supermarket takedown / parenting by proxy
picture the scene. you're in a morrisons. you're hung to the over. you're halfheartedly scouring the shelves for some ingredient for the night's meal. in the aisle is a woman on her mobile, talking very loudly about absolutely nothing at all, clearly something she's a great authority on, in a snooty middle england nasal voice. to pad the scene, let's imagine she's got a bottle of overpriced balsamic vinegar in one hand.
her delightful offspring is running amok, yelling like a banshee, pushing past shoppers, swinging some kind of toy lightsaber round, knocking stuff off shelves. round and round the aisle he goes. knocks past me once, twice, pushing past imperiously as if i am at fault for DARING to impede his speedy process past the canned legumes section with my bulky presence.
as he clears the end of the aisle, the doppler effect reliably informs me he is once again approaching.
as the patter of feet gets louder, and the yelling increases, it suddenly occurs to me that the very thing i seek could be on the opposite shelf, so, without further ado me, and my heavy, child face height wire basket of tins and root veg turn to face the other shelf.

*spang*
*intake of breath*
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA*gulp*AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! MUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! *gulp* aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA


oops.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 11:09, 34 replies)

It was a Sunday afternoon... that will live in infamy
I was washing up. I know, big intro. For some reason which escapes me now, I was listening to Radio 1 - maybe they'd promised a live teabagging of a heavily sedated Vernon Kay, or something. This is back when CBBC's Dick and Dom had somehow bagged a lunchtime slot with their "unique" brand of "hilarity". Focusing on a particularly stubborn non-stick pan (was it fuck), it took me a minute to realise that the voice of the caller on the radio belonged to my best mate's girlfriend.

This was not my random act of evil, but hers. And I doubt I will ever top it.

I listened to her banter with the hosts about having recently met Jason Donovan and the colour of her hair that week, amazed at her hitherto untapped ability to go three words without saying "fuck". Then came the inevitable shout out section to conclude the call. Was there anyone she'd like to say hi to?

"Yes, my boyfriend Jamie, he's here in the car with me, say hello!"

Dick and Dom courteously reply "Hi Jamie!", unaware of the downturn his day was about to take.

"Oh thanks, that's made his day, because JAMIE LOVES DICK!! JAMIE REALLY REALLY LOVES DICK!!!"

To this day I am impressed that there was no dead air following this. Audibly stunned, Dick himself replied with "Er, haha, thanks, but are you sure he's not more of a Dom fan?"

I swear I could hear him crossing his fingers. It didn't work.

"No I'm more of a Dom fan but JAMIE LOVES DICK!!!"

The call was terminated shortly thereafter. Its legacy lives on, however. Jamie's better (ha!) half downloaded the podcast, cut the WAV file and saved it to her phone. For six months thereafter, any text she received caused her phone to announce her boyfriend's love of cock.

Girls = evil.
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 9:56, 12 replies)

another one about my dad
when your 8-year-old daughter has just had major eye surgery and will, effectively, be blind for the next 2 weeks, rearranging her bedroom furniture while she's asleep is NOT FUCKING FUNNY
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 19:52, 12 replies)

One night, as I do EVERY NIGHT...
...I got OFF MY HEAD on MASSIVE OSTRICHES(they're like Doves, only for REAL men). I dind't do anything that due to me spending all night beating up ninja robot squaddies and then inserting my bacon hypodermic into them to giving infusions of organic mayonnaise to their DRIPPING supermodel girlfriends.

However.

Next morning.

I felt horrid.

So I jumped in the Accord and drove down the shop, donutting the car all the way and flicking V's at traffic coppers. They let me do this as chainsawed a pimp to death for them.

At the supermarket, in the booze-and-pot-noodle aisle(they have one at my supermarket because I'm THAT important in my town) some woman was there with a child, despite the fact that under-18's are banned by law from shops selling booze. So what was to happen next was ALL HER OWN FAULT.

They were singing 'Old MacDonald'.

I gave them a menacing glower. That normally makes SAS men shit themselves, but they clearly didn't see it.

