You were lucky.
We used to make do with taking it in turns to suck a dish cloth dry when I was a lad. We used to dream of plates.
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 13:35, 1 reply)

Dishcloth!!??
We had ter lie outside at t'bottom o't'wastepipe sharin' a straw. Well, I say straw, it were more like a needle from a junkie's syringe.
( His Popiness the Hole Invaded Poland on, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 16:01, closed)

Needle? Needle?
We 'ad ter crouch round an old rusty bit of barbed wire that'd been used to scratch a leper's suppurating arse so he could rub MASSIVE DRUGS into the weeping wound.

Then he'd throw up on it, and then IF we'd been good we were allowed to lick the sick off.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 22:26, closed)

Barbed wire? Luxury
we used to live in a shoe box in fast lane of M1. We had to walk miles in our barefeet up hard shoulder covered in broken glass just for a glimpse of some barbed wire.

But, you try telling that to t' kids of today and they won't believe you.
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 7:48, closed)

Shoe box?!
Ya pampered sod!

When I wer a lad, we used to av to sleep in the shower drain of t'local 'ealth club. Woke up every mornin' covered in bleach.

Toen nails for supper, clagnuts for breakfast. If we comlained I got a beatin' wi' rusty squash racquets. The tetanus makes me feel like a man.
(Stiltzkin, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 11:58, closed)

Squash rackets?
Ya posh bastids.
It wor nowt burra broken stick in my day!
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Tue 8 Feb 2011, 12:43, closed)

Broken stick? You don't know you're born...
We couldn't afford a broken stick, we had to make do wi' a bit of hay that were floatin' in t' gutter, and we'd get flogged 97 hours a day to make up fut lack of stickifulness, and then we wus made to go out and lick t'gutter clean. But we were 'appy.
( His Popiness the Hole Invaded Poland on, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 21:57, closed)

Right.
I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night, eat a lump of cold poison, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad would kill us, and dance about on our graves singing "Hallelujah."
(wuckfit Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori., Tue 8 Feb 2011, 23:41, closed)

Fuck off, Palin
Everbody knows you went to Shrewsbury School.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 14:13, closed)

Oooh
Is it posh there? Knives and forks and stuff?
( His Popiness the Hole Invaded Poland on, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 20:31, closed)