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This is a question Relief

Last week, I thought we'd run over and killed something. After steeling myself to get out and find the body of somebody's beloved pet, I found we'd squished a bin bag. When has something turned out not as grim as you first thought?

(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 12:38)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Lying in bed one Saturday morning,
feeling somewhat worse for wear after a particularly heavy night's drinking, I went for a lazy scratch of my nether regions. I was horrified to discover a growth on my scrotum. All sorts of terrible thoughts went through my head... thoughts which soon dissipated when I discovered that the "growth" was a fried egg sweet from a pack of Haribo Starmix which had somehow adhered itself to my ballbag. 
(, Tue 25 Dec 2012, 10:06, 10 replies)
I recently got farmed out from my cosy den in the intensive care unit at the Local Hospital Where I Work to one of the medical wards as we were overstaffed and they were understaffed.
One of the gents I tasked to look after was a proper tough old countryman in his 80s who, like a Frenchman from the 1980's, loved to pee outdoors.
Rain, wind or shine he'd much rather take a slash outdoors by his sh*d than bother climbing stairs, pissing into the bog, flushing and then coming downstairs.

He was recently admitted to hospital with a nasty case of heart failure, a condition which had caused a load of fluid to accumulate in his body, particularly on his lungs, which had the effect of giving him a chest infection, some nasty breathlessness and, as I was to discover, an acute confusional state.
Treatment for this is antbiotics to treat the infection and furosemide to clear the accumulated fluid off of his chest. Basically, you piss yourself(not literally) better.

Imagine if you can then, the mixed feelings I had towards the end of a rather hectic 12 hour day shift, as I watched this delightful old boy, by now feeling much better thanks to being able to breathe considerably
easier, clamber out of bed unassisted, stride purposefully down the ward then proceed to not so much spend a penny as blow his life savings all over the ward's newly erected and decorated Christmas tree.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 23:13, 7 replies)
My wife was due to have a baby middle of next month. 5am yesterday morning she started making 'having a baby' noises. I said I should call an ambulance. 'dont be stupid I'm not going to have the baby here'. My 2 year old wakes up and comes to see what's going on. More screaming and i call the ambulance. The 999 man starts talking me through how to deliver a baby. 'please just send the ambulance'. 'now, can you see the head yet sir?'. 'no, can you please send the ambulance'. 2 year old wants to play giraffes. Relief number 1 was when the ambulance crew huffed and puffed up the stairs. Relief 2 was when the baby cried, having been successfully delivered by a totally unphased ambulance man. Slightly strange monty python aspect was other ambulance people asking me who did my loft conversion while the baby was half out. 'they done a lovely job sir. Can I ask you what you paid?'.
Length - short. Weight - 5lbs 15. Happy new year!
(, Tue 1 Jan 2013, 22:04, 25 replies)

When you’re rock climbing it’s very important to know where your hands and feet are. Not only in relation to yourself, usually to be found at the end of your arms and legs, but in relation to the various bumps, crevices and knobs that one needs to stay on the rock. You don’t want to be doing the equivalent thinking there’s one more step on a flight of stairs when the outcome can be quite serious.

So when I made a lunge for the hold that I thought was there and found nothing but smooth rock, the old heart started to beat a little faster, and perception began to slow down. Not only had I misjudged the hold, but the move had put me off balance and out of shape. I wasn’t sure what was around me, and I couldn’t pull my face away from the rock to find out. I had enough time to shout “tight” to my buddy before my foot slipped from the one good hold and I began a process that we climbers call “Falling Off”.

Falling isn’t just peeling away from the rock, free falling into the jagged rocks below. There are a number of stages.

First, there’s The Slide. This is where the climber tries to become a gecko and somehow stick themselves to the rock by hugging it. This never works, but it does give the climber time to think about things. How high am I? How sharp are the rocks below? How old is this rope? Is my partner paying attention or rolling a fag? I don’t remember there being this much slack in the rope? Those last two bits of protection where a bit dodgy, but the third one might hold.