So, I waited until her back was turned and BROKE THE CHILDS ARM OVER MY KNEE. He totally deserved it. He was singing 'with a moo-moo here' too loud and a bit flat.

But the SELFISH QUEEN OF THE HARPIES had noticed and said that I wasn't allowed to do that. Needless to say, I had the last laugh though.

I injected her with a syringe full of MASSIVE DRUGS an waited for her to pass out.
THEN I KICKED HER IN THE RIBS and left.

On my way out, I took a parking sticker from a soft-top so I didn't get a ticket. I'm such a bad person for doing that.

Cheers.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 12:50, 20 replies)

Re-post, Selecta
I'm not the sort of person who usually plays tricks on people. One, I don't have a particularly devious mind and two, I generally can't be arsed. However, when the opportunity presents itself I just can't resist.

I used to work with a guy called James. Nice guy but a bit uptight. Would easlily fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. One day James came into work and decided he couldn't be arsed to park correctly and just dumped his car across three spaces. I sensed an opportunity for merrymaking.

On the pretext of going out for a fag I snuck into the car park and took a picture of the front of James' car on my phone, thusly:



Later, when James popped out of the office I quickly photoshopped a wheel clamp onto his car, thusly:



I then tranferred the image back to my phone.

When I got back to the office after my next fag break, I looked stony faced. James asked me what was wrong - and for once I managed not to give the game away by laughing. I played it deadly serious.

"Mate, I think you need to go and look at your car."

"Why?"

"You'll never believe me. Here, I took a photo." And I showed him the shopped picture of his car on my phone.

"Is this a wind-up?"

My poker face would have put a Vegas hustler to shame. "No mate, I swear it's not a wind-up. Go and see for yourself."

And with a cry of "motherfuckers!" he was out the door, as I basked in the warm glow of a job well done.
(MrC. Having the most boring username on b3ta since 2004, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 14:34, 1 reply)

6th form, at Grammar School.
The school had recently gone from 13+ to 11+ intake, and the new students seemed to be getting a lot of money spent on them (they had the use of the schools new mac network, we had to make do with the crappy old RM terminals, that sort of thing).
Mooching around one lunchtime, and a trio of the anklebiters go tearing past us. In a fit of especially childish pique, I stick out my foot to trip the last one to pass. Trip he does, followed by a flawless forward roll that leads him back to a running finish. Didn't even break his stride.
My one attempt to bully someone for the heinous crime of being smaller than myself, and I pick on the boy wonder.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 19:53, 3 replies)

Hopping Mad
My local swimming pool has one of those changing village things, with a few cubicles and a lot of lockers. The principle is simple enough - change in a cubicle, clothes in a locker - but there are always a few selfish prats who leave their clothes in the cubicle when they are swimming.

On one occasion I got there to find only one unoccupied cubicle - and that was left full of clothes. Hah.

The woman in question left the pool about half an hour before me. She was still there when I got out. She was still there when I got changed. She was still there when I finished my coffee. She was still there when I drove off.

I found out later that it took her almost three hours to find her shoes, pushed to the end of one of the training canoes stored above the lockers.
(ubergeekian, Sun 19 Feb 2012, 18:48, 5 replies)

TV-AM
Not sure if this is random as it was pre-meditated but....

Many moons ago, before Daybreak and before even GM-TV, there was the breakfast show ratings heavyweight that was TV-AM. This was the show that gave us Anne Diamond and Nick Owen, Ulrika-ka-ka Jonsson doing the weather before she hooked up with Vic and Bob, and for reasons that nobody has entirely explained - the mystifyingly popular puppet rat called Roland.

They also gave us Wacaday and Timmy Mallett.

My brother worked for a security firm and the owner of TV-AM, Bruce Gyngell, hired them when he was having trouble with the unions over some deal or other and they had to sweep his offices for bugs and upgrade the building security. As a result my brother had the keys to all the doors.

Because of the nature of the show it started in the early morning and my brother had to be there every day before everyone else and so he saw all the presenters arrive. Which means he spent a goodly amount of time perving over Michaela Strachan. But for every up there's the inevitable down and TV-AM's down came in the form of the arrival of Timmy Mallet, the relentlessly chirpy twat of foam-hammer fame.

