Kia Ora orange squash
I was never allowed to drink this because, according to my mother, "You've seen the stains it makes on your Tshirt. What do think it's doing to your insides?"

Stomach acid was not something I'd heard of at age 7. My mother was, and indeed still is a weirdo.

Oh, and I wasn't allowed to watch Grange Hill or Rentaghost in case I was corrupted. And while I'm ranting, just what IS "too short notice"?
( andyparmo bumming sheeps since, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 19:20, Reply)

corporal punishment
they were fairly clever when they brought in the law, as lolwhites said using a weapon is a strict no-no, beating your child in public with a fist is a no-no, slapping once with an open palm across the arse, back of legs or back of hand wouldn't be punished. it was brought in mainly to prevent child abuse, so not so much strict parenting as strict government
(cs192 is sucking on a Koala at, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 19:02, Reply)

Isabelle
At the tender age of 12 I had a classmate named Isabelle. She was without doubt the most gorgeous animal i'd ever set eyes on, but noone ever got close.

Once when playing "dare" she got the task of kissing a boy.. She broke down in tears saying she rather be a lesbian than EVER kiss a boy.. this didn't worry us much: we had no idea what lesbians where and besides.. kissing was where it stopped. we knew about nothign else.

The thing that freaked us out was when she said "shit" and then started to cry.

We inquired as to the problem "Daddy is goig to be SO angry with me"
"why?"
"Because I swore"
"But.. he's not here. He won't know"
"I know, but I'll have to tell him that i did"

There wasn't much more to say really. We were stunned.

I have no idea what became of her.. but I get the faint idea that her Dad needs a good kicking.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Wed 14 Mar 2007, 18:54, Reply)

"Reasonable chastisement"
Corporal punishment isn't exactly illegal in the UK as the law allows "reasonable chastisement". It's for the courts to decide where to draw the line. For example, using a stick or punching would probably be frowned on by the courts, but smacking a kid on the back of his or her legs with an open flat hand would probably be allowed.
(lolwhites, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 18:43, Reply)

Wait, wait, wait,
corporal punishment is illegal in the UK?


On topic: I have banned my daughter from dating any person who wears a baseball/gimme cap while not actually playing baseball. She accuses me of being "hattist". And she can't wear nail polish/have long dagger-like nails. If you only knew what lived under your nails.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 18:21, Reply)

Well, not strict as such
But my mum is a bit old-fashioned. She was apparently a very well behaved, studious girl at school (5 A-grades at A-Level) and now expects nothing less of her own offspring. Oddly enough, her mum isn't strict at all so i dunno where it comes from. Some of the things that she has, at one time or another, banned/strongly disapproves of when I do them : Drinking alcohol, fizzy drinks/anything non organic as its "inferior", swearing, any suggestion of pissing about (read: remotely fun stuff), violence, going out at night, any popular music /tv ("Its just rubbish" apparently), most films etc. that are rated too old for me (she once objected to letting me watch Airplane the night before my 15th birthday, ffs) and anything less than top grades in school. For example, I recently got results for preliminary GCSEs of 2 As, 4 Bs and 2 Cs (including two exams where I was less than 1% off an A) and she gave me a stern talking-to about having to clear up my act before the real exams.
In contrast, my Dad was quite the rebel when he was a lad (he was expelled from nursery school on his first day, when he was 3) and he is fine about me eating what I want, swearing, staying out late, watching what I want on TV and getting absolutely bevved on school nights. Unfortunately, he tends to back up my mum when we argue:(. Pretty much the only thing he really hates is motorbikes, for some odd reason.
Overall, my parents aren't all that bad. Back when it was still allowed (think late 90s/early 00s) they used to be big on corporal punishment, but this stopped when it was made illegal (and I learned to punch).


No apologies for length. You know you love it.
(Igor, The Evil Spacemonkey is behind you!, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 17:35, Reply)

Where to start
My brother and I weren't allowed to watch music videos on tv in case we decided to stick safety pins through our noses.

We also had no "secular" music in the house, just christian stuff. I finally plucked up courage to buy my first single, Meatloaf's "I would do anything for love (but I won't do that)". Even this had to be hidden because the b-side was "Bat out of Hell" :o)

I was told I couldn't have my ears pierced until I was 18. The reasoning for this was that earrings were bad, and if I got them done any younger other people would think my parents let me (?). I put my foot down at 17 and said I was going to get them done at 18, so I might as well do it at 17, and who cares what people think.