Once you pick up enough speed you hit something and get bounced off the rock face, this is bad because now you can accelerate as Newton intended. You enter the second part of the fall, The Blur, you’re not really sure what’s happening, but you do know that death is in a hurry to meet you and you’re not going to keep him waiting for long.

When you’ve travelled past your protection, taken all of the slack out of the rope, your protection holds, you’ve not hit the deck yet anyway, then your equipment comes into play. In a move that’s only slightly preferable to being smashed to pieces on lumps of Gabbro you violently decelerate with 98% of the force being transmitted via the climbing harness to your testicles. Luckily you don’t get long to mourn the loss of your bollocks because it’s already time for the next stage in the fall, “The Slam”. One way or another that momentum has to be got rid of and this often involves a rapid swing and a very sudden stop as you meet your old friend the rock face again.

Fall complete, if all’s gone well, you can sit at the bottom of the climb bruised, bleeding and shaking, high on adrenalin and endorphins, feeling relieved as a mofo.
(, Fri 28 Dec 2012, 13:49, 6 replies)
Spine turned to ice
I was about twelve years old and on a fast train somewhere in France. I spent most of the time in the corridor at the window, which was wound down about half-way, resting my forearms on the horizontal bar and watching the scenery whipping past. At the time, I didn’t know that the occasional cloud of water droplets that swept past, wetting my face and lips but soon drying in the wind, was from one of the many toilets further up the train, but that’s another story.

A little girl, about five years old, came along and begged to be lifted up so that she could see out of the window. Eventually I obliged, but to my horror she suddenly leaned out so far out that I almost lost my grip on her. I was desperately pulling her back into the train when, a split second later, preceded by a bow wave of wind like a slamming door, another train screamed past in the opposite direction, seemingly inches away. I looked at the little girl in my arms and was relieved to see that she still had a head.
(, Wed 26 Dec 2012, 10:20, 2 replies)
Last year, we bought our Christmas tree too early
And all of the needles dropped by the 20th.

I didn't want the family to be let down, so I spent the whole day glueing them back into place. It looked OK.

That was a releaf.
(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 13:43, 5 replies)
Christmas 1995
Not much of a writer. It's long and probably boring.

A time that should have been spent with family, some friends and defintely beer, but no.
He instead found himself in a very cold Sarajevo, it least it was going to be a white Christmas but peace seemed to be an alien concept to the locals who instead prefered to demonstrate thier version of 'Merry Christmas' with the clack-clack of an AK-47. Noisy things. It wasn't really their fault, after fighting for 4 years they'd got into the swing of things and maybe seemed a little reluctant to stop.

Guard duty at Zetra Stadium was a usually quiet affair as those on the outside, far beyond the sight of those in the Stadium, went about their business of settling scores or whatever business required a 7.62mm round. The Stadium had been a jewel of the city, famous for being party to Torvill & Dean’s Boléro and subsequent gold medal, it now lay in ruins, its roof black and twisted from the fire that had raged after the rain of mortar fire, its insides ravaged and devoid of the city’s Olympic spirit. The Stadium once again played host to people from many nations but they were not here to watch skaters dance. These dressed in fatigues and carried their own guns and looked out and readied themselves to play peacemakers to battle weary people.

The sangar was a hodgepodge collection of debris and sandbags and gave no relief from the cold, but that wasn’t its job. He stood in the cold, layered in as many clothes he could put on but he was still cold. Outside the Stadium, but inside the thin but so important fence, soldiers scurried around carrying out their never endings jobs as fast as possible. It doesn’t pay for a soldier to sit around, he is soon found a task that will turn out to be unpleasant and time consuming . His rifle is cold too, but it doesn’t complain, unlike him.

