 'Make us a cheese sandwich will you?', so off I go to the kitchen, knocked up the sandwich and gave it to him.

'OK, I'm going up the park' I said. 'See you later'.

After a few hours at the park, I wander home, to find my Mum and dad have gone out. I ask my brother 'Where are they?'. Brother tells me Dad felt unwell, Mum took him to the hospital.

Another hour passes, Mum turns up, driven by a friend. Wierd, but hey, whatever. Mum come in, looking a bit flustered. Her friend says 'can you go in the sitting room and talk to your Mum'.

Mum standing there. No other way to say it. 'Dad's dead'.

So, being sensitive and mature, my first words on hearing about my fathers death . . . 'Fuck, I hope it wasn't the cheese sandwich'.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 15:39, 11 replies)

Many shades of wrong!!!
Mum desides she's off out with friends for the evening and we (been younger brother and I) are left in the capable care of our dad !!!!...

"I'll do you both a quick tea" a phrase that brings a shudder even now 25 yeras later..

Egg beans and chips how difficult is that to arse up..

Chips made fresh and quite yummy, beans warm and not the cheap variety, doing well so far.. eggs, cooked nice runny yolks, seem to have a slight crunch within the normal texture and small crispy BITS...

Now most people would think bits of shell maybe or due to dirty oil, or bacon been cooked in same oil....

NOPE !!!!! it's because the silly old sod decided he couldn't find the normal egg flipping spatular and so used the CATLIT scraper from under the sink !!!!!

I will let your own minds diggest the horror of what the small crunchy bits might have been.. It makes me gip just thinking about it...

BUT.. it didn't kill us and the story has been told by both me and my brother to our own kids now and at christmas last year his present was a full set of kitchen utensils which I think still havn't been used as we just don't trust him in the kitchen anymore.
(ELDAR, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 15:35, 2 replies)

my dad's advice
when you are lost, walk uphill - you can have a better view and it'll be a downhill stroll when you see where you should be.
don't fear to take a job that seems beneath you, if you have to - your free time is still your own and you can occupy your mind during dull tasks.

He also convinced my little sister that rather than saying "feel free" you should say "feel freely", since feel is a verb. As a young woman, she has spent her 6 years of adulthood so far telling people they should feel, freely.
( sleepybinky, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 15:24, Reply)

Another pea for roasting:
My great grandfather suffered massive memory loss in his last years, to the point that he knew who no one was - even some of his regular nurses.

My great-grandmother went to visit him every day, however, and on the day before he died, after having chatted for a couple of hours, he turned to her and said, with all sincerity:

"You're a lovely lady. Would you like to marry me?"
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 15:20, 4 replies)

Aged 14
I was told I was to old to have a dad, and then he pissed off.
I missed him for a while, but now I just pity him.
(Andy-Bhoy I'm here all week, try the veal., Fri 26 Nov 2010, 15:09, Reply)

Auld pain in the erse
My father's words of wisdom.

When I dropped a glass from a tray I was carrying: "Son, ye better pit a pair of pants on that, cause ye made a right cunt of it."

When he caught someone trying to nick his Xmas lights from the tree in the garden: "Here pal. Pit yer troosers on yer heed. Yer an erse!"

Just two of the many gems he's given us over the years
(Barry Subchimp, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 15:09, Reply)

Ken Dodds Dads Dead
Ken Dodds Dads Dead, Ken Dodds Dads Dead, Ken Dodds Dads Dead, Ken Dodds Dads Dead
(TwinkleFuckingToes Has a ingrown toe nail, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 14:49, 8 replies)

My dad is incredible.
There's only one thing he's done in my life that I can complain about. I worry that if I ever have kids I won't be a fraction of the father he was to me.

Thanks dad. And thanks, dad.
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 14:42, Reply)

Get this, right
my Dad was such a drunken bastard this one time he stabbed up my Gran then set fire to the house and I had to hide under the bed like I did every night but then he pissed on the fire and it went out then he went to prison and killed a guard and escaped and ruined every christmas by killing my Mum so I didn't go to his funeral and that was three years ago but I still miss him every day and he'd be so proud of his grandchildren.
( wotofco pissing in your swimming pool, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 14:29, 13 replies)

Absent dad
Mum and dad split up when I was small (
(SonofRojBlake, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 14:19, 6 replies)

My Dad
was just lovely. I could fill pages with stories of how he could make you laugh so hard you had to sit down or how he would do anything for anyone (He once drove me 150 miles because I wanted to see a pygmy sheep I'd read about) or how he had the knack summing up a situation in a pithy, witty phrase. There is one story, however, which captures his loveliness in all its glory and makes me glad he was my Dad. I apologise in advance as it is a bit syrupy.

