guitar
Several years ago, not long, in fact, after my last story, we were involved in getting a new church set up.

(You can keep all your 'all Christians are thick religious twonks' thoughts out of this, by the way. You might be surprised if you actually met some of us.)

My wife is very gifted musically and led worship most Sundays with her beaten up old guitar. Sometimes she would borrow other people's guitars because hers really was nasty, but she couldn't afford a half decent one.

The pastor arranged for her to play at another church one Sunday, and while she was there they had a secret offering to get her a guitar. They then told me they'd collected £500 to spend on one for her. Now they wanted to surprise her with a new guitar, but didn't know which one.

So I said to her "look, you've been asking God for a guitar for ages - why don't we go to the guitar shops and have a look around. Then you can pray for a specific guitar and maybe even save up towards it." I somehow managed it with a straight face, and she somehow took it at face value, and we looked around the shops and found one that she loved.

She was utterly shocked when she was presented with the exact guitar she wanted a week later, with lots of love from the whole church.
(teasus likes tea, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:52, 11 replies)

My best friend....
..is one of the nicest people I have ever met and I will be eternally privileged that she returns the favour by calling me her best friend too (blimey - that sounds a bit Enid Blyton but I don't care if it is 6 year old I love her).

In 2006 I split up with my boyfriend and was about to be homeless. Sadly lacking in enormous amounts of money I was looking down the barrell of sharing a grotty house with various randoms or living alone in an even grottier bedsit with only the walls to talk to. Anyhoooo, about 6 months earlier I had started a new job and was introduced to 'soon to be best friend but didn't realise it at the time'. Before I broke up with ex I hadn't had anything to do with future BF (not because I didn't like her but just that our paths never crossed all that often) but when the office found out I had nowhere to live future BF stepped up and said that she had a little annex down the end of her garden and would I like to rent it (with full use of the main house - a detached thatched cottage, get in!) She said that I would have to put up with her 3 children but she was a divorcee so it would be nice to have some adult company. So, I start living down the end of her garden (bit like a fairy but swearier) and immediately am treated like one of the family by her, her 3 kids and her mum.

I lived there for a year and in that time she saw me through hours and hours of pouring out my heart and drunken ramblings from rather unsuitable men I saw, made me eat my dinner when I went down to 7 1/2 stone from some mental eating disorder, saw me through mild pneumonia and the 2 resultant cracked ribs from coughing so much, lent me money, hugged me when I needed it, put me to bed when I was drunk, forced me back into the big wide world again and basically loved me better. Eventually I found a future husband through her encouragement and left her family home to live with him. If it hadn't been for her I would never have ended up this happy and I get married in 2 months :-)

The best part is that after I had moved 170 miles away to be with future husband she decided that she wanted to live down here too so sold up and brought entire family down to the south coast and now lives 5 minutes away. As future husband is away for 6mths (forces - not prison!) she has made up her spare room as my own and until he comes back I live like a child from a broken home - at my house during the week and at her house at the weekend. She has also got married and her husband is, thankfully, also one of the nicest and funniest and, handily, patient men in the world who doesn't care how much I hang out at their house like a bad smell.

She is going to be my Maid of Honour in December, however she doesn't realise that she has done me the honour by being in my life. I love you Vicki :-)
(Senora Veranos cannot and will not so ner..., Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:49, 3 replies)

With a little help from my friends
Around a year ago I'd reached a particularly low point in my life, a lot of my past mistakes were starting to catch up with me and I felt I was on the verge of doing something particularly bad or stupid. But, being more emotionally stoic than your average stone (a credo something along the lines of a problem shared is a problem doubled), I didn't really talk to any of my friends about anything, more over I simply contemplated on my own failings and problems.

I don't know at what point I started to think differently, but I know my closest friends were unknowingly the catalyst. First it was the little things, then more important things, followed by a flicker of hope. Instead of quitting my job and effectively leaving my whole life behind, I decided to instead face my problems, regardless of the outcome.

