the odd thing is
stories like this were the norm rather than the exception a few decades ago

Bertrand Russell (part of the Foundations that work behind the scenes from 18C onwards - such as the Cecil Rhodes society , Royal Institute for Int Affairs etc) wrote in The Impact of Science on Society about the creation of the ego-centronic society with the indoctrination of a value system from the culture industry and educational establishment that would over write the values of the family and communities (its why you find more humane system when you travel to the less developed countries with less of a technocratic influence - with a culture of co dependance through necessity of treating your fellow man as you would yourself)

even HG Wells in his role as propagandist for the British Establishment wrote that the family unit and altruistic values needed to be destroyed so that Government could impose itself directly on the individual and instil its own value system of the pursuit of hedonism and egocentricity

the most effective way to impliment governance in the guise of government - as they move towards their collectivist world government based on the soviet model


*the Royal Institute and The Council on Foreign Relations are private organistations that work globally towards world standardisation with codes and mandates and are what Prof Carrol Quigly(official royal historian) referred to as the true power behind politics
(The Goat www.cuttingthroughthematrix.com, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 15:19, 90 replies)

When i was about 9 yrs old
I was walking along the side of the road on the way home from school. I noticed a brown lump in the middle of the road. At first i thought it was a cat's eye. But on closer inspection it was someones wallet.

Upon retreiving it and showing my friends i had a look inside and found ~£100, a few credit cards and personal cards. My friends were soo excited... imagine what you could do with £100?

When i got home being the good natured boy i am, i (stupidly?) told my mum.

We did some phoning round using what details there were in the wallet. Eventually we managed to track down the owner. He was over the moon, and hadnt even noticed he had lost it. (apparantly he left it on the roof of his car at the petrol station and drove away).

When he arrived to pick it up he looked in the wallet (no doubt to see all the money had gone) he looked up astounded... "I only thought there was £50 in there!" so he took out £50 and handed it to me...

at which point the hand of my mum reached over my shoulder and turned it away. "he wont accept anything, thanks"

So the guy took out a £20 note, again my mum refused. I was shocked. I could have done with at least £20. Imagine how many bags of sweets i could have got with that!?!?

the rather confused man then shrugged his shoulders with a wierd look of disbelief on his face got into his car and drove off... as soon as the front door was closed i went off like a ballistic rocket at my mum... but i can see now what she was trying to do.

Funny thing was about 2-3 years later the exactly the same thing happened again... with the same result...
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 15:10, 4 replies)

Cakes
One of our other techs volunteered me to fix one of his students computers which wasn't booting. Normally, this sort of thing pisses me off, but as I had been volunteered, I decided to do it and deal with him later.

1 day later, I had totally fucked up the machine, having found multiple viruses on it (I suspect it wasn't me, but the viruses that fucked it), and I ended up reformatting the drive and reinstalling XP. Losing all her data in the process.

Surprisingly, she cooked me not one but two rather nice cakes and we stayed friends for years..
(Ok, I'll get me coat, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 15:05, Reply)

Lights
I'd had yet another crappy day.

Phone wouldn't stop ringing, no other mug would answer it.

Boss ignoring both the list of unchanging, unfinished tasks I'd pointlessly rattled off for the n'th dev meeting in a row and the unshared helpdesk phone, to ask for yet more project updates and to assign me the tickets he couldn't be arsed to do or didn't understand despite my many HowTos published to inform the rest of the team what I do and allow the load to be shared.

I crawled out of my car when I got home, found something random but hopefully nourishing to eat and dragged my shivering, worn carcass upstairs and into a monkeybath.

Just as I'd finished drying behind my ears, the doorbell went.

"Sod em", I thought, "If it's important, they'll phone my mobile. I don't care if it's the pope or even my mum, I just want a smoke and a long, long sleep."

So thinking, as the doorbell went a second time just as I opened the bathroom door.

"Ok, hang on!", I called, covering my embarrassment and almost falling down the stairs.

When I opened the door, I found a strange lady.

"Is that your red car over the road?", she enquired, pointing to my red car, parked, wedged, a good way down my busy street.

"Err, yup", I replied.

"You've left your lights on"

"Sorry?"

"You've left your lights on"

And with that, she turned and left, leaving me behind in my dressing gown on my doorstep, calling a mixture of, "Thanks", "How on earth..?", "Wow!" and general gibbering to her retreating back.

