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"Part of my kitchen floor are thick with dust, grease, part of a broken mug, a few mummified oven-chips, a desiccated used teabag and a couple of pieces of cutlery", says Sandettie Light Vessel Automatic. To most people, that's filth. To some of us, that's dinner. Tell us about squalid homes or obsessive cleaners.
( , Thu 25 Mar 2010, 13:00)
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I used to live in Middlesbrough. Naturally, our house was a total shithole, and the envy of the street.
In the aftermath of a fairly minor food-fight in the living room one evening, I flung a piece of crust at my mate. Being a corner, its trajectory was not what I had anticipated, and it fell in a lame arc. Feeling despondent, I went to go and retrieve it, and that's when I saw something magical. The bread had never reached the ground, instead, it was held, suspended 2 feet off the floor by some errant cobwebs adjacent to the wall.
Of course, we all found this to be absolutely fucking marvellous, and it was forbidden to move wall bread under any circumstances.
It stayed in place until we left the following year.
( , Fri 26 Mar 2010, 14:36, 4 replies)
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that I signed on was up there. When I was applying for housing benefit, I got the most inquisitive jobsworth asking me the questions. When I told him we paid £45 per week in rent, he accused me of fraud, claiming that for £45 a week, I should be getting a mansion in the suburbs. He was not joking, and I never got housing benefit.
( , Fri 26 Mar 2010, 14:59, closed)
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