The outcome, which i'd been running from for far too long, turned out to not be so bad, in fact it was pretty good. The life I'd been leading wasn't simply a case of treading water, my friends weren't simply someone to talk to, my job wasn't just something to get money from. It's a little trite, but "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans" is the best description I can give.

So, the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me? My friends pretty much putting me on track to sort my life out and have a future, just by being there.
(ShiftyBastard won the World Cup on World Soccer Champs 2010!, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:44, Reply)

Best mates
A couple of years back I was going for my black belt in Jujitsu and at the time I wasn't driving so was walking to and from.

In order to get the belt not only required skill but also attendance to get properly prepared (read: beasting) for the grading.

Now at the time I was one of the longest serving brown belts due to going down south to do teacher training and moving in with an ex of mine (it didn't work out).

During this time a mate of mine, twice a week, drove me to and from home to training so I could pass my grading. He never once asked for money, just a mate to go for a beer with once in a while which I was more than happy to do. I passed my Black belt grading and got student of the year at the same time because of this mate of mine.

So if you read this site, Lee you're a great mate and we don't meet up often enough. We'll defo have to sort more things out.

Sorry about length but I've got a large waist...
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:40, Reply)

nice thing
I was walking down Coldharbour lane late at night and this massive guy was holding a girl by the neck. She was screaming "get off me, please get off me".

I resigned myself to death and asked him to leave her alone.

He let go of her and quickly walked towards me - hugged me and squeezed my arse.

He said "nice one mate most people wouldn't have stopped. We were only messing though".

She said "Naaaaaaah mate naaagh we was messing!"

So I risked death for my fellow (wo)man, and in return got my arse felt.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:39, 2 replies)

Wisdom
I ran through the packed station like a salmon in a stream. Cutting past the crowds and commuters skillfully. I ran down the platform and just managed to get myself onto the train as the doors were closing. In a moment similar to Indiana Jones, I reached out of the door to pick up my dropped newspaper just as the doors closed. As I stood up and sorted out my twisted clothes I looked up and down the carriage and found a seat with a table opposite an elderly looking gentleman.

I sat down and placed the paper on the table as the train started its journey to Brighton. Starring out the window I felt the pain and turmoil rise up in me. “Why does life have to be like this” I pondered while London disappeared into countryside.

“You have a lot of pain in your eyes” said the old man
“Excuse me” I stuttered out
“You have a lot of pain in your eyes” he repeated “Too much pain for someone of your age. I am old, each wrinkle on my face tells a story, and each story is a lifetime. Share your pain with me son”

So I did. I let me heart out to him. I told this kindly old stranger my story from start to finish. In the next 30 minutes I felt every single human emotion. As I finished each sentence I started to feel a little more positive. A little more human. By the time I had told him my tale I felt alive for the first time in 18 months.

There was silence. This grand old man contemplated all he had heard. I could tell he was thinking of all his life’s lessons and he was in deep study of the encyclopedia of knowledge held behind that weathered face.

“Son, I have seen a lot. I have lived through war, death, new life and suffering. The one thing that has kept me going is that I know everything turns out for the best. Hope is all you have. Hope is all you need. Stay positive son and good things will happen”

I promised myself at that moment I would live by his words

I very much doubt he is reading this, but, if he is I would like to thank, with all my heart, the man at starbucks in waterloo station for making my espresso in record time. If it was not for his speedy service I would have missed the train and my only chance to fuck Debby up the shitter
( KISS.ME.WHERE.I.POO Signed the sex offenders register on, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:38, 7 replies)

Rubik's Cube
I got a promotional Rubik's Cube* this morning at work and I accidently messed it up. My colleague is currently trying to solve it: if he can that will be a contender for the nicest thing ever done for me.

*3D shape of unending hell.
(Sahara Desert http://www.twitter.com/thesaharadesert for swears, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:34, 6 replies)

Funny how things can change..
I was a successful businessman, trading for a large company in the big smoke, dealing with the pressures of peoples futures in a large 'pool' of sharks.

I was not your average 'salesman', as I had a genuine concern for the welfare of others and built up a rapport with a rapidly growing list of clients (unlike the others..they would cut their own mothers throats to get ahead in the game).