Restored all my confidence in the world and then some. Well, for the evening at least.
(MrOli is ugly, but in the morning you will be sober, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 14:50, 1 reply)

Nice Things
I'm not going assail you with tales of how wonderful I am, because that's not what this QoTW is about. Yes, I have worked with the homeless, but it's not like I was ever one of them, so I just view it as earning some good karma.

No, the point of this post is to relate the coupld of tales that really shaped up as contenders for "lovliest moments of kindness" in my life.

The first is the fact my dad took time to teach me to ride a bike, then bought me my first BMX as a wee nipper - we weren't rich by any means and dad was working six or seven days a week, then doing DIY on the house, so finding time to do this was wonderful - the sense of freedom I gained from bombing round on my bike was only later matched when I passed my driving test. Thanks dad!

The second moment that really blew me away was when my wife (who was then my girlfriend), decided to give me a second chance after what was possibly the worst first date in the history of mankind (awkward conversation, friends interrupting, leaving then coming back with more random strangers, culminating with me giving up and tidying up my office as I'd given it up as a dead loss). We've been married ten months now and we are expecting a baby in May. I love her so much and I will never forget the fact she decided to give me the benefit of the doubt. Bless her!
(Chad, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:56, Reply)

I'm just back from lunch.
I went for a coffee, and afterwards we were walking back to the car, via the sandwich shop.

We passed a cash machine outside a bank, which was beeping like a wounded chicken, nobody anywhere near it, with a wad of cash sticking out.

I had a good look around, grabbed the cash and took it into the bank.
I told the woman behind the glass what'd happened, and left it with her.
What I don't get is that she seemed genuinely surprised that I'd handed it in, rather than pocketing it, and that's a bit of a shame really.
Surely most of you'd've done the same?
( Cawl, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:53, 28 replies)

And a lot more things
I'm with the best man in the world, and he keeps doing nice things for me, like warming up the bed with a bottle of hot water before I get in; making sure there is always water in the bedside table for me; cooking the best pies ever; helping me at work all the time; picking me up at the station (having to leave the pub and his friends) so I don't walk alone...

He made a macro with VB so every time I open Excel at work there is a picture of something nice for me. And he keeps changing it to make me smile.

Best thing, though, was a few weeks ago when he told his housemate about us. I can't give you any details, just trust me, it was the best thing he could have done for me.

And he's great with his tongue and has magic fingers too (and doesn't mind taking his time there)
(Aberracion Life's getting very complicated, but a lot of fun., Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:39, 17 replies)

Vouchers of love
When I first started going out with my missus, we lived 250 miles apart. She was very nervous about her driving test so I bought 2 £25 gift vouchers for one of her fave lady shops. Put them in seperate cards, one with "Well done on passing your test" and one with "Sorry you didn't pass" in the other and hid them in her flat - one under the dvd player, the other under a rug.

Annoyingly, the day before the test her cat was sick on the rug so she had to take it out to clean it, found the "well done" card.

Thankfully, she passed and then I told her about the other card.

She is now my lovely wife and she used the vouchers to buy very very nice clothing to wear...so I ended up getting nice things too.

As it were.
(B3tatimolsky, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:39, Reply)

Well, it made me smile
Inspired by this QOTW (particularly Happycow's post from yesterday) I sent a similar text message round to a few friends to try and cheer them up. (I don't like bragging about such things, and don't want to come off like an arrogant blowhard.)

The responses were mixed, from several people accusing me of being drunk at half past two in the afternoon, one wondering if I had discovered a strong supply of smack, and several who thanked me for brightening their day. But the best reaction came a few hours later. My best friend had gone into a panic at the text, thinking that I'd come off my bike and was lying at the roadside counting down my last remaining minutes on this mortal coil. I got a frantic tearful phone call from her after she had rushed round her uni and the surrounding areas - having only moved there two weeks ago - looking for a phone box to try and speak to me (she was out of credit on her mobile) and find out what was going on.

She was a bit annoyed that I found the whole thing rather funny.

But Laura, thank you for making me feel loved, despite the intention being that you were supposed to be the one with the happy feelings.
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:29, 3 replies)

Bad driving
A few years ago, whilst out with my then girlf (now wife), we were driving through Hyde Park, when I let out an inauspicious fart. I'd failed my driving test (failed to navigate round a stationary object) and drawn the brown moth.

As we'd not known each other long, I didn't feel I could bring it up in polite conversation, and just asked to go home to change my pants on the qt.