Timmy used to cycle to the TV-AM studios every day and would usually coast into reception on his bicycle and announce his annoying presence to all and sundry. His ride was exquisitely timed such that his presence would trigger the infra-red detector and the plate glass doors would slide open so he could cruise in without a pause.

So one morning my brother locked the doors....
(Dildo Bugger destroyed a ring on, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 22:04, 1 reply)

I told my little brother...
that however fast you run at automatic doors they will always open before you reach them
(teebie jeebie, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 17:01, 2 replies)

Fight fight fight
Everybody remembers the playground chant, everyone running to the sound and pushing through the crowd you'd eventually see two schoolkids often engaged in mild fisty-cuffs before it being broken up by a bespectacled teacher.

Anyway, we used to fake this shit when we were kids. Three of us would run around the corner of the playground and start screaming 'fight fight fight', summoning hordes of curious children like a violent pied piper and we'd keep running, dodging, ducking and diving among the crowd all the while summoning more and more confused kids with our war-cries. Eventually a teacher or two would have to make a mad sprint to the middle of the crowd, to find.... Nothing. No violence, just crowds of shouting, confused children.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 15:40, 3 replies)

I blame Vic Reeves
after a supermarket shop, we were carting our bags into the house, and my wife twatted me on the back of the head with our new frying pan. Apparently she "wanted to see if it made a 'dong' noise"
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Thu 16 Feb 2012, 22:25, 7 replies)

Uncle Terry's Front Door
Uncle Terry was a bit of a spiv, but he was also an inveterate scrounger, which was far worse.

wavy wavy wavy

Post-war Hull was being re-built quickly and cheaply. My Grandfather, my Dad and his four brothers in their teens and twenties were in various trades and thus busy. To be found easily on any day of the week on any of the hundreds of building sites in the city, they were regularly pestered by Uncle Terry who would invariably be after a bit of this or that 'to do up the shed/prefab/pigeon loft' There were few enforcers on these sites so it was evidently easy to nick half a stack of bricks, a few bags of cement, or a tin of paint. Terry would sidle up to one of them, offer them a ciggie and ask for something or other.... Now family loyalties were strong so it was hard to say no. But Terry took the proverbial and three or four times a week he'd be after something. His welcome had worn very thin on the day he asked George for a tin of paint for his front door.

George disappeared to rootle out a tin which was grumpily handed over 'Cheers lad' says Terry and he disappears.

A week passes and Terry's back on the hunt again. Another tin of paint for the front door. 'But you had a tin last week..!?' 'I know but it weren't any good. It went on alright but our Brenda said it made the house stink and a load of flies got stuck in it before it dried so the door needs doing again. And she said she wants it green this time, not brown.'

George says 'shall I not shit in this one then?'
(Bergamot B , has not been to the office since, Wed 22 Feb 2012, 0:58, 1 reply)

For my birthday
my daughter bought me an Airzooka. It shoots out a vortex of air, basically like a smoke ring moving really fast.

If you fart into it you can crop dust someone from twenty feet away.

Just sayin'.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 5:00, 1 reply)

QR Code terrorism
Haven't actually done this, but thought of it today.

1) Make QR code with URL of dubious website/Astley video/whatever
2) Print onto big stickers
3) Stick onto reputable companies' billboards/posters. Neatly. So it looks like part of the original (they always look a bit "dropped in last minute" anyway)
4) Hilarity ensues.

If anyone tries it, let me know how you get on.
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 15:36, 7 replies)

In the lift of a very posh hotel, recently...
...I met a 'refreshed' and unsteady middle-aged lady who claimed to be an entertainer of some description. She announced that she was scheduled to perform at some function or other in a few hours, and asked if I knew of any good hangover cures or ways to sober up quickly.