There's nothing worse than being surrounded by arseholes, with their fake laughs and knives ready to plow in your back as soon as it was turned.. what's even more depressing is the sheer fact of being around them, eventually no matter how hard you fight it.. they rub off on you, and you become doctrinated into being just like them.. stepping over, or on anyone that gets in your way. Those are the days, that you just don't feel like singing anymore..and I knew I had become a slimy worthless smug piece of shit. But hey..I was getting paid well for it.. who cares what happens to anybody else !

One day, I was told that the company wanted people to star in their adverts, and I just knew that I was destined for greatness..so I auditioned, and I got the part !

I was beamed out into peoples living rooms every night, I would sing and dance..hell.. it wasn't about the company anymore.. It was all about me ! I was a brand.

Then, we were told there was a mistake by the financial department, and there would be 40,000 job cuts. "Not me" I thought to myself smugly..how can they possibly get rid of an icon !

Now I am jobless..

I give rim jobs to sailors, and suck/fuck for £20 just to stay alive. And people always tell me how grateful they are that the Halifax is fucked, and they don't have to hear my whiney smug voice on those terrible adverts anymore.

See How nice I am to everybody !
Howard Brown - All singing, All dancing Twunt
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:25, Reply)

one thousand pounds!
About ten years back, we were seriously skint. I'd beeen made redundant twice in the same year. Bringing up a family on government handouts isn't meant to be cushy, but we were being badly underpaid by housing benefit and we couldn't afford to move. We didn't advertise this, but it was obvious to all that we were pretty badly off.

Then one night someone stuck an anonymous bankers cheque for £1000 through our door.

We just couldn't believe it. Not knowing where it had come from meant we had no-one to feel we owed a favour, and knowing it was a bankers draft meant it was just sitting in the bank waiting for us. It seriously bailed us out in so many ways.

I'd love to think I'd be in a position to do the same for someone some day.
(teasus likes tea, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:23, 3 replies)

I stopped someone getting bullied, maybe
Just the other day (Monday to be precise) I'd finished work for the day and wandered down into town for a quick coffee before heading home.

I went into a coffee shop and joined the queue. In front of me were three lads, one of whom was considerably larger than the other two. I'd guess that the bigger one was about 15 or 16 and the others around 12 or 13. Anyway, they were all from the local college and the big lad looked like he was about to kick off big time....

It's strange when you see a fight beginning to unfold before you...the other people in the shop backed away and as I looked around at them plenty averted their gaze and suddenly found the scratched pattern on the tabletop to be the most interesting thing they'd seen for years.

Normally I would probably have been just like the others there - closely examining the table and attempting to pretend this wasn't happening in front of me....Let's not get involved, we might get hurt.


But maybe because it was the first day back at work for me and I was feeling very positive or maybe the effect of constantly sorting out a certain pair of ten year olds who fight most of the time...

I stepped forward, folded my not inconsiderable arms (just ask Captain Placid) and 'loomed' over them with my Teacher Face.

Bearing in mind that I was in heels, I stood a full 5'10", weigh somewhere around 140-150lbs and have the face of a well-smacked child. I'm not threatening in the slightest....

However, all three lads turned to look at me and the big one muttered something like, 'Hummphh' and shambled off.

The two small lads then began to breathe normally again and soon asked me about the different sizes of drinks available...I told them and thought that was that.



About an hour later I was sitting on the bus waiting for it to pull away when someone banged on the window next to me.

It was the two little lads - all smiles, waving at me and mouthing 'Thank you!'



Aww! I thought.



Bet they got beaten up the next day instead
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:16, 6 replies)

Vimto
After college I was in a bit of a state, boozing and smoking ‘til all hours. I was enjoying basic generic hedonism and debauchery. I should have been looking for a job but I thought there was plenty of time for that. I was living in Rickmansworth with another few degenerates as well.

Life was ok, but I was critically aware that I had fallen into a rut and it was becoming more difficult to get out. Worst of all, I had stopped going to my jobseekers interviews and they had cut off my cash. But I was muddling along, doing a bit of dealing to whip up a bit of cash flow.

