House Guests
"Last week," Ungersven confesses, "I vomited over almost everything in a friend's spare room. The only thing to escape the deluge was the rather attractive (alas engaged) French girl who was sharing the bed with me." Tell us about nightmare guests or Fred West-a-like hosts.
( , Thu 6 Jan 2011, 14:20)
"Last week," Ungersven confesses, "I vomited over almost everything in a friend's spare room. The only thing to escape the deluge was the rather attractive (alas engaged) French girl who was sharing the bed with me." Tell us about nightmare guests or Fred West-a-like hosts.
( , Thu 6 Jan 2011, 14:20)
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Does a trespasser in the garden count as a houseguest?
Sod it - it'll do.
A balmy summer evening in Headwound Towers. Headwound senior is the main protagonist here, rather than me, who was but a toddler at the time. Warm, muggy conditions and pretty much every window on the first floor open to allow what breeze there was a chance to circulate.
Papa Headwound, suddenly, is awakened by the noise of someone moving furtively in the garden. That unmistakeable sound of someone trying to move without making any noise - you'll be familiar with it I'm sure. So he sits up in bed, listening to the sounds drifting in through the open windows until he's convinced it's a human in the garden, as opposed to say a cat, or an incontinent fox.
He then gets out of bed, moves over to the open window, through which he sticks his head to remonstrate with the intruder.
Cut to intruder's perspective...
The tranquil night air is rent by the sound of shattering glass, as an Army Major's head bursts through the, emphatically not open, window, and busts forth with the first few syllables of a vitriolic stream of commentary on the finer points of land ownership and rights of access, initially delivered in full parade ground voice, but tailing off rather abruptly into a kind of strangled squawk.
The tranquil night air suddenly becomes tranquil once more, broken only by the gentle pattering of shards of glass landing on the flower border, as said head, commentary aborted before it's even got into its stride, is gingerly withdrawn through the hole in the pane.
Three minutes later, now decided on a more measured approach to the situation, Dad emerges from the back door, clad in dressing gown and packing Mum's 7 iron.
Unsurprisingly, the intruder was no longer on the premises.
I think we can conclude an effective, if somewhat inadvisable, burglar deterrent.
( , Mon 10 Jan 2011, 12:03, 5 replies)
Sod it - it'll do.
A balmy summer evening in Headwound Towers. Headwound senior is the main protagonist here, rather than me, who was but a toddler at the time. Warm, muggy conditions and pretty much every window on the first floor open to allow what breeze there was a chance to circulate.
Papa Headwound, suddenly, is awakened by the noise of someone moving furtively in the garden. That unmistakeable sound of someone trying to move without making any noise - you'll be familiar with it I'm sure. So he sits up in bed, listening to the sounds drifting in through the open windows until he's convinced it's a human in the garden, as opposed to say a cat, or an incontinent fox.
He then gets out of bed, moves over to the open window, through which he sticks his head to remonstrate with the intruder.
Cut to intruder's perspective...
The tranquil night air is rent by the sound of shattering glass, as an Army Major's head bursts through the, emphatically not open, window, and busts forth with the first few syllables of a vitriolic stream of commentary on the finer points of land ownership and rights of access, initially delivered in full parade ground voice, but tailing off rather abruptly into a kind of strangled squawk.
The tranquil night air suddenly becomes tranquil once more, broken only by the gentle pattering of shards of glass landing on the flower border, as said head, commentary aborted before it's even got into its stride, is gingerly withdrawn through the hole in the pane.
Three minutes later, now decided on a more measured approach to the situation, Dad emerges from the back door, clad in dressing gown and packing Mum's 7 iron.
Unsurprisingly, the intruder was no longer on the premises.
I think we can conclude an effective, if somewhat inadvisable, burglar deterrent.
( , Mon 10 Jan 2011, 12:03, 5 replies)
This had me shaking with silent laughter in the office for AGES
Clicked, good sir.
( , Mon 10 Jan 2011, 17:41, closed)
Clicked, good sir.
( , Mon 10 Jan 2011, 17:41, closed)
Still chuckling
After a good 10 minutes that smashing image still returns in 30 second intervals to reduce me to a giggling loon.
( , Thu 13 Jan 2011, 0:37, closed)
After a good 10 minutes that smashing image still returns in 30 second intervals to reduce me to a giggling loon.
( , Thu 13 Jan 2011, 0:37, closed)
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