"Hot bath always works for me", I replied.
(Monkey Tennis isn't Spartacus, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 12:38, 3 replies)

Evil Mangoes
I have been debating if to add this story. It represents an evil for sure (I am not sure of its randomness). However, it revolves around B3TA to such a degree that I feel compelled to share, even though I would ask you to keep in mind throughout, that it is a memory of extreme physical and moral anguish for me. It is my very own "KAAAAHN!!!" moment

I am in training for the London Marathon. My particular training plan involves waking up at 6 , four times a week and running anything between 5 and 13 miles. Two days ago I was due for an 8 miler

The afternoon before I was popping into the local chemist to simply get new razor blades. Now, to explain my next action, you must know that I am a (idiotic kind of) person who occasionally resolves to get the satisfaction from having a well stocked cabinet of any kind. You know that smug feeling of gazing at a full spice rack, or opening the 'big' cupboard in your kitchen and seeing tins of tomatoes, coconut milk, pasta, etc giving myself the impression that I am a connoisseur of life, ready to whip up a delicious meal & martinis in just a few minutes because some incredibly fashionable friends have popped by (This has NEVER happened, just saying). Well, I got that stupid desire whilst in the chemist and ended up buying bathroom tissues, bandaids, vitamin pills, hand lotion (with aloe vera of course) etc etc and a selection of OTC drugs like aspirin, milk of magnesia and (critical to the plot), pills for constipation called DULCOLAX

At home, whilst putting everything away, I was surprised at how small the pills were, then wondered what they tasted like, and absent mindedly popped one in my mouth. Didn't taste of anything, so I just swallowed

The B3TA element begins a few hours later. I am crashed out on my sofa after dinner and watch the first of 'Whats in Spock's scanner' by BLACKMOONSTUDIOS on youtube (if you haven't seen it, watch all three episodes... brilliant stuff). Chortling to myself and feeling pretty good about life, I felt like dessert and went round the corner to the local immigrant shop that sells everything. Keeping in mind that I wanted to be 'marathon healthy', I asked what they had that was not so bad for you and the shop keeper pipped up that he had a special offer on mangoes. COMPLETELY forgetting about the laxative pill lurking in my system, I ate 4 of them (buy 3 get one free) whilst watching episodes 2&3

Next morning, wake up at 6am, do a number 1 (number 2? no, doesn't work, too early), down a glass of water, get into my running gear and I am out the door with my iPod playing 80's hits & Gerry Anderson soundtracks (I find listening to Thunderbirds, complete with the countdown, does wonders for my pace). The 8 mile route is on a running/walking track that goes around a lake, and I'm jogging along with other runners all enjoying the morning air.

I must have done about three miles when I began to notice a heaviness around the lower stomach area...'Bit odd' I think and try and ignore it...doesn't go away.... 4 miles (and this route is a straight out & back) I stop and realise to my horror (and I mean I was standing there open mouthed), that the mangoes are wanting to make a very urgent reappearance, egged on by their evil partner in crime, the Dulcolax tablet

I had absolutely zero idea what to do. My first thought was from the story 'my left foot' by Pooflake (QOTW: "I should have been arrested"..also highly recommended) and looked around for a bush... no cover at all, and there are runners and early morning dog walkers every where

The panic in me released enough adrenaline that now my anus was at the absolutely edge of exploding, Krakatoa style, into my tight running leggings. I stood with both legs together, my arms rigid at my side and I gritted my teeth and focused my entire psyche on that one crucial muscle, the anal sphincter. The waves passed and I opened my eyes and gasped for air. Several runners ran passed me with mild looks of concern on their face

I still had no idea what to do. Do I run back ? (perhaps making it worse, but getting to a toilet quicker). Walk back? (longer), what?

I decided to jog back slowly and now my memory threw at me every poo story in B3TA that I have read and laughed at. Was this helpful? Please tell me something useful. As I jogged passed a bin, I thought of the scene from Bridesmaids (no, not useful). Every-time I could feel an attack coming on. I would again stand completely still & rigid and clench like my life depended on it. The effort was so grim, that several times I had my face to the sky, giving out a deep groan from deep within my soul. The same runners who by this time were lapping me assumed that I was bravely fighting some painfully pulled muscle and heard quite a few "Keep going mate", "Well done mate" as I stood there

The return home took me about 40 minutes of alternate jogging and stopping/clenching. The worst part was the last 100m... I walked very slowly trying to remain calm, deep breathing (in through the nose, out through the mouth) not wanting to panic and massacre my front door or pavement (never mind moving, I would have immigrated if that had happened)

But the last ten seconds had me opening both the apartment door and dropping my leggings simultaneously and throwing my body backwards onto an open toilet

Dear reader, the relief was orgasmic.