One awful, awful Sunday morning, I was asleep in the garden because I had been out the night before and lost my keys and nobody else was in. I was in too much of a chemical stupor to actually break in, so I crashed in a wheelbarrow in the overgrown back garden.

I awoke to find a big dog licking my hand. Now, I don’t really do dogs in the sense that I usually leave them alone, and then they leave me alone. All I do is to maintain the status quo.

So this dog was licking my hand, and it looks big but my eyes weren’t working properly so I didn’t know what kind it was. A setter possibly? Couldn’t see. So I start to pat the dog gingerly, and possibly make cooing noises in my throat. The dog was really staring at me intensely.

My throat was predictably burning from smoking and drinking and ingesting. Also the sun had started to burn. I was extremely uncomfortable yet I couldn’t be arsed to get up.

Then the dog went. Oh, I thought, that dog was alright.

‘Fuck my luck’ I thought to myself.

Then I felt the dog’s nose on my hand again, and it was all wet and slimy. I looked at the dog again, and it had something in its mouth.

The dog has brought me a can of Vimto.

Warm and covered in drool, the dog slowly dropped the can into my hand, and I wiped the can on my jacket.

The dog kept on looking at me. It barked one single bark, then turned around and went off, leaving me to my warm Vimto.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:14, 7 replies)

it was only about 7 months ago....
First some background...
I'd been going through a very rough time and was getting fairly tired of everything. Also i'd been sitting next to this girl for the last two years without ever really talking apart from the odd hi or thanks (I was taking my GCSE's at the time).

Anyway i was getting fairly tired of everything and wasn't sure how much longer i'd go without doing something stupid and one day i found her bebo, bit the bullet and added her as a friend like i'd wanted to for a fair while...me and her started talking. Long story short she's made me so much happier. I'm no longer unhappy with life as much and i'm a better person because of her just bieng here for me and listning. It's the nicest thing anyone has done for me....just because she helped me through the worst time of my life yet.

Jade i know you don't come on here but your actually so amazing and i don't know what i'd do without you. Thank you for everything Jade i love you so much.

Length? Too long spent not talking
(the heretic, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:13, Reply)

Something in my eye.
People who normally own up to wanking in Eclairs or shagging rabbits talking about missing their dead parents and acts of kindness - I am sitting in an office waiting for 5pm with teary eyes.

To you all - my dysfunctional friends - I love you.

Length? Not even going to mention it.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:12, 1 reply)

Strange words at a funeral.
Cue first proper post. This isn't so much what a friend did for me; really that he changed my perspective.

As I'm sure many of you know, loosing a close relative as not a very nice thing.
My father was a funny ol' sod, never once told me he loved me, or hugged me, or told me well done, when I would win a medal in Aikido.
We'd stick to certain established conversation subjects, the weather, cats, the garden and photography. We'd stick to these rules otherwise the alternative was chaos and shoutiness.

He was like this for many, many years, always there, same ol' dad.
In June he died. Just like that.
Then things got a bit silly. I'm the youngest (brother and sister) and although I'm in my late thirties, I'm still the baby (dear god...). So there I am at the parents house after picking my mother off the floor of the hospital and it's time to involve the brother and sister.
Now my brother is an ex copper and very sensible and my sister is also grounded in reality, so I let them know that our father has gone his good way.

My brother was on holiday at the time and decided that there wasn't much point in rushing back
"Are you sure? Mum would really LIKE to see you."
"I don't see the point in me rushing back to be honest. You've got it all organised, haven't you"
"Organised? I have?" (you do remember that I'm the baby, right?)

My sister had a far better excuse.
"I'm due an incredibly important operation in hospital tomorrow, if I come down then I'll have to wait a few months for the next one. And at that point there might not be much point..."
"Fair enough, Al, get your self seen to."