Dad came from a poor area of Ireland and his family were one of the poorest of all in the area. He had 5 brothers and sisters - he was the second child and the oldest boy. The family didn't have a great reputation due to some unmarried pregnancies (this was Ireland in the 1950s), the fact that my grandmother sodded off when Dad was about 11 and wasn't heard of for another 25 years and, finally, because my granddad was rather fond of the drink. Some of the stories Dad told made Angela's Ashes sound like a memoir of a jolly childhood. Dad was often hungry, always fairly dirty and generally made to miss school to go out to work. What always surprised me was that in later life he didn't seem to think he was badly done by. His childhood had been rackety but there was no point sitting down and weeping over what couldn't be changed.

Dad left home to work full-time at 13 and came to England to live when he was 16. One by one his siblings followed suit until my Aunt, the youngest, was left at home with Granddad. I can only imagine how grim that must have been for her. She was expected at 11 to run the house, including cooking over an open fire, scrabble together what education she could when she could get to school and spend evenings alone in a house in the middle of nowhere when Granddad was off in the pub. She was teased a lot as it was generally held in the village that Granddad wasn't her real dad and it was a local sport to play 'guess the daddy.'

After about a year or so of living on her own at home, Dad came home from England for a visit. I think he must have known how bad a time my Aunt was having. Over the course of the visit, my Aunt mentioned that one of the biggest bitches in school had recently been bought a wristwatch. This girl's dad was the local doctor and was comfortably off as a result. In that time and place a watch of your own was a major status symbol. It became clear to my Dad that my Aunt's two greatest desires in life were to (a) get some kind of revenge on the girl who made her life miserable and (b) one day own a watch of her own but both dreams seemed pretty much unattainable from her 11 year old perspective.

On the last day of Dad's stay, he said he needed to go into the nearest town to pick up some bit and pieces and asked if my Aunt would like to come. As they walked past the jewellers, Dad stopped and asked my Aunt which watch her nemesis had been given. She pointed out the identical model and then gaped as Dad walked into the shop and purchased the next model up the line. He came out and strapped on my Aunt's wrist without a word. My Aunt says it was the best day of her life when she swanked into school with the *best* wristwatch on her arm. A tiny bit of joy for a little girl who was having a miserable time.

See, slightly sickly but it does illustrate perfectly how lovely my Dad was. Dad has been dead for nearly four years now but I know I was lucky to have him.

Apologies for the overload of sentiment and length.
(Innogen, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 13:58, 3 replies)

dad's advice
Never stand when you can sit, never sit when you can lie down, and never miss the opportunity to go for a piss, you never know when the next opportunity may arise.

or was that just his bladder infection talking?
(Vinegar strokes Should know better on, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 13:55, 1 reply)

Ode to my dad
Right, my dad is quite simply brilliant. [as you can see this is a long one and may be completely uninteresting to anyone who doesn’t know him]

A few things that back up my hypothesis:
1.Regular failure at remotely foreign words: I'm making sushi for my family and my dad is 'helping' (code for 'hovering around the kitchen and asking when it'll be ready'). He shouts out to my mum "love, have we got any wasmati?"

2. On the same theme of getting words wrong, we were on a family holiday about 6 years back, five of us in the car when 'living on a prayer' comes on the radio. We're all singing along when my sister asks my dad what he's singing and we all quieten down to hear him... "Wooooaaah, we're halfway there! Woooaaah living on a beeeaaar!" It's been the default lyric ever since and he's never been able to explain why he thought bon Jovi lived on top of an ursine abode.

3. Typical middle aged man syndrome of waving vaguely and saying tenuous synonyms when he's looking for something.
"Where’s the... the thing... the small thing... the stripy thing?" (a cat)
"There’s the... microwave... toaster... phone...*pokes hand with other finger*" (remote control)

4. Amazing lack of coordination coupled with a spot of bad luck:
We were on a holiday when I was small and were walking through an empty French field. My dad managed to find the only tent peg in the entire place and fall straight over it. With the high grass it looked like he'd been taken down by a hidden velociraptor.

Trick or treating with us kids. We left the house and crossed the road. He promptly tripped up the curb and hit his chin on the pavement. His hands, generally useful for not breaking your face on the floor, were jammed in his jacket pockets.

I've always been horrendous at football, and of course it's a dad's responsibility to teach this oh so useless skill. I'm booting the ball around the park with absolutely no control over where it goes, and my dad decided to step in. "watch this, son" says he, as he places the ball and takes a little run up. the uneven grass shifts the ball ever so slightly as he swings his foot and he ends up stepping onto the ball, his momentum and the springiness of the ball catapulting him up into the air and the cruel mistress that is gravity puts him on his arse.

On top of all the things he's done over the years to amuse us unwittingly; he's a bit of a practical joker. He was once stripping the paint off the front door and decided to yell "shit, the door's caught fire! Bring water!" my mother does so, see his grinning face and dumps it on his head.