I put a bath on, and lay in it feeling iller and iller. I realised I'd been poisoned and was about to puke, so I got out of the bath but collapsed on the way to the toilet.

I didn't have the strength to lift myself off the floor, so just puked into the toilet from there, but unfortunately my arse didn't hold out, and I started squirting fizzy gravy onto her reclaimed scaffolding boards.

Realising something was amiss, my girlf rushed to get a mixing bowl which she held under my arse whilst I puked, shat, and pissed simultaneously. She emptied the bowl into the sink whilst I carried on puking into the toilet.

It was only after a couple of mins that she pointed out it might be more sensible to sit on the toilet and puke into the basin...but, whilst I regained my strength, she hung on in there.

A noble act :)
(Countryslicker, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:21, 10 replies)

Tramp
I've been known to be quite generous when I've imbibed large quantities of alcohol.

On one occasion in February last year, I had met up with some friends and dragged my brother out to celebrate his 25th.

A few beers, capirinhas, and cheery brandys later, we were on out way to another pub. Some of us elected to get a taxi, and a few, including myself, decided to walk.

Of course, as soon as I hit the fresh air, I became unsteady on my feet.

As I was staggering past a kebab shop I was accosted by a rather large, and incredibly threadbare tramp.

"Scuse me, love", he slurred ('Love' being a common form of greeting between two men in Leeds, for some reason).
"I really fancy a burger. You don't have £1.70 on you? Look, I'll go in and buy it while you're here so you know I'm not going to spend it on drink or drugs."

I fished around in my pocket and found a £2 coin. He bumbled off into the bar and came out with a quarter pounder. He then pressed 30p back into my palm, and shook my hand in a friendly manner.

I then looked at the paw that was pumping mine in gratitude, and noticed that he had a huge, pussy, open wound in his palm, around which was wrapped a strip of grotty duct tape.

He then offered me a bite of his burger, which I politely declined. He thanked me warmly again, and then took off.

I was left with a warm feeling that was half benevolence, half nausea.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:15, Reply)

She paid for my petrol
Having filled up my motorbike with about £12 of petrol at a station near the ponds forge roundabout in Sheffield a few years ago, I got to the till to find I had left my wallet at home. I was in the process of negotiating what to do about it with the cashier guy (honestly, you would think I was the first person who had ever done that, rather than -probably- the third person so far that week) when the woman behind me in the queue offered to pay for it.

I was very touched by this kindness - I think she was in a rush and didn't want to watch as I spent 10 minutes of her life argueing over £12 of fuel, but even so I think this was the nicest thing a stranger has ever done for me.

Especially as she refused when I asked for an address so I could send her a cheque, and said instead "just do something nice for someone else."

I hope you are reading this, nice lady, and rest assured I do take every opportunity to do nice things for my fellow man, and I often think of you when I do.

ps. You were also pretty hot.
(SquidFish, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:14, 2 replies)

I'm a bit of a mentallist, generally, and it's been somewhat worse than normal lately.
It currently seems 'in' to have some kind of mental divergence, I think Stephen Fry started it by making Bi-Polar disorder sexy and interesting, however I generally prefer to keep mine to myself, but for the sakes of what I'm about to say making sense, lets just say I'm a bit special and rather excessively co-dependent at times, and as such I NEED to find folks who are the last vestiges of non-cynical selfless kindness as otherwise I would probably have been dead on the street of one country or another a long time ago, and I consider myself very lucky indeed to have found three.

Regarding this I would like to thank Shalroth for all the times he's reacted to my fun depressions and sleepless nights by bringing me Sushi and red wine and for never telling me to 'just buck up' even when I can tell he's secretly getting a bit tired of it, and Tony for all the times he's taken me to his home to keep me safe when I'm having some stupid paranoid convictions or panic attacks of some description, which he's actually currently doing now even though to my eternal shame he has much better things to worry about after his 75 y.o. Mum had a nasty fall, though I am trying to do my bit to help where I can there, and lastly to old Fred, who's a 75 y.o. mate of 15 years who's various kindnesses over the years are far too long and numerous to go into.

There are also others who help me/us out now and then and I hope they will forgive me for only detailing these three today.

Thanks guys, and I promise to always do my best to return the favours when I can, as my worst fear always is that I would ever lose you as friends by taking you all for granted.

I'm painfully aware I'm also somewhat publicly outing myself as a resident nutter BTW, I just hope folks don't think I'm yet another self created victim trying to make himself seem more interesting whilst simultaneously excusing himself from having to participate in the society they're milking with all their might, as I hate them too, all I can tell you is it seems real to me, I normally keep it to myself, I don't milk it financially, and I always feel I should apologise for it.