S**t. That means I've got to sort it all out and there is SO much to do! And try and keep my mother together, and not fall apart myself. Did I mention that my wife's Grandfather died 3 days before that and that they were very, very close? (Also lost the cat the week before, bless his little cottons )

So. It comes to the funeral and it's been a week of keeping it together, propping my mother up, propping my wife up, being propped up by my wife and organising everything there is to do with funerals.
Things can go a bit weird at this point. Your whole focus is on death and sadness. You lose touch with reality, why is everyone going about as if nothing has happened??!!
Funeral speech. Something needed to be said and as my brother was a published author then it was expected that he'd speak.
"Are you doing the speech?"
"No, I can't, I'll fall to pieces."
"Right. Al? You're sensible, you want to do it?
"No, I can't, I'll lose it."
"Guess it's me then..." (Bugger)

So I did the speech. And it all went well until the end, I didn't lose it but it took awhile to get the words out.

I was chatting to my very good friend of 34 years afterwards at the wake.
"Sorry, I was doing okay and then I crumbled at the end."
"Just like a good cheese."
...........

I giggled, we laughed and the world got a bit brighter.
It gets brighter every day, even my mother has started to notice.
My wife and I are hopefully adopting a couple of kiddies next year and at that point we may just get dazzled.
Oh, and I'm no longer the baby.


Length? I was rambling! Anyway, death IS a rather lengthy process.
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 16:06, 2 replies)

A quiet night out in Edinburgh
Quite a few years back now, myself and a mate went out for a few midweek pints. Nothing heavy, just catching up over a few beers.

Anyway, time to head off to the west end to catch our respective buses home, but on the way we saw an old man, the worse for wear, fall over just in front of us.

We ran over and helped him up. He appeared to be quite drunk and dishevelled, so we assumed - wrongly we were to learn - that he was homeless.

He managed to slur to us that he lived just around the corner. We helped him along the street and into an grand old block of flats - typical Edinburgh new town with big heavy oak door and wrought iron railing etc.

We helped him up the 3 floors to his flat, fished out his keys, and took him inside.

The flat was amazing. Beautiful big rooms, high ceilings, spectacular views, top of the range telly, hi-fi, and other assorted gadgets. How could I guy looking like *this* live in a place like *this*? How could he even walk up 3 flights of stairs to get to it without help?

Anyway, by now he was on the settee, fast asleep, so we locked the door behind us and put the keys through the letter box.

Don't get me wrong here, I'm not trying to big myself up here, but neither of us wanted to think about what would have happened if that old fella had fallen down in front of the wrong pair of guys with a few pints in them.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:59, Reply)

In one of my worst depressive episodes,
when I was unable to leave the house due to the usual suicidal tendancies, I received a card and a small blue stone through the post from my sister. My sister and I get on okay, but we're not all that close, so I was touched.

I was more touched when I read the card:
"Dear sis, here is some crystally stone thing that's supposed to have healing properties. It's probably a load of crap but it's worth a try. Also, I got this card with an angel on it but the angel has no nipples. Do you think angels should have nipples?"

Stupid bint. I spent my childhood trying to kill her but I love her.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:54, 25 replies)

Non-musicians probably really won't get why this matters, but...
when I first moved to London I had no money at all, crappy job, and lived in one of those shared houses advertised in Loot by a dodgy Customs & Excise evading landlords.

Now I am obsessed with music, and this was the first time I'd lived anywhere without a piano, or somewhere to practice the trumpet.

It nearly drove me mad. I used to go to piano shops off Charing Cross road to "try out" models I couldn't afford.

Fortunately, a random inhabitant of this house was an IT consultant called Mark who is officially the nicest man in the world. He "decided to take up the piano", bought an expensive electric one (Korg) and then promptly "got bored" and suggested I keep it in my room.

When I decided to buy my first place, on a very tight budget, he also helped a lot by pre-paying me rent for his room. Not only that, but when the purchase fell through, he cheerfully found somewhere to crash for a couple of months while I sorted it out.

Mark, on the off-chance you're reading this, I can only yet again say you are a legend. Your cavalier attitude towards money, and your faith that everyone is as honest and nice as you are, but with a few less quid, is awesome

(and I still have the Korg, despite the fact he moved out 3 years ago)
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:54, Reply)

Well, not THE nicest thing, but...
Those of you that know me, know that my Dad died while I was still but a lad - so this is a pretty simple one.