He’s also universally liked and respected in his private life and his career and has an admirable sense of fair play and morals. He’s raised three children who have had a fantastic start in life and I pretty much want the life he’s got when I’m his age. He’s a role model and a friend and I’m incredibly lucky to have him as a dad. Mostly though, he just cracks me up.

EDIT: Completely forgot the best story about him! I was 15 and he was dropping me off at a house party.(as with all good parents he would drop me off around the corner) He suddenly says to me "by the way son, if you ever want to bonk a bird, just tell me and I'll take the girls out for the day." horribly embarrassed ESP says "er... thanks dad..." not picking up on the oh so subtle death from shame occurring in his son, he goes "have you got any condoms? NO? right, here's three quid, pop into that pub and buy some from the vending machine!" I can’t think of a more heartfelt gift to a teenage son than the offer of an empty house for sex; despite the horror I was feeling at the time. The whole incident is never spoken of again, apart from every opportunity I can get to say “bonk a bird”.
(ElectricSexPants would like to be the Sultan of something, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 13:54, 2 replies)

I'll just get on this comfy looking couch... (Or, move along now, nothing to see here.)
Lots of sad stories, lots of funny ones. Good going. I wish my post was going to fall into either of those categories, it's probably more a stream of conciousness. (So apologies.)

In the short time my dad wasn't drinking, he was ok. He taught me archery, how to shoot, how to kill. (People sadly. I've never had the need as yet!) But not the usual life skills a man should know. He taught me to drive and ride a motorcycle when I was eight, how to start a fire and live wild, how sleight of hand works, he was a big fan of the magic circle.

He achieved things in his life I can only dream of, yet died a poor man. He got across the Iron curtain (and back) with no passport- during the war. He blew up enemy camps in Palestine by living under a sunlamp and learning Arabic to blend in. (I wish I knew more about his army life, I think it might explain a lot. He made me swear never to join the army as "Sitting in a freezing puddle for days on end listening to your best mate get tortured is not a life I'd recommend. And that's just the training.")

He had a terrific sense of humour, but I was only witness to this for the few years he was straight.
I'm not sure what a father figure should be, (I'm not going into all the bad stuff here. This is a happy cathartic post for me.) But my wife tells me I'm doing a great job with our kids which makes me very happy.

I cried when I found out he'd died, and cried again at the funeral. In the last years of his illness he showed me more that he loved me than ever before in my life. Once he'd lost the power of speech I could read more than if he still had it.

He gave me sage advice. One driving lesson- "Everybody on the roads is an idiot" (True) "Speak softly and carry a big stick." (Very handy!)
But one bit I found after he'd died kind of summed him up. It was on a personal organiser he never used. "You can't turn back the clock, but you can wind it up again."

Dad- I wish you could have seen my kids. They're great- you'd have liked them.


Apologies again. Cathartic post and all that.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 13:44, Reply)

My dad died just over 5 years ago.
It was obviously very sad, he'd had cancer and been suffering a lot, so in the end it was a relief to know he'd not have the pain anymore.

Over the years I've found myself becoming ever-more like him, though I know I'll never be able to be quite so.. unique.

He could roll a joint that could knock out an elephant, and disarm people with spontaneous wit the likes of which I have rarely heard.

Thanks to him I have an amazing music collection comprised of all his old records, some amazing handmade vintage speakers, and come the onset of the internet, a collection of downloads to rival iTunes..

He always had an air of unspoken mystery about him, even now I feel that I'd barely even cracked the surface with him.
It's without a doubt the biggest shame I can think of, I'd do anything for another 5 minutes with him, just to get his insight.

Out of all of the weird things I've seen with my family, there was one event that really summed him up for me.

We were at a friends house, and one person there was, for lack of a better description, pretty fucking fat.

Now, this friend was complaining about said cake-fuelled predicament, and friends were cooing about her, plenty of "no, you're just cuddly" and "big-boned" and all that.

In walks my dad, freshly-rolled joint in mouth, at which point fat friend turns round and asks:

"H, do you think I'm fat?"

And lo, whilst sparking up and without missing a beat:

"God yes, you're fucking enormous. If I were you I'd be ashamed to go out in public. I don't know how you have the nerve, myself."

Utterly level-voiced, and without malice, but staunchly honest.
Fat friend is shocked as you may imagine, and everyone is open-mouthed in horror. My mum quickly whisked him to the kitchen..

"What the fuck did you say that for?"
"She asked me, I wasn't gonna lie, was I?"
"Well, couldn't you have been, a little bit more diplomatic about it?"
"Oh so what, lie?"
"No, but maybe soften it a bit?"
"Oh what, sugar-coated lie? She'll fucking eat that too."