And make-up? My mum didn't experiment with make-up until she was in her 40's, so as a child I wasn't allowed any at all. I was told that lipstick sucked the colour out of your lips so you had to wear it all the time, and as a result I had a huge phobia of lipstick and gloss for years. At a school play the teacher put some "moisturiser" on my lips to make me pretty, but when I saw in a mirror that it was lipstick I nearly had hysterics, refusing to go on stage until it was removed.

Swearing on tv? Forget about it. The christmas we got a video recorder, my parents decided to record Return of the Jedi on one channel while we watched Back to the Future on the other. 5 minutes in they turned it off because the language was too bad (??!??) I got my mum back years later by taking her to the cinema to see 4 Weddings and a Funeral (remember the opening scene?).

Films with a 12/15/18 rating were completely out too, naturally. Thankfully at the age of 13 we moved to France where, at the time, the cinemas didn't have ratings, and anyone could see anything under an X. (Actually gave me a healthy respect for the British Classification system, some of the stuff I saw gave me nightmares for weeks.)

Might post more if I can remember it, but digging into childhood memories maybe isn't a good idea, I get on ok with my parents these days...

F x
(Flurble - The Innocent One, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 17:27, Reply)

Bad language
True to their middle class origins, my liberal parents didn't particularly raise an eyebrow to me indulging in teenage romantic liaisons, having friends who took hard drugs or me indulging in a lot of underage drinking.

But if a swear word would emerge from my lips I would be shouted at until I ran upstairs to my room in fear. Being busted for class A drug posession would probably have resulted in less parental consternation than me saying 'fuck' in polite company.

That is until I turned 18 and left home. After which I could get away with as much effing and blinding as I liked. (Which wasn't much as I'm a very well brought up boy).
(woodchopper likes chopping wood, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 17:08, Reply)

Chilli abuse. Part III
Ok, let's carry this on.

My parents were chilli connoisseurs - more so my Mum.

When the family came over, they'd cook up some evil chilli that they could eat, but would cause any other person to spontaneously combust. (It was actually nice)

We were told specifically to NOT eat it - Goes without saying we did and the upset to our stomachs was fairly spectacular.

The family on the other hand were warned and would then eat it, sweating like the proverbial.

Funny, for us, yes.

Oh, right, this is off on a proper tangent isn't it....

Not sorry!
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 16:32, Reply)

The Getaway
Just remembered. How strict were my Grandparents? At the age of 17, my Dad went to work one day and when he got back his doorkey wouldn't work. He hammered on the door and a lovely elderly couple he didn't know explained to him that his parents had taken his sister and moved roughly 100 miles south.

Terrifyingly true story.

In case you like happy endings, he had no other option but to stay with his girlfriend and her parents.

That would be my mum.

Awww.

In case you don't like happy endings, after enduring him for more years then I care to remember I'm surprised they took the chancey step of only making it 100 miles away.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Wed 14 Mar 2007, 16:29, Reply)

Bastard Parents Part II : Chilli Abuse
My dysfunctionals are both quite adept chefs in their own way and our Saturday night treat was a curry - usually home cooked. Now Dad could quite easily manage a Vindaloo without raising an eyebrow, but the rest of us would be gagging on our poppadums at the sniff of a Chicken Joe Frasier.

You might argue that he was being cruel by making us all eat hot curries but very soon my mum seems to have developed an asbestos tongue, whenever she made one I'd manage half of it before dunking my head in a cold bath. Naturally, a side effect of this was their miracle cure-all properties which would batter even the sturdiest cold into submission within 48 hours, I kid you not.

No, none of the above is cruel. But what was cruel was a prank that Dad played on our unwitting Boxer dog who used to pounce on any falling titbits from the table. Dad decided to cure her of this habit by "accidentally" dropping a chilli on the floor. Along comes hungry Boxer who hoovers up the chilli and is stopped in her tracks quite suddenly. She spits the chilli out and starts growling at it and being the tenacious mutt she was had another go at it. Poor doggo spent five minutes trying to scuff the chilli and eventually managed it, much to the amusement of dad. Bastard.

Edit - Dad wasn't quite so chuffed when our poor dog developed a vicious bout of flatulence and subsequent canine "Johnny Cash Syndrome".
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 14 Mar 2007, 16:12, Reply)

Chilli
Ok, funny story now.