The Rules of Engagement here are strict but straight forward. NATO has decided to play by a different set of rules from the UN and all know it. The ordinary people beyond the fence go about their business. Are they going to work? Perhaps to find a loved one? Maybe to bury one? They stay clear of the fence, it’s not wise to bring the attention of the new soldiers from the Stadium, they are different from those in the blue helmets. One group, however, is different, their body language marks them as confident and sure of themselves, but they seem only young, maybe only fifteen. Why are they coming to the fence? Don’t they know the rules?! We’re different, we don’t wear blue helmets. He becomes agitated, not panic mind, he’s a soldier after all. What should he do? Tell someone? Leave the sangar? What? But he knows. They don’t leave, one leans on the fence looking in, no, don’t do that! Go away! But it’s time. His heart thumps, he shakes as he brings the rifle’s working parts to the rear and let fly forward as he releases the cold metal. Move on! Move on! You are a child, he doesn’t want to do this. Now the safety is off and he looks down the sight, he is sweating in the freezing cold, his hands clammy against the cold plastic of the rifle. Go, please go. He doesn’t want to do this. Now there is panic, the boy doesn’t move and then.... calm.....

It’s time, it was always going to be this way. Everything up to this point has merely been the foreplay. It’s time. Calm. The soldier stares down the sight, it’s only a hundred metres. Calm. Finger on the trigger. Breath, do it on the in-breath now, just like on the ranges. One breath, in.....

The boy takes one last look at the soldiers behind their fence and swiftly turns on the spot before moving to catch up with his friends. Away they go to who knows where.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 15:46, 12 replies)
When my son was born
he had been in some distress after a very long labour, he was blue and not breathing, the panic around me was horrific. People rushing around and taking him straight to the equipment that could save his life, instead of placing him in my arms. I had no idea what was going to happen.
That joyous feeling when he finally took that first gasp of life saving air, was the most relived I had ever EVER been.
He topped it a few days later however, when the teeny tiny amount of fluffy hair on his head turned out to be blonde instead of ginger.
(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 20:50, 2 replies)
It's Alive!
Taking my gf at the time home in my battered old Land Rover. Driving down a dark country lane when a dog jumps out in front of us in what was obviously a canine suicide attempt. Thump! Definitely hit it - cue gf screaming "is it dead, is it dead?" at the top of her voice. Get out of the car and no sign of aforementioned canine. A quick scout around the car sees it wrapped up in the wheel arch, lifeless. Prodding and poking at it does no good, it's stuck. Reporting this is rewarded with more screaming.

Time to take the wheel off. Jack up the Landy and remove the wheel, now I can peel the dog from the arch. As I free it the bastard springs to life, bites me on the hand and fucks off across the fields at top speed.

"Aww, he's alright, that's a relief" were the words I next heard. Marvellous.
(, Tue 25 Dec 2012, 20:46, 1 reply)
smudges story reminds me of one similar.
I had driven up from London to Blackpool with my 2 year old daughter to spend a weekend with my family who'd flown over from Dublin.

Checked into the hotel and took the little hotel lift to the 4th floor. I had a pram with the child in it, suitcase and multiple small bags one seems to accumulate when they have small children. outside the room I realised the pushchair wouldnt fit through the door so took my daughter out of and set about the complicated process that comes with folding a modern pushchair. The corridor we were in had a firedoor either end so I wasn't worried about the child.

Having got everything into the room, I saw my daughter at the end of the corridor and she disappeared around the corner. There was nothing there but the lift and she couldnt reach the button so I assumed she was waiting for me so she could could shout Boo to me as I came around it. Ready to fake surprise I turned the corner just in time to see the lift doors closing with her in it.

As this was a shitty hotel in Blackpool, there were no displays on the wall showing which floor the lift was on. I shot down the stairs floor by floor waiting at every floor a few seconds to see if the door opened. Got to the ground floor and nothing. no sign of her. Now i was well panicked and I shouted to the receptionist and anyone else within earshot if they'd seen a small child come out of the lift. Nothing. Ran outside the hotel and looked up and down the road. still nothing. Ran back in, saw my dad, told him I'd lost Sophia and to stay there while I ran back up and checked every floor.