The nicest thing that I remember, specifically about him, is seeing him when he used to pick me up from boarding school and him coming over and giving me a big cuddle and huge kiss - I was never embarrassed by that in public. He was my Dad, he loved me, I loved him and I didn't care.

The thing that I miss the most about him is knowing that I'll never have that ever again - knowing that the nicest thing he did for me was the simplest, most basic act of love you show your child.

I'm going to disappear into the loo for a little cry now
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:53, 9 replies)

If Carlsberg made mates...
My best friend Nigel deserves a metal for how good he treats me.

He gave me a home when I needed one, is always there for moral support and recently when I was upset about identity fraud he brought me a bottle of champers to cheer me up!

When we used to live together he treat me like a total princess, selflessly making my bed and straightening my hair each day (he’s gay if you hadn’t guessed) and also making all my joints even though he didn’t smoke ‘em. Totally above the call of duty.

I LOVE YOU SQUIDGE!
( DUMBLONDE is a rubber lover girl, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:52, Reply)

The people of Wimbledon
In which mrgibbles thanks the entire population of Wimbledon for restoring his faith in humanity.

On the hottest day of the year last summer I decided to leave the relative safety (yeah, right) of Hackney and cycle as far south across London on my own as I could manage. It was a spur of the moment Forrest Gump inspired decision to keep on cycling (I'd only popped out for five minutes to take a video back).

This was rather silly as I'm prone to passing out randomly when my blood sugar levels reach a certain critical low point (as yet undiagnosed, but it normally manifests itself in losing about 6 hours of my life, and coming to covered in blood, and stumbling around randomly like a zombie)

It took about 5 hours to get there as I kept getting lost, but my last memory is of getting to Wimbledon and entering a shop to ask directions. My next recollection is hazily coming to with a massive gash on my head, my t-shirt covered in blood, extreme concussion and my wallet, phone, bag, house-keys and bike missing. I'd also lost one shoe.

What's weird about my blackouts is that I don't wake up on the floor - I'm always, always on my feet, and always stumbling about somewhere in confusion - which was the case again this time. I found myself in a completely unknown location, walking down towards a railway bridge and from my watch, I could see I'd lost 4 hours (perhaps you can imagine how freeky, scary, and disorientating this is).

In short though: To the nice old man who took me to the Police station (and later to A&E), the Policewoman who gave me a tenner to get home, and the Wombles of Wimbledon Common who rather than taking my bike, wallet etc, left them all in a nice pile outside the shop for me to find the next day, cheers!
( rofl harris, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:48, 4 replies)

Oh, all right.
I had an on-off job on the bar of my local theatre for something like 13 years. It was punctuated by stints at university, but I was there for almost five years after I got my PhD.

I've since moved to Manchester, but I sometimes go back to see stuff - it's only about 40 miles away.

And they always give me free tickets. And they let me work behind the bar at the interval for old times' sake and pay me in beer.

I love the New Vic.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:47, 1 reply)

New York 1 & 2
1. On a subway train in New York, I'd just picked up some Chris Ware comics for a friend (this is about ten years ago, you couldn't really get his stuff here then). I was sitting there flicking through them, surrounded by my bags of shopping, when a young couple asked me if it was Chris Ware I was reading. I said it was. They said they were going to an exhibiton of his stuff, and did I want to come. I said sure.

These two students took me there, helped carry my stuff, we chatted around the gallery, then got me back on the subway.

I had a lovely day.

2. In January this year, I was back in NY. I thought I could use my metro pass on the PATH, but forgot that only worked with season tickets, not PAYG. I was stuck, with an appointment to get to. There was a guy chatting to the station manager who saw me failing to find a single dollar note in my purse, asked the manager a question, and then called me over. He used his season card to scan me through, the manager said "I saw nuthin'", and refused to accept the dollar in change.

I was so shocked by this I was willing to talk about boxing with him and the manager.