My Mum cultivates her own chillis. Note that I don't say "Grow" - she breeds them, cross polinates them, etc, etc with fabulous results.

She never went for pure heat (although this was an inevitable end result) but proper flavour - I'd rather have a nice mild chilli than one that blows your head off that you're just not enjoying....

Anyhoo

I was 4 or 5 and we were in Germany, I think it was. It was summer and Mum had left some chillis out while she gathered more in - I picked up a medium sized red one and went to put it in my mouth.

The exchange went something like this (In creole as I recall)

Mum: "Don't put that in your mouth, it'll burn"
Me: "But I want to, anyway, it's not hot is it?"
Mum: "Yes, it is, you'll be sorry"
Me: "Meh" (Or something like that anyway)

Into my mouth it went - and I crunched down on it. And chewed. And swallowed.

About 5 seconds later, I firmly believed that my face was on fire, cue a 4/5 year old running around the house and garden like a loon.

Apparently my Mum was mortified, impressed and fearful. And laughed. A lot.

The moral is - Chilli is hot for a 4/5 year old.

I didn't do it again. Until I was about 12 and I'd forgotten the past incident...
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 15:40, Reply)

Name Withheld
Serious story I'm afraid

I have an ex who so seriously fucked with my head, I spent about 5 years being completely insecure and not knowing whether I was coming or going (emotionally) and being incredibly insecure. Note: I'm better now - ask around. Ahem.

Goes without saying that she's mentioned with the words "Evil cow" - I'll not name her here. I've mellowed over time and I no longer hate her, but what she did to me.

Anyhoo - My Mum recognised this and tried to ban me from seeing her. My Dad had died a couple of years previously and she was trying to finish bringing up a 16/17 year old rebelling son and an 17/18 year old daughter who was just nuts.

I resented being stopped from doing anything so a "No" was a challenge - "You must not see Getrude" was like a red rag to a bull.

My Mum did try and tried to lay down the law, but she couldn't ever stop me from seeing her.

Needless to say I resented this intrusion and continued to rebel. I think this has left a lasting problem in my relationship with my Mum and I don't think it's ever going to be fixed.

I understand what she was trying to do, but telling a hormonally charged 17 year old that he can't see a girl who he liked is about as likely to work as asking frankspencer to stop writing his interesting stories.

I stopped seeing the girl when I realised that she was a psycho and never, ever admitted to my Mum that she was right.

If I knew then what I know now.... I would probably still do it as it's made me what I am now:

Nuts.

eyethankyou
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 15:32, Reply)

broken arm
i once broke my arm falling off the sofa (playing pirates if memory serves)when i was young. I wasnt taken to hospital for 5 days. not really strict parenting, more like unobservant. they only realised when i was asked to move chairs and i struggled cos i couldnt move my left arm :D
(Evenflow, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 14:31, Reply)

Life on Mars? This was the 70s too...
I've not bothered reading all the posts this week but if you didn't like frankspencer's post below, you won't like this much either.

Xena, the redoubable Mrs Grimsdale had a choice pair of parents. Her mother wasn't strict but her dad was. Mum was an Irish nurse, moved to London in the late 50s and her dad also arrived here about the same time but from Turkish Cyprus. They had seven kids, Xena was the middle one: two elder sisters and an elder brother, two younger sisters and a younger brother. Dad had a temper and Xena remembers being literally thrown against the wall as if she was in a wrestling ring...except it hurt. There was virtually no gap between the kids, Xena was born less than a year after her sister. The first house she remembers was a run-down council house in east London, there were at least two kids to a bed, and as there was only one toilet, at night they had a bucket on the landing to pee in. Being 'half breeds', the kids were despised by all of their Turkish cousins as well as the Irish ones - and that's a LOT of cousins.

When they were little, their dad got a job cleaning offices and he'd take the kids along to help. She can remember emptying rubbish bins in the evening when primary school age. As money was tight, her mum got agency nursing work at nights. You can probably guess what's coming next.

Xena was the one that blew the whistle on her dad. At that point she was 11, he had been abusing her eldest sister for five years, the next eldest for three years. He served time for it but pleaded guilty, so the full horror never came out. Now Mum was bringing up 7 kids on her own, on a nurse's pay. Add to this three traumatised girls and an eldest brother that started throwing his weight around and bullying the others.