I end this story by posing deep questions about good & evil, Boethius like. Can anyone answer them? Alain de Botton? Brian Cox?

What is it about being a B3TA person that makes you consume drugs absent mindedly, completely forget about them and then get yourself into 'situations'?

Why does you poo-hole give you the feeling it will explode, only to go away, and again come back?

Why does that pressure build up to an intolerable degree even though you are 2 (crucial) seconds and 5 (critical) metres away from the bog?

Anyway, as I sat on the toilet in a 'post-coital' bliss, I did look on the bright side of the experience. It was training of sorts for the marathon. Now, I know I CAN keep going between porta loos, no problemo
(sabre32, Thu 23 Feb 2012, 10:30, 19 replies)

A good 20 years ago when I was house sitting for a mate
I fast-forwarded all of his video tapes to the end.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 22 Feb 2012, 9:37, 3 replies)

Evil takeover
I'm going to drill a hole in the moon, thread a string through it, and conker the world.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Thu 16 Feb 2012, 19:17, 1 reply)

When my mate went to toilet
I got hold of his wallet and using a security marker, drew a speech bubble on all his banknotes so when he went to pay for stuff and they checked the note under the UV scanner, the Queen appeared to be saying 'pissflaps' and 'bollocks'.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 22 Feb 2012, 9:46, 2 replies)

I saw this bloke let his dog get run over by a bus today. The evil prick didnt even give a shit. He just stood there trying to look cool in his sunglasses.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 21:31, 3 replies)

When I was trying to get into the knickers of this girl I used to work with.
We'd often meet after work in a local bar. When she went to the loo one time, completely against all logic, I decided to put all her cigarettes back in the packet upside down. Way to go me, that'll teach her a lesson about the evils of smoking.

I hadn't anticipated the fact that suddenly having the filter end of the cigarette you're trying to light burst into flames as you're driving home in the dark is quite a startling event causing said cigarette to be thrown, still on fire into the drivers footwell.

Still, she saw the funny side and she's been my wife for the past 9 years.

We still lol about that. Well I do anyway.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 10:33, 1 reply)

Really Rubbish Job.
I used to work for a nasty retail chain in Scotland, the managers there always adopted the "I am much too important for this" attitude when dealing with the staff, and working conditions there were hell.

I had handed in my notice (I was fed up with the abuse from managers and customers) and on my last day, a few minutes before the end of my shift, I decided to get my revenge on those evil managers.

Every receipt printed there has a promotional message on it, usually some shit about special offers and such, I logged into a terminal (only one user name and password, everyone used) and accessed this data, I changed it so that every receipt had the words "The managers in Makro are Fucking Wankers"

It was hilarious, as apparently it took them three days to notice it, and hundreds of receipts had been printed, Imagine if you had just bought something from them, and noticed that printed on the receipt!
( Squiggy Alloria makes theme parks., Thu 16 Feb 2012, 19:40, 11 replies)

Nope, got nothing.
Sorry.
( Adolf Hitler last de-lurked, Wed 22 Feb 2012, 9:05, 4 replies)

Glastonbury '95, it was late Sunday night, and I was in no fit state on my third night of doves.
There was a girl lying comatose on the ground, and for reasons I didn't understand then and still don't now, I ran up to her and booted her in the ribs as hard as I could.

Bad times.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Thu 16 Feb 2012, 19:43, 66 replies)

Cat related evil
My friend's cat had gone missing, so naturally he was keen to find him. He decided to fly-post the neighbourhood with "Lost Cat" posters.
He stupidly put home, mobile and office numbers on the posters.