And I've just taken about two hours debating if I should even post this at all, but apparently I have.

Besides, I promised I'd hoover up today...

*edit* cheers guys, but one thing, I really did want this to be more about the wonderful chaps who help me out rather than me, I am and always will be forever in their debt and I just felt the need to say that. Thanks again you guys. XXX
( ..wil, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:13, 11 replies)

Kevin Murphy
Bit of a long one this folks.

I hate to think how I must have come across when I turned up to my Sixth Form College on enrollment day. I'd just gotten my GCSE results and had managed a flunk of epic proportions. I have no excuse, I was more preoccupied with my burgeoning social life than my exams, I considered coursework to be an imposition on my time and frankly I had absolutely no pride or self esteem in my academic abilities whatsoever.

If I had one asset at sixteen, it was politeness and I managed to get myself signed up for a year's resit course. The experience was a tad humuliating, the words of Lenny Henry's nazi postman from The Young Ones rang in my ears; "You haf come bottom in ze whole world!". In many ways, I was at a rock bottom academically, I simply had no plan B in place.

Instead of signing up to study Physics, Maths and Computing at A Level (I had an ambition of being an engineer), I found myself negotiating for a sought after place so that I could resit. After a considerable form filling exercise I was duly sent to meet my prospective form tutor; a chap called Kevin Murphy and found a stereotypical English teacher in his early thirties, complete with large, red rimmed glasses and a guitar case tucked away innocuously underneath his desk.

"I gather that your results weren't exactly what you were hoping for?" he asked, somehow managing to avoid jarring my sensitivities about my results.

"Okay, let's see what we can work out for you. You've got your sciences, if I put you down for English and Maths, then I'll need you to pick three other subjects. You know you've got to fill a minimum of 22 hours a week lesson time? Okay, I see no reason why we can't go with this". With that I was signed up. I'd been given a second chance, which frankly I didn't deserve.

Kevin was well liked amongst the student community. Although he was a stickler for some rules, his door was always open and he made a point of engaging with everyone in his tutor group. Despite the rules stating that a twenty two hour week of lesson time was a bare minimum, Kevin quietly dropped my requirement down to twenty hours on the proviso that I spent two hours a week in the library keeping on top of my coursework. In spite of my frequent insolence, disruptiveness, ill-considered sarcasm and utter bone-headed stupidity, he'd cut me some slack that frankly I did not deserve.

It paid dividends though. Within three months I'd resat my GCSE maths and passed with flying colours. I was doing well in my other subjects too, however I was still managing to be a right pain in the arse to the teaching staff. So much so that Kevin regularly asked me me to be a little more considerate toward Tim & Linda Harrison, the husband and wife IT/Computing teaching team, whom I must have been the most unsufferable oaf toward. The recollection of my lesson shenanigans is cringe inducing today.

Sure enough, with some inspiring mock exam results behind my belt I reapplied to study A Levels for the next two years. Kevin took my application and discussed it with several heads of department, none of whom were particularly keen on me (my regular Friday habit of turning up hung over and dozing off during morning lectures earned me notoriety). Tim & Linda said an outright "No", however undeterred, Kevin fought my corner and I duly returned to the college the following September for my A Level courses.

I had been having some personal difficulties for some months by this time and it was beginning to show. I'd turn up some mornings so disillusioned with life and full of anger and bitterness that I was taking it out on all around me. My business studies tutors actually took me aside to quiz me on my home life, while poor Tim & Linda continued to bear the brunt of me. I quickly found myself out of my depth studying physics, a subject that I know I should excel at. I berated myself for the fact that I ought to be doing a hell of a lot better than scraping an E for every assignment I turned in, usually late and poorly written.

My barely contained self destructiveness threatened to ruin my education once again. At my six weekly review, Kevin bit the bullet and sat me down.

"Physics isn't really working out for you right now. Do you think you'll be able to pass this? Tell you what, don't go to the lessons this week and think it over for a while". Again, Kevin's disarming manner meant that I didn't feel pushed into dropping the subject. I thought it over and made a decision.

"Kevin, I've had a long think about this. Do you think I'd be any good at English Lit?" I asked, a week later. Kevin himself taught A Level English and had a good handle on the type of students taking the subject. My reputation around the teaching staff wasn't the best.