NY is genuinely full of people like this.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:44, Reply)

I'm sure there are better ones, but this is all I can think of for now
Last year, one of my best friends asked me to be her maid of honour. I was delighted to, and set about doing all the dress stuff and supportiveness duties it was in my remit to do.

Then I broke up with my boyfriend.

We had been together 5 years, and though it was a long time coming and an amicable mutual agreement, it wasn't the best news on top of a huge work project. And I had only just started planning the hen weekend, putting together spreadsheets of attendance, sourcing a cottage, compiling tickets for events, looking for restaurants.... Having to then plan the extraction of a relationship containing five years' worth of accumulating homewares was just too much and I couldn't do it. The mere thought of it put me into further tears.

Enter the heroine of the piece.

One of my mates best friends, she asked me to email her what I had, told me not to worry, and did EVERYTHING. We had an amazing time, tackiness carefully removed from anything except where appropriate, and it was all smoothly done.

Were it not for her, I would have screwed it up, and our friend would've had a lousy time. As it was, it was brilliant. And I hardly knew her at all.

I bought her a £70 handbag to show her how grateful I was once it had all died down. And to see the look on her face.

She is ACE.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:34, Reply)

I'd like to make a complaint
This is the first qotw which has made me cry each and every bloody time I look at the new posts.

My mascara is ruined.

Now that's not a very nice thing to do, is it?


Bring back the cock jokes.



Actually this is a lovely qotw but I am sobbing through most of it. My faith in humanity is restored.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:29, 39 replies)

A knight in shady boozer
Late one Friday night, drunk and much younger than now, I was walking home from the tube to my cruddy rented flat in North London. This took me down a couple of rough roads and a particularly shady boozer. No more than a minute away from home, 4 teenaged dickwits decided it would be a good way to round off a night of solvent abuse by rolling a young guy out on his own.

"Gis yer money,fuckin' batty boy."

1, I could possibly take, 2 at a real push, but 4? I like my nose only broken once, thank you. Following the path of least resistance, I was preparing to hand over my wallet and possibly take a couple of cheap shots when out of the shady boozer down the road came my saviour, an unlikely looking shortarse in a green jumper. He had been watching the little shits outside for a while and decided to even up the odds a little.

"Need a hand mate?" he asked.

"Err..might do." I replied, trying not to sound like I felt, i.e. absolutely sodding terrified.

Naturally, only being twice as many of them as there were of 'us' the ratboys were out of there like a simile out of a metaphor. Green Jumper then took me to the pub, bought me a pint and even went out to check that the fuckwads had gone before letting me leave.

Man in Green Jumper, for saving me from a mugging, I salute you.
(Pickettywitchfinder General, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:21, 1 reply)

Should I be happy about this or not?
During the 80's I was an arsehole who would turn up and cause trouble for anyone around, especially one group who used to really get on my nerves (they were a bunch that lived by a very moral goody two shoes attitude that always used to grate on me). They would always fight back though and in my opionion caused just as much damage as me and my mates.

Anyway, one day I took things a little too far and during one of our scuffles I gave the boss of this group a pretty fatal beating (thanks to a little stupid inteference from one of his own mates). I was also in a nasty shape myself and tried to escape with my mates who decided to dump me and a couple of other worse off members of my gang out of our ride when we were on our way home (yes we were still moving at the time).

I have never felt so low in all my life but thankfully I met this bloke, who helped both me and my other injured mates back to fitness. I felt like a totally different person ,I sounded like one too- Leonard Nimoy to be precise, and using my new appearance I went back and beat up a few of the knobheads that threw me out into space.

The reason why I was pissed off with this act of kindness is twofold. Firstly my cool handgun trnsformation was replaced by a purple cannon that looked like a novelty vibrator and the second reason is that the Nimoy voice only lasted during my movie appearance , and I returned to my horrid high pitched screech I used to do when I appeared in the TV series.

Fuck you Unicron you twat!
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:17, 4 replies)

Maybe not the 'nicest thing ever', but the most recent
I suffer from menstrual cramps that are very, very painful. They usually cause me to be violently sick as well. Over-the-counter painkillers are just not strong enough - the only cure is to fall asleep with a hot water bottle clutched to my stomach.