I ran up the stairs and along every corridor screaming her name in that high pitched voice of the demented. Still nothing. Got back to me dad at reception and by now I'm a gibbering mess beginning to run through several horrific scenarios in my head. just then the hotel manager comes through a door with my daughter in his arms. She looked completely nonplussed about the whole drama. Turns out there was a basement level function room in the hotel and there was a wedding reception being held there that day. Shed gotten out of the lift in the basement and wandered in. Someone noticed she didnt belong to anyone at the wedding and called the manager.

oh I'll never forget the relief of that moment. worse 10 minutes ever.

tl:dr - Blackpool is a shithole and I'm a shit parent.
(, Sun 23 Dec 2012, 9:55, 2 replies)
the morning after
when you check your phone and realise that, no matter how shitfaced you were the night before, you didn't resort to texting your ex.
(, Sat 22 Dec 2012, 14:31, 7 replies)
Last week I was weightlifting
And I thought I shit myself, but it turned out it was only an anal prolapse.

Thank fuck, that could have been so embarrassing!
(, Fri 28 Dec 2012, 7:39, Reply)
Bad Parenting
I was waiting at the bus stop with my son, then aged 2, a wee friend of his and the friend's mother. I got a bit distracted checking bus times, looking out change and so on and suddenly, to my utter horror, realised that The Boy had vanished from sight. Not in the bus stop. Not on the pavement. Not on the road. Crowds of people around. Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit.

His friend's mother saw the panic in my eyes, saw me looking frantically around and asked me what was wrong. "Where's Geeklet?", I asked, urgently.

She gave me an odd look. "Still sitting on your shoulders", she replied.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 23:43, 3 replies)
Old Pink Marigold glove...
...looks JUST like a severed hand when seen floating towards you about 6 inches under the surface whilst you are splashing around in the sea.
(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 14:11, Reply)
I was relieved when I finally caught 'em all, so that I could retire my Poké-snatch.

(, Fri 28 Dec 2012, 10:01, 19 replies)
What a relief it was to finally unlurk on b3ta. And I'm not even drunk. Although it is a bit of an anti-climax on balance.
(, Thu 27 Dec 2012, 15:16, 3 replies)
A man, his heart close to exploding like a pulsing grenade in his chest. He runs, slowing down as lactic acid builds up in his strained muscles and then speeding up again as adrenaline takes over; his gait, unbalanced, gives the impression of a man made up of two separate and distinct halves, each with their own rhythm.

His eyes burn as salty droplets of perspiration drop into them. His pupils, dilated, suggest drug use, but their huge size is due to the endorphins his brain is pumping out to combat the pain of his exertion. His mind is a crazy tangle of neurons, firing and refiring as unanswered questions and half-formed thoughts pinball through his cranium. What if? What happens...

His breathing is ragged and uneven. He is not a runner. He barely exercises, but he knows that he has to be there right now. Every extra second is like an eternity. He barely has time or capacity to wonder where he is; instinctually he makes for his destination, feinting here, swerving there, like a homing pigeon. He will remember little of this journey in years to come.

Through his streaked vision - every street light a halo, every traffic signal a disco ball shattering colours into a million shards of light - he sees the hospital and, with one final grunt of exertion, pushes himself towards its doors.
Once inside, he gasps his purpose through a dry throat, and is ushered - too slow! too slow! - to a room, in which people mingle and complicated machinery beeps with a regularity alien to nature.

What if? What happens...

He has a son. His first. The ache in his muscles disappears. His heart slows, but he still feels as though it could burst through his chest. He breathes, deep, gulping swallows of sweet air, refilling his lungs and failing to prevent him from crying. His tears grant him tunnel vision: all he can see is his wife and his son, nestled on her breast. He weeps without shame.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 15:26, 30 replies)
"that's seventeen pounds fifty nine, please"
*reaches into pocket for purse, which is not there*
ohfuckohfuckohfuck! where's my fucking purse!? i must have put it in my handbag!
*checks handbag*
bollocking shitcunt! it's not in there, either! i'm going to have to put all this shopping back and then go grovelling to mum for money because I'VE LOST MY FUCKING PURSE!
uhmmm.....wait a minute.....it's in the little pocket on the front of your trolley, you fucking numpty.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 13:16, 18 replies)
Dead dog in the garden
Years back when I lived in Kentish Town, I woke one day to find that someone had dumped a decaying collie in our back yard. Holding a hankie over my mouth and nose, I went out to have a look. Definitely a dog, with all horrible dirty, matted fur. Definitely not moving. So I did what any sensible man would do under the circumstances and went to get a stick to poke it with. It was squidgy. But applying just a tiny amount more pressure caused the whole thing to flip over and some bad words to come out of my mouth, as I really hadn't been expecting that.