"Hmm... Well, from what I've seen of your written work there is potential there. Tell you what, I want you to do an essay, 1500 words on anything you want. If you give it to me by Monday we'll take it from there".

I spent the next three days spending lunchtimes and free periods sat in the library making notes. I'd never bothered to put any more than token effort into any assignment until now, however Kevin showed absolutely no surprise at all when I handed him my assignment on Friday lunchtime. By Friday afternoon Kevin came back to me.

"If that were being submitted to me as a piece of coursework, I'd have given you a straight C" he exclaimed. “Not bad at all”.

I was thrilled. I hadn't gained a C since I sat my GCSEs, the prospect of a decent seemed as distant as the moon up until now. The difference it made to me was decisive, instead of becoming demoralized with my academic life, I began to revel in it. The Friday morning hangovers and Business Studies sleeps stopped as I put my new found enthusiasm to good use. I found a way to apply myself and as a result my grades climbed steadily and election to the College Council helped my confidence no end.

Eighteen months later, I’d sat my A Levels and while the grades didn’t set the world alight I was pleased with the results. Indeed, Linda Harrison actually sought me out behind the till at my Saturday McJob and congratulated me on my A Level Computing result, a far cry from the train wreck I’d been a couple of years before.

Kevin, I thank you for not giving up on me and for the benefit of your wisdom.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:07, 5 replies)

Paris
This is a very long story, but I'll try to make it short.

I was in Paris after a lovely weekend, walking around the town with my friend, making some time to go to the airport, back to Manchester.

Then, some kids stole my wallet. I almost didn't see them. I couldn't run after them as I had all my luggage with me. They took the British wallet, full of pounds they can't use, with my credit cards and, most important, my ID card, which I needed to get into the plane.

I went to the police, and they gave me a letter explaining in bad English-Spanish-French that it was enough to take the plane. I knew it wasn't, but she insisted so much I finally gave up complaining.

We went to the airport and, obviusly, they didn't let me take the plane. I wasn't very nice with the staff, to be honest, but I was there, without money, without means to go back home, without a place to stay. And I started crying and shouting that the police had told me that paper was enough. No way. I then calmed down and asked what I had to do. Their answer:

Stupid woman: "Nothing, without passport you can't fly"
Me: "OK, I know, but how do I solve it? Where am I suppose to go. What can I do?"
Stupid woman: "Nothing, without passport you can't fly"
And repeat until you're tired.

So, no very nice up to now, is it?

First nice thing is what my friend did. She couldn't stay with me as her parents were going to Manchester next day, but she gave me her debit card so I didn't have to worry about money. Helped me to find a hotel (I was too stressed to think) and while I had to stay in Paris sorting a new passport, she would keep my phone topped up.

Second nice thing: another friend of mine found me tickets to flight back to England the same day I got the passport. He paid for them and, as the plane was going to Leeds, arranged a taxi to pick me up at the airport and take me to the train station, so I could take the train.

Things were looking brighter, but I wasn't safe yet.

The plane was delayed. Not incredible delayed, but as it was a late night flight, it was delayed enough as to know, before we had departed, that the last train to Manchester was gone.

I couldn't cope anymore, and cried like a baby. A lot. In the lounge, before getting into the plane. I asked the aircrew if they could ask if someone was going near Manchester and could give me a lift, but they replied it wasn't their job.

I know it might sound as if I was making things too bad. I could have stayed at the airport until the morning. Or go to a hotel. But I was a student, one of my first travels out, on my own, without money and very very scared.

Then, this nice old lady asked what happened. I'm not going to explain with detail how she conforted me all the travel, taking my mind out of my problems (correcting my English all the time). And then, when we got to the airport and the taxi driver came to pick me, she paid for the 2 hours he'd been waiting, and asked her husband to drive me all the way to Manchester, at I don't know what time in the morning.

The story is longer, and full of more bad things that make me not want to go back to Paris again. But this old couple drove me to my front door and didn't want anything from me. After insisting, I gave them the money for the petrol (or so they say, around £10 I think) and never asked for anything.

Next morning I called them to make sure they got home alright and say thank you again.

I've never been so grateful, and this post doesn't express a bit of what I feel for this couple.
(Aberracion Life's getting very complicated, but a lot of fun., Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:07, 2 replies)

Easter.
When I was a teenager, my girlfriend got a terrible disease from a Chinese meal eaten in a Mallorca restaurant, while we were on holiday.