Spring this year and I was travelling back from an interview on the train. I could feel the pain start up and I started to feel sick. The train was pretty full so I had no seat and could not get past the crowds to the on-board loo. I was leaning against the luggage rack praying the train would hurry up and get to my stop. I must have gone a funny colour because someone gave me a plastic bag, which I promptly hurled into. My stop was only a few minutes later. A girl who had been stood next to me kindly held the bag of sick for me as I got off the train, and she even helped me with my luggage, too.
At the station I found a hot water bottle in my luggage and a man at the cafe gave me some hot water for it, free of charge. He also let me have some water for free for a dissolvable paracetamol, which took the edge off the pain.
So, thank you to the girl on the train for holding a bag full of sick for me, you didn't have to, but you did, and I appreciate that.

And apologies to the staff at Chesterfield station who later that day found a bag full of vomit in the ladies loo.
( Peapod Has returned to the fold on, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:13, 8 replies)

A bit of a serious one
Back in the mid-1980s when I was in my late teens my elder brother got in with a bad crowd. He moved into a squat in Cricklewood with some Art College buddies, one of who was a dealer. Within six months he was chasing the dragon - not a particularly good idea for a motor-bike courier. One of the scariest half hours of my life was getting a lift back to his place after Sunday lunch at my folks on the back of his bike when he hadn't had a fix for a few hours - yes, he was in a hurry.

So, hats off to his then girlfriend, (who later came out as a lesbian, but that's irrelevant) who babysat him in her room for three days while he went cold turkey. He's done plenty of stupid things since then, but thankfully, never went back to smack.

That was a nice thing to do, and I'm very grateful.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 15:01, Reply)

Mr New
When I was 15 a local piano teacher called Alan New gave me singing lessons for a couple of years, got me to grade 8 and made it possible for me to eventually take a degree in music. He was quite an elderly man and had never had a family, mostly because of the wars and he used to tell me all sorts of tales of when he was young.

He taught me every week and accompanied me to London to take all my grades but he never took a penny for it.

I still regret to this day that I never really let him know how grateful I was.
(misspiggy In danger of having to get a job, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 14:55, Reply)

Mixed...
Last October I came round to find myself in the back of an ambulance. I was completely disorientated & my body felt like I had done ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Turns out I had had 2 fits in my sleep. Now at the time I was living with my now ex-gf. Apparently I had a pretty major fit which woke her up & then I had a second one whilst she waited for the ambulance that she had called. (I still remember none of this). I was checked out at hospital & then sent home, feeling incredibly scared, rather worried, p*ssed off that I was unable to drive until further notice etc.

My now ex was brilliant throughout the whole thing. Took the day off work to look after me, came with me to all of the follow up appointments (MRI scans, interviews with a consultant etc) and explained on my behalf what had happened as I had hardly any recollection of it. I had never experienced someone caring like that for me before & she made a huge effort, particularly as it had been quite a scary experience for her too.

Gradually I recovered & have been fit free for 50 weeks! Woo Hoo! I am allowed to drive again & the reason for the fits was uncovered (a certain make of over the counter sleeping tablets that rhyme with Palms - DO NOT TAKE THESE).

A few months later we have split, nothing really to do with the fits, but mainly as we had got into a vicious circle of being unhappy because our relationship wasn't right & our relationship not being right because we were unhappy. Dispite trying to keep it pleasant it soon descended in to nastiness & horrid untrue rumours being spread about me.

So a mixed experience of the same person doing some of the nicest and nastiest things to me that I have ever experienced.

Leanne, I doubt you're reading this, because let's face it you only ever go online to buy shoes... but if you are reading this then I still hate you for the unpleasant ending to our relationship and all the sh*t since, but thank you for what you did that night & for looking after me afterwards.

Length? Each fit lasted about 3-4 minutes apparently
(lkjshaglkasjdhglkhjz lkcvl; g;aodh;owih, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 14:50, 2 replies)