When dad got out, mum actually invited him round occasionally. Xena refused to leave her room and when he came for Christmas, she was accused of 'spoiling it' by staying in her room. They called her a hermit because she didn't make friends much or go out.

OK, not so much about 'strict parents' as such, but a bit of a reality check I hope. Every word is true and it's a testament to Xena's obvious strength of character that we've been together 20 years and have brought up a healthy, happy daughter. We were strict: wouldn't let her wear tarty clothes, picked her up at 11.00pm from outside pubs/clubs even when she was 18, and once when she didn't come home and wouldn't answer her phone we rang round her friends' houses at 6.30am to find out where she was. Luckily, I think she could tell that all this was because we care deeply for her and would kill to keep her safe, rather than being an attempt to embarrass her to death and spoil her fun.

Have a good weekend folks,

More on the blog - see my profile,

Che
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 14:29, Reply)

One of those
"not me but a friend" tales.

Let's call my friend Dan. He'd been out and bought himself some new clothes after getting a decent bonus at work. Went out on a night, came home, put them in the laundry.

Came home two days later to find his Nan sewing up the rips in his G-Star Raw's. "I don't know what you've been doing in these, you've only had them two days!" When he explained they were meant to be like that she wouldn't let him wear them. Something along the lines of "you're not going out like that!" ... he was 26.
(Lupetherabbit Went straight into smirk mode on, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 14:05, Reply)

My Elder Brother...
..and my stepbrother both received new bikes; they were older and taller than me, and got spiffy new 12-gear racers (this was long before Mountain Bikes).
ABout a year later it was time for me to upgrade from my Raleigh Striker, so I said I wanted a BMX, as all boys in the mid-80s did.

I got a Racer; I wasn't allowed a BMX.

So I rode my racer down stairs, across fields, and wore the back tire down completely doing skids. I completely fucked it; father was not pleased - should have bought me a BMX.
(mcnelson, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 14:02, Reply)

my daddy........
My daddy has got BIG issues.
and he sells them outside the local Tesco. boom boom.
(Jeeves, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 13:22, Reply)

In my day
life was a lot harder;
We lived in a hole in the ground, packed with dysentry and shards of glass.
My parents woke me and my twenty siblings (all crammed into the same room) at 2 in the morning, worked us 27 hours a day, wipped us before our daily beating, then before bedtime were fed soap and bathed with extra-hot curry.
Did we complain? No!

But the youth of today would never believe it.
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 13:13, Reply)

Where to begin
Over the course of my childhood years I was banned from buying and/or wearing Doc Martins - I got around this by putting them in my bag and swapping shoes around the corner.
I wasn't allowed to get my ears pierced until I was 16.
I was banned from staying out as a teenager beyond 10pm at night as that was when the pubs closed, the streets would be full of undesirables and that was when any trouble would happen.

My mother is quite possibly the biggest mentalist ever so there are probably countless more incidents that my mind has chosen to forget.

I think the most embarrassing and humiliating ban was 'not handing out leaflets given to you by XXX and XXX'

The mentalist was a staunch Conservative, so much so that in her younger years had stood in local elections. I happened to be at a friend's parents once day and instead of them delivering some leaflets for the local Liberal Democrats, they bunged me and my friend a few quid to do it for them.

I accidentally and quite stupidly mentioned this to the mentalist in a 'hey guess what I made some cash today'. After extracting from me exactly how I'd made the money... she went ballistic - how dare I hand out leaflets that weren't for the Conservative party..

Fast forward to several hours worth of rant later and she phoned up the local Liberal Democrats branch to complain about us being exploited, my friend's parents paying people to promote the party (which according to her you aren't supposed to do), you name it.. she complained about it. I was so mortified by the whole thing I felt obliged to call up said friend's parents and explain what had just happened. To this day it still makes me cringe.

It's been years since I've spoken to her, no bloody wonder.
(TornadoDivine, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 13:06, Reply)

The long, dark tea-time of my broken foot
If there was a 50´s tv show about my family and the family of a friend next door, relative to strictness, it would have been called "The Ying´s and Yang´s".

My parents were great. Allowing me to explore and learn from my own mistakes (most lessons had a fair amount of bruising), whereas my friend next door had parents with the proverbial stick up one´s rectum.