The doctors over there said Chinese restaurants reheat rice, mix it with fresh rice, reheat that, and by probability you're often served rice that could be five months old.

Anyway, on our return to England, she had to give a stool sample to the department of foreign illnesses, or whatever it's called, near Tottenham Court Road. But the Diarrhoea was so bad, bless her, we had no idea how to 'collect it.'

Eventually, it being Easter, I had the idea of cutting the plastic packaging around an easter egg, and holding it below her little bottom for her to poo in, before pouring it into a tupperware cup.

I think that's the nicest thing I've ever done for anyone. Click?
(whitehorse, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 12:47, 7 replies)

Polite beggar
I was out in town recently and saw a chap begging in one of the usual spots.
Now usually when they say "got some spare change for a hostel bed" I reply "no but heres some money for smack or cider"
This guy surprised me by greeting my handful of change with the totally unexpected
"You're very kind, thank you and have a good evening"
Made my night for some reason
( notsosecretagentman, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 12:44, Reply)

I asked,
she said yes.

Then I never saw her again.

Don't you just haye it when that happens!
(Herr Doktor Lemminge Is bored, so cheer me up!, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 12:16, Reply)

Supermarket baskets
My friend Julia used to pop things into random people's trolleys (supermarket trolleys, not underwear) that they thought they might like. Shampoo for example, or a healthy eating cookbook.

More often than not when they got to the checkout they would look confused, but go ahead and buy the stuff anyway.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 11:57, 6 replies)

Just thought I'd drop this one in
I have the most amazing singing teacher. I've known her since I was 14 - and she's helped me through a few rough patches and still managed to keep it all real.

Two weeks ago she got married.
Earlier in the year - she asked me and a few other girls(just 5 - out of the 47 she teaches) to sing at her wedding.

Got to the first day of the holidays and turned up all ready to sing and she looked all beautiful.

And then today she gave me 50 dollars for singing at her wedding.
I was absolutely stunned. "I would have done it for nothing - you've done lots for me over the last three years." I said. And she just went "Well I'm just married - back from my honeymoon - and me and mr music teacher thought it was only fair. Go spend it however you like."

And I know that it's probably not a lot to other people...but that was a huge amount of money to give a 16 year old student (well in my eyes it is.)
And she refused to let me give it back to her.

So now I'm putting it in the bank to take with me when I go to new zealand in the summer. I'll buy myself something really nice to remember her by (she's leaving next year. :( )
(Poppet some assembly required., Tue 7 Oct 2008, 11:10, Reply)

Pasta Hut
I went to Pizza Hut on Saturday. I haven’t been for years and years but my little niece was staying and she was desperate to go there. So we went and had the pizza and pasta buffet that they do. It was fairly average and greasy, but cheap, but the chicken pizza was good. Also, my niece was happy. I thought about going there again. Just for the pizza though.

The other day the Pizza Hut company did something amazingly nice to me. By changing their name temporarily to ‘Pasta Hut’ they no longer can tempt me in because all I think about is the pasta in the buffet now and when I had the pasta there it tasted like partially cooked offal.

So thank you Pasta Hut. You have saved me some money.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 11:02, 5 replies)

Dartford Crossing
(Dont know if they still have manned booths any more but they used to...)

Pull up, give em 2 quid, tell the attendant youre paying for the random car behind. Drive off, try and watch the reaction of the guy behind. I used to do this a lot.

Nice? Or stalker scary?
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 10:43, 6 replies)

My 30th birthday
A couple of years back I celebrated my thirtieth birthday. I wasn't really looking forward to the milestone, but my friends threw a wonderful party at our local and much merriment was had by all.

The nicest thing was that despite me admittedly turning into a bit of an arsehole, due to spiralling depression and self-destruction, plenty of people turned up, and plied me with a multitude of wonderful presents.

Now, because of the way I felt about the world and, most importantly, myself, I had a really hard time accepting the gifts and appreciating the effort people had put in, not just in their thoughtful offerings but that they'd turned up to celebrate with me despite the person I'd become.

In hindsight (and after a lot of work on myself with the help of a counsellor), I sincerely appreciate all they did for me that day.