Legend.
(Irregular Joe last touched ham on, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 13:22, 7 replies)

My dad will often walk purposefully into a room
He'll reach the middle, stand there for a second, say "No!", and walk out again.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 13:21, 10 replies)

Technically my Step-Dad, but near enough
There's probably a lot I can say about him. This is the man who for his 50th birthday wanted a weekend at Alton Towers (British Theme park for those of you across the pond). I think that tells you all you need to know about him. I love him to bits.

My Step Dad has that habit of when you can't quite remember the word you want to say you just put a nonsense one in instead e.g "I need to pick up 'thingy'" or "that 'wotsit' is playing up again."

A teenage GherkinLasagna walks into the kitchen to see Step-Dad falling over his words with my mother looking increasingly confused. He's not bothered, feeling he has his message across and ends with the line

'Oh, and I've put the oojars in the wotsit'. With out thinking, my response was

'What? You've put the car seats in the car?'. Step Dad turns round to dismiss my inevitably wrong answer. He thinks, his brow furrows and and says in amazement

'Yes, exactly'

I've never seen my Mum look so confused and scared at the same time.
(Gherkinlasagna is probably doing something stupid on, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 13:18, 2 replies)

my dad and his loud yorkshire voice struck again
at my cousin's first holy communion. bored shitless with hundreds of little girls in white party dresses, my dad resorted to reading the order of service. he paused. frowned. brought the leaflet closer to his face. grunted. then passed it to us, jabbing a finger at the offending item.

"ETHAN," he said. "WHAT SORT OF A NAME IS E-THAN?" the man in front turned around and gave him an icy glare.

"actually, that's my son," he hissed. even in church god ignored my prayers for the ground to open and swallow us up. but dad was utterly unphased.

"WELL I'VE NEVER HEARD OF IT," he said, and carried on reading the programme.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 13:03, 2 replies)

My step father had a rotorvator.
For those who don't know, it's a sort of small automatic plough for your vegetable garden, with diggy-things instead of wheels, and a furrow-making stick at the back. They're petrol powered, and really quite good fun.

When I was about 16, I was rotorvating his garden in the high summer, and as such was wearing only shorts and wellies.

And I ran over - and split wide open - an undeground wasps nest.

They SWARMED around me - it was like something out of the Beano, and I ran back to the house with a cloud of them following me, stinging me everywhere. I was actually a little sick from the stinging - I got done 24 times - and I had licence to swear as much and as prolifically as I liked that day.

In the evening, when I'd calmed down into a simple, blotchy red mess, my stepfather took me out to the garden.

"Here you go" he said, going into the shed and passing me a can of petrol.

We soaked a ball of string, and then went to the nest, which we soaked it liberally.

We ran the string back from the nest to the patio, sat down, and he handed me a light - in the form of his kitchen blowtorch.

Oh ... happy days.

BOOM
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 12:20, 5 replies)

My dads 'Great!'
My dad in his early years used to be known as a bit of a hard man/gangster (He's a big softie now mind you) he would give people a doing for going against his wishes and rewarded those who loyally followed him.

So imagine my disappointment when he just sat back and watched as a couple of thousand Jews nailed me, his only son, to a cross.

....cunt!!


Jesus.
(ukraine space monkey, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 12:17, 2 replies)

Dildon´t.
Both my parents are pretty eccentric to say the least…when I was a young teenager mum would run into the living room in fancy dress singing, dancing and pelvic thrusts a plenty (as if in a dodgy musical) just to embarrass me in front of boyfriends, …last Xmas, to spice things up a bit, my Dad decided to suspend a Xmas tree and Stove from the ceiling (wtf!??)

Funny Images at ImageHousing.com

but on my most recent visit to see him…my dad took it one step too far, yes ladies and gentleman in the middle of a party at our place my very own father thought it would be hilarious to burst through the door and proceed to chase me round the kitchen table with a flashing dildo!!-I was (to put it mildly) completely and utterly horrified!-I mean, the very thought of your Dad owning a Dildo is disturbing enough let alone being chased round the table with one : /
I don´t have any photos of the “offending article” but I do have one of my utter disbelief:

Girl Images at ImageHousing.com

Then this one of my Dad trying to make friends again with me afterwards!

Funny Images at ImageHousing.com

I calmed down some after all of his (cracked up) mates told me they´d bought it for him as a “joke” and it wasn´t actually something he owned for his “personal pleasure” still though, sweet bejesus …what a Dad.
(misshotlips, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 12:15, 13 replies)

I never really knew my dad, for years my family just told me he was murdered and it was left at that.

Something something Star Wars
(FondaAccord, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 12:11, 5 replies)

My Dad missed my wedding
Because he'd chosen the previous day to fall off his lawnmower and lacerate his leg. His wife also missed it because she had to stay behind and make sure he didn't do anything else stupid while she was away.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 11:53, 1 reply)