It was a disturbingly realistic life-size stuffed toy. It looked like it had been left outside for months and so, for whatever reason, someone had decided to hoy it over our fence to get rid of it.

We kept it in the garden for ages - it became our house mascot/pet and visitors would often double-take when glancing out of the kitchen window - "Oh that? Yeah, that's just our dead dog."

I think it went on the bonfire in the end.
(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 14:56, 27 replies)
10am. This very morning.
Just had a coffee, as per usual. Casually going through my emails, deleting anything that looks important. Anything to get out of the crushing boredom that makes up the day. For you see, time runs slower here. There is a thicker kind of reality, as if the second hand on the Universe Clock is struggling through treacle. I feel as though today I have lived a thousand days, each one one the same, unpunctuated by night. A stagnant hell from which the only hope of escape is from time itself; the enemy, grim custodian to this eternal prison. Then, suddenly, a gift from a greater power. A pressure, then writing pain in my guts, a solitary light of sensation cutting through this dark abyss of numbness and boredom like a scythe. I knew what I had to do.

Anyway basically I went and done a massive shit. Now I'm bored again.
(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 14:16, Reply)
I was in an art gallery
populated with modern sculpture and conceptual pieces. The entire show was aimed at given children an insight into art and most of it was fun, despite being somewhat pretencious. I noticed that after turning into the main display area that one piece situated about thirty feet from me appeared to be a large spunking crudely drawn cock embossed into tin foil. I was incredibly surprised and immediately went to have a closer inspection. Rather than being a cock, it appeared to be a rather childish picture of a rabbit. It wasn't even embossed. According to the label, it had innocently been created by an art student by using a toothpick to carefully create indentations to form a picture.

I was actually really impressed by the quality of the work.

What a relief!
(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 13:16, 9 replies)
The long walk
A while ago I had to have some medical tests, which included testing for some fairly serious conditions. The doctor told me that they'd get in touch if they found anything; if I didn't hear back, it meant that everything was OK.

A couple of weeks later, The Letter plopped onto the mat. As indeed did my last meal, when I read that they wanted me to come in to the surgery. I remember being in a fairly odd state of mind, as I walked along to hear the news, with all it's possibly life-changing (or even curtailing) possibilities.

"Your tests came back, and I just wanted to let you know that everything was clear." Sayeth the doctor.

(, Thu 3 Jan 2013, 9:04, 1 reply)
Many years ago...
...when I were a wee nipper in the mid-70s, my mum's first car was a white Fiat 500 (it was the only car she's ever owned that she hasn't needed to sit on a cushion to see over the steering-wheel). One day, with me in the back, she was driving around a traffic island at a junction surrounded by shops when a parrot flew smack-bang into the windscreen, making a great SPLAT! sound and bouncing off... Somewhat startled, to say the least, and distraught that she might have killed it, mum pulled over, jumped out of the car and rushed over to the bird, which was lying motionless in the gutter, at the same time as a woman rushed out of a nearby shop (which, it transpired, was a petshop) and scooped up the, by now evidently only stunned, parrot. Babbling apologetically, my mum was quickly relieved by the woman's airily cheerful, "Don't worry about it, love, he's always doing this!" as she carried the groggy parrot back to her shop.
(, Mon 31 Dec 2012, 10:30, 3 replies)
"whos trodden dogshit into the doormat?"

This was the kind of 'inquisition' question my father would utter, sparking a vast discussion on the hows, wheres, whys and whos of the incident under question. Someone always had to be to blame.