The moral of this story for me is that if someone is trying to do something nice for you, try to accept it with grace and let it into your heart, because if they didn't care, they wouldn't be making the effort.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 8:07, 1 reply)

The nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me?
Let’s face it, generally people don’t go out of their way to help others, and it’s been quite difficult for me to come up with a serious answer to this question, but here it is.
The year 2003 was one of the worst in my life, my pathetic excuse for a marriage had broken down in a quite spectacular way, and I had to move away from my daughter, the one person who was holding me together at the time. However, work was a different story. I’d started a new job just before the end of 2002, and I’d made some pretty close friends in the time since then, one of whom was too close. Janice was a thirty-seven year old married woman and mother of two, and she was beautiful. I don’t mean just a little bit beautiful, by no means take that statement lightly, I mean she was stunning, think Jessica Rabbit meets Desperate Housewives, with a wicked sense of humour and personality thrown in to boot.
Our flirting was outrageous, I’d pat her backside in the middle of the office, and she’d do the splits, with one foot on top of a filing cabinet, just to impress me. The whole office knew we were having an affair before even we did, and when we did start seeing each other, it was incredible. It wasn’t a purely physical relationship though, we were really close friends, and if anything the relationship was built on affection, not sex.
She helped me through the split from my ex, and the two months that followed were some of the happiest of my life, we were lost in each other like teenagers, almost oblivious to the world around us.

I knew that she was only with me because her marriage was in trouble, her husband hadn’t been near her in years and she was totally starved of affection, which is why it came as no surprise when she decided to end the affair. She called it off on a Friday, and I didn’t hear from her again until after that weekend, and that was when she did one of the nicest things that anyone has ever done for me.
She wrote me a letter.
In the little, hand-written sheet of A4 that I’ve got next to me right now, she explained exactly how she felt about me. How much she loved, cared for and appreciated me as a friend, but best of all, that because of our relationship, because of me, she had found the strength to confront her husband. She told me that I had given her back her self-worth and confidence, that she would be eternally grateful for all that I had done for her and the affection I’d shown her. She went on to say that they had discussed all of the marital problems she was too insecure to face before that point, that her husband agreed, and that they were both going to work on it to save their marriage.

It was a bitter-sweet moment for me, my life’s been full of them, but I was proud. In a slightly twisted way I felt like I’d saved their marriage. I loved her more than I could bear, but I was glad that she was going to be happy. If the story had ended there then I know I could have walked away happy, upset at my loss, but proud that I made such a significant difference to her life.

I kept that letter pinned to my bedroom wall for weeks, and read it every time I missed her, even now it’s kept in a plastic wallet, hidden in the bottom of a cupboard, under a shoebox full of all the little cards and letters Mrs Monkeysex has given me.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 8:02, 4 replies)

The man in the queue
I can remember this day so well as it was a bit of a funny time things were all over the place , people in funny moods etc. The date was july 9 2005 a couple of days after the bombs on the tube.

I was in a post office in Harrow as i joined the lunchtime queue i noticed that the man in front of me was struggling with several large packages. As we got to the front his hands slipped and the packeges and several letters fell to the floor.

He struggeled to pick them up so i bent down and lifted the letters for him and placed a package in his arms , saying the words " You look like you need a hand " I couldnt help notice that all his mail was addressed to various places in the middle east.
"Thank you " he murmored in a heavily accented voice. "These are things for my friends back home"

I watched as he went to the next free window , as he put his things on the counter he turned and smiled at me. A moment later i was at another window paying my road tax.

As i left the post office i saw the man again standing outside , he rushed over to me. " Thank you my friend "he said in halting english
"Its ok " i said
"You do not understand i have only been here a few days and this is the first kind thing anyone has done for me"

" Thats allright i was just helping you"

He fixed his gaze on me it was a little unnerving . His breathing increased and he paused for a few seconds before speaking .
" I must thank you for helping me" He nervously glanced around the street and spoke again " There is something i must tell you . Tell your loved ones to stay away from Luton"

My throat went dry and my mind raced . I thuoght of the event only a couple of days previous.
" Is there going to be a bomb?" i coarsly whispered.

He looked deep into my eyes . I could see the pain and sorrow in his . Eventually he spoke

"No its a fucking shithole"

Gets coat with ticket to Hull in pocket
(welgar, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 6:55, 10 replies)

Drunk, drunk, drunk
For that is what I became last Friday following a night of welcome-to-Tokyo madness so apocalyptic that I thought I might die of instant liver failure.

Anyway, Mrs chart cat met me in Roppongi at the end of the night and she patiently helped me stagger home. Then when I collapsed on the floor of our bathroom and lapsed into alcohol hibernation, she bravely tried to drag me to the bedroom to sleep it off (she's half my size).