The local student population spent the next few months phoning up pretending to be a cat in pain, or issuing ransom demands.

This continued, long after the cat had returned
(Fridgy, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 19:26, 1 reply)

This was on the beach at Barmouth a couple of years ago.
Nick and his daughter went for a swim in the sea, Ian had his dog with him and went walkabout, so I was guarding the heap of beach stuff.
I decided to make a sandcastle to while away the time in pointless activity, and realised as its boundaries grew that some of the boulders nearby would fit very nicely into the bucket, with a bit of room all round for sand.
So once we'd left it behind, the first nasty little sod who ran past, barefoot, and took a good, hefty kick at my sandcastle, would find themselves with broken toes. Heh heh heh.
Ian and dog were back by then. I revealed what I'd done, and such was Ian's approval he took the bag of fresh dogshit he'd been carrying, dug a hole not far from the castle, buried the turds, marked the spot with an X, and wrote 'BURIED TREASURE' in the sand with an arrow pointing to it.

Were were both in our mid-30s and, obviously, without children of our own.
( Sea Tramp the thinking woman's 8 Ace, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 6:43, 1 reply)

Many moons ago..
I used to ride to and from work, (about 7 miles according to Google maps), straight along the coast road.
It was long, straight and boring but every now and then with a tail wind you could really fly along. I did the trip several time in less than 20 minutes.

Until one day.

I was found on the floor just over a mile from home. Laying unconsciousness in the gutter. My face shredded and surrounded by broken glass, my bike broken clean in two. This was about 12 years ago and I still have no recollection of what happened.
I needed 54 stitches, lost a few teeth, LOTS of blood, and plenty of cuts, bruises and was general fucked up for a couple of weeks or so.
Not to be big headed but I was fairly handy on my bike. I could wheelie forever, stoppie all day and rode everyday for fun as well as commuting, so I never accepted the 'you hit someone' theory.
That being said, who ever hit me must have known they did so, I smashed one of their windows!
They're still out there somewhere too.
( Mr.Pickle Is not big or clever.., Sat 18 Feb 2012, 19:03, 39 replies)

An acquaintance's father
Is a former royal marine. Whenever somebody irritates him, he doesn't do anything. But he writes down their details in a little book he carries with him.

18 months later, to the day, he goes round their house and slashes their tires.
( MatJ LOOK, Sat 18 Feb 2012, 15:35, 23 replies)

...
Our ref. AB 4562
Your ref. DH 45


February 2nd, 2012


Dear Mr. ****,

You have been identified from university photographic records as being the man seen by CCTV cameras urinating from the open window of a minibus with registration XXX XXXX, property of **** University, on the westbound carriageway of the M8 at 0058 on Tuesday January 30th contrary to the Sexual Offences Act (2003). A preliminary hearing has been provisionally set for 9.45am in room 6b of Edinburgh Magistrates’ Court on May 8th 2012. To discuss the date or time of this hearing, please call Lothian and Borders Police (judiciary dept.) on 020 7622 3626.



Yours Faithfully,




Sgt. Andy McRae
Lothian and Borders Police





The phone number will put him through to Battersea dogs' home. Nobody does that when I'm driving.
( MatJ LOOK, Fri 17 Feb 2012, 1:00, 9 replies)

3 Problems, 1 solution

Problem 1: Derelicts in the downtown area of my home city, shaking plastic cups (jingle jingle) begging for change. Problem 2: Wife is a soft touch and insists that at least one of us give away our cash to help those less fortunate. Problem 3: Still have a jar of now worthless old pre-Euro coins at home (French Francs, German Deutschmarks, Spanish Pesetas, etc.) left over from business trips, as I cannot bring myself to just toss away anything that is, or ever was, actual money.

Solution to all 3 problems: Grab a fistful of old valueless coins, toss into beggars' cups while doing the town with wife. Bask in the approving smile of the missus and rejoice to the voices fading into the distance as I stroll away: "Thank you sir, God bless you sir, you have a nice day now, sir..."
(Roving Blowtorch, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 20:48, 4 replies)