In this case there was an inspection of all the shoes in the house (no dogshit), sniffing of the footwear currently being worn (no dogshit), a discussion about who might have visited the house and might have trodden dogshit into the doormat.

The rage was building all the time and my father was becoming incandescent. There wear tears, threats of beatings and much shouting

This all ended when I finally got on my knees...

and sniffed the "dogshit"

my words?
"its catfood"
(, Sat 22 Dec 2012, 17:48, 1 reply)
I was pulled up a set of lights.
Two lanes, just me in one, the other empty. A kid started crossing from my side of the road, the lights were still red but about to change. The kid was still infront of my car when the lights went to orange, I checked the mirror and there was a car in the othe lane doing about 50. In about 2 seconds the kid was going clear my car just in time to get wiped out by this speeding fuck.
I lent on the horn, the kid jumped out of his skin, but that pause was long enough for the other car to pass by harmlessly. The lucky bastard looked at me, confused and then angry before mouthing F U C K Y O U and carried on his way.
(, Sat 22 Dec 2012, 15:17, 1 reply)
Hay whats this?
Many moons ago I was cutting down a hay field, "Opening out" as us rural types say, i.e. cutting around perimeter of the field, with an 8 foot cut disc mower. One of the hedges bordered a main road and as I was tootling along kicking up a lot of dust ( well, grass pollen really ) suddenly in the tall thick tangled grass through the haze of pollen I saw the body of a naked woman face down! OMG a murder victim! I just managed to stop the tractor in time before the mower had turned her into minced morsels. When the dust settled I dismounted the cab, shaking like the proverbial leaf only to find that the aforementioned cadaver was in fact a mannequin , a tailors dummy PHEEEW!!! I picked it up and threw it into the hedge bottom and carried on mowing, but I tell you what, my heart was still pounding like crazy for at least an hour afterwards. God only knows what it must be like to find a real body.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 13:12, 6 replies)
On my last holiday whilst snorkelling I drifted over a bank of coral that was absolutely full of hundreds of snake-like aquatic creatures.
What an eel reef!
(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 23:44, 1 reply)
I was walking back from the beach last month, carrying my two year old daughter in my arms
In an unfortunate series of events that all happened in the blink of an eye, I stepped in a pothole I hadn't seen, and dropped to my knee, the inside of my arm caught on a standing pole, ripping my bicep and causing me to throw my little girl forwards. she went down with the back of her head hitting the street. I rushed to check on her but she wasn't moving, as I lifted her I saw an unluckily placed cube of stone right where her head would have impacted. I'm a tall bloke and when I thought about the impact, "Fuck, I've killed me daughter" was what went through my mind. She moved a bit as I raced on foot with her in my arms to find a hospital. Anyway, to cut a long story short, after a nervewracking day of scans and waiting, it turned out she wasn't dead, and wasn't going to see out her days in a persistent vegetetive state while I drank myself to death because of the guilt, but just had a concussion. It was a relief.
(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 20:49, 2 replies)
I done raped an elephant, what was scary at first, but in the end he seemed to enjoy it and even gave me a reachatrunkaround

(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 18:39, 10 replies)
At the end of a reasonably enjoyable holiday in Barcelona
Whilst waiting for our flight home I decided to nip to the bogs for a preflight download. After producing what felt like a sizeable trout I rose and glanced (as one does) bowlward...only to see the blackest arse missile I had ever witnessed. Suddenly the cubicle felt very small (well smaller anyway) and I started to break out in a cold sweat, what had I always heard about black shit: bowel cancer, ruptured intestines, missing gerbils. Every manner of medical horror rampaged through my confused brain. I staggered out of the lavabos, ran to my girlfriend and confronted her with the imminent loss of her beloved. She looked at me with one of those looks I would later come to recognise as absolute contempt and said, "Do you know, it could be bowel cancer...or it could be the squid ink paella you ate last night, you twat!"
(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 17:35, 2 replies)

This question is now closed.

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