Of course, it was never going to work. However, instead of abandoning my gin-soaked carcass to a cold night on the floor where it belonged, she brought the pillows and the duvet and lay down next to me right where I had fallen, keeping me warm until the next morning. Then she made me a brilliant hangover breakfast.

If that isn't love, I don't know what is.
( chart cat has an itch, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 5:56, 7 replies)

It's not much..... but it changed my life...
A few years ago, a friend borrowed me some shoes.

I was down in the dumps, i was going through a bad split up with the missus (and still living with her)and was out of work,I skint and pathetic if the truth be known. I was a coward and could have patched my relationship up, but didn't.... For the last few weeks, we grew apart and she made a decision to move away.

What has this got to do with shoes, i hear you ask? Well, i'll tell you (in a bit).

In my town, work consisted of mostly labour type work or office jobs or retail. Boring stuff, stuff that would have ruined my soul if i'd have stayed there, as i was already feeling depressed with the fact that my girlfriend was moving down south, planning on leaving me permanently.... so the idea of sitting in an office or working in a shop wasn't great.

Anyhow, i was skint. I was so skint, i couldn't buy shoes... but somehow i'd managed to wangle an interview at an arts centre which would consist of working with bands, artists and creative people.... Fine, much better than sitting in a dull office.

But all I had was scruffy trainers... I had no chance.

So my good mate Brogan comes and visits me, trying to cheer me up, knowing that i'm depressed and on a downward trail. So, he tells me to hang about and wait....

And he gets on the bus and heads out of town, jumps on another bus and goes home to grab a really nice and comfy and smart pair of black shoes. He then jumps two buses back and tells me to check if they fit.

And they did... and he convinces me to take the job, to stop worrying about the ex and to get on with my life. To take a new step into a new position and to appreciate what i've got....

And i took that interview and gave it my 100% best effort and i got the job and kept it and loved it and he was made up for me and told me to keep the shoes... :)

But.... a week or so later, all happy with my job, i get back home to find my girlfriend/ex with tears in her eyes waiting for me at the door....

But, this wasn't anything to do with our relationship....

She told me that Brogan had died. Of a drug overdose, due to getting involved with the wrong people.

I was wearing his shoes when she told me the news....

So, I just want to take this opportunity to say.... Thankyou Brogan, I never got to say goodbye mate, but you changed my life.

I was too busy being wrapped up in my own pit of despair, that i forgot to look at the real life that was out there.... and at the same time, i realised how easily things can change.

I still have the job and I now do about twenty different things in there, as a result of that, I managed to get experience that put me onto my degree, got me away from the depressing split up and changed my life and gave me a more positive outlook on life....

So again, thanks for going all the way home for those shoes.

R.I.P mate, I miss you and I love you for what you did man.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 1:32, 9 replies)

Accidentally racist
In my pre-teen years, I used to attend the Lewisham Academy of Music in south-east London. It was a wonderful organization, with a month's membership costing around £3 and giving you access to any instrument you wanted and fantastic teachers, many of whom worked for nothing, to teach you to play it.

While I was there I started off with the Recorder and moved on to the Saxophone, Guitar, Keyboard and eventually drums.

However, one incident really sticks in my mind.

One day, I decided I wanted to learn to play the piano, so I went to see one of the piano teachers - Angus, I think his name was. Lovely guy with a heart of gold.

Unfortunately, I just could not understand his accent. At that age I had all the social grace of a paraplegic, incontinent trout.

He asked me a question. I didn't hear him properly. He asked me why I didn't hear.

And what I said was this: "I'm sorry, I just can't understand black people."

"Out! Out!" he said. He paced up and down the coridoor for a bit, obviously hugely angry.

And that was it. I was expecting a bollocking from someone, and to go in the next day with everyboyd thinking I was the hellspawn of a pair of crazy hitler worshippers or something.

But nothing. He didn't mention it to anyone.

So I'd like to say thank you to Angus, for understanding that small children sometimes say the most stupid of things, and letting it go.

Well, I know I was only 7 at the time, but I needed to get it off my chest.

Length? Not much, aged 7.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 0:28, 2 replies)

I couldn't not mention this...
Concerning my better half, otherwise known as Tourette's. She agreed to marry me.

What more can I say?

The next nicest thing would be if a load of b3tans could make it to our wedding reception. You know who you are...

Well, it's cheaper than sending invitations, innit though?
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 6 Oct 2008, 22:46, 17 replies)