I grew up in a semi rural area of Iceland and just outside the neighbourhood is this mountain, about 1000 metres high. One febuary morning in ´89, me and two friends, one of which with the parental nazis, were pretty bored. Guess that there were no redheads to make fun of that day. So we decided to take a stroll up the aforementioned mountain. Seemed like such a good idea: overcast clouds, windy, temerature at minus 5 degrees celsius and me wearing jeans, wellingtons and a single layered jacket. Genius.

When we were about half way up we came across a problem. There was this large band of ice-layered snow on one side and ragged cliffs on the other, obstructing our path towards a glorious moment at the summit. So either we´d climb across the snow, or challenge the cliffs. It never occured to us to give up mountaineering on this "fine" day, so we decided to take on the snow thing. Now, my mates were both wearing steel toed boots so they got across without much problem, but me and my wellingtons got stuck, with about 5 metres to go. I was pretty scared at that time, but didn´t want to loook like a wimp to my mates so I pressed on, and promtly lost my grip. Gravity did the rest. I came to a stop at a large rock about 20-30 meters below and when i raised my left foot I noticed that it had a peculiar 45° angle at the shin. Screaming etc.

So, my friends came down and gave me a bollocking for crying. I showed them my twisted leg, and their response: "It´s not broken". I pleaded to them to help me up, but to no avail, no sir. My friend (parental stickamagik) said that he couldn´t help because he was late for tea-time at home, and his parents would spank him if he´d come in late.
The other one left because he´s a cunt!

So they went on down and I was there sans-sherpa on a mountain with a broken leg.
Then the obligatory blizzard arrived and i decided that I had to leg it (pun pun pun), so I crawled down that mountain to a small farm, and they gave me a lift to the ER.

I later found out that my friend enjoyed his tea-time, enjoyed it so much in fact, that he came over to my house afterwards with a cake for my parents. Not uttering a single word that their son was injured on a mountain in a blizzard, even when my mum asked him where I was. Cunt!

That was the last day I spoke to him (and the other cunt), last I saw of him was when he was dismissed on a local dating show about 2 years back (the girl told him he was "uninteresting").

Lenght? Yea. cock joke.
(snordfjord Cranky...like a crank!, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 12:57, Reply)

Hippy Parents
Sorry everyone with poo parents, my parents were ace, but for some reason I always wanted normal parents who would tell me off and stuff and drive posh cars etc rather than letting me drink, smoke, take drugs, go out with who I liked and be there for me if I needed them etc. I only realised how lucky I was later in life.

Oh and another thing, I have just realised that apeloverage is actually 'ape-love-rage' and not 'ape-loverage' which I thought was another term for monkey sex.
(dedlymonkey, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 12:27, Reply)

Gay Gene
My Mum & Dad completely ruined my self-esteem when I was younger. I was unfortunate to have quite bad acne and spots which they would insist on squeezing every night from being about 11 until I was about 16 (my nose never properly recovered and can still bend if I press my finger on it due to the pressure it was never meant to tolerate whilst still growing). Add on to this that I wasn't allowed off the cul-de-sac where we lived to go and see friends and was belittled in conversations, I ended up thinking I was pretty ugly and worthless.

Felt like this until my early 20's when the spots finally started to clear up after seeing a dermatologist and had a close group of friends.

So where does the gay gene fit in I hear you ask? My Mum's brother is gay as is my Dad's uncle. Due to my self-confidence being so low, I never had a proper girlfriend until I was in my early 20's. Mum got very worried about this and actually went to the Doctor's about me to see if gayness was hereditary and if there was anything I could take for it.

100% fact
(brocky, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 12:23, Reply)

My parents...
...bought me a ps2 for my birthday... pretty soon after it came out and all... and i was in love with them...but the bastards soon found out i got my nan to buy me a copy of GTA:3 for xmas later that year. not knowing what it was ofcourse. they saw me playing it once and that was it.

vice city came out. i wasnt allowed that.

i could rent it out of choices as much as i liked.... but buy it?! lord no.

even when san andreas came out... a few years ago they said i shouldnt buy it... because of the violence.


worse though... a mate of mine was gonna buuy the xbox versions but his parents read some daily mail thing about some kid probably in far out america... who shot someone and maybe saw gta in the shop the day before or something. so he couldnt at all.

thats the only thing they've been strict on to be honest.

oh and them worrying about me going to london. "the place where everyone tries to throw needles at you and will steal you into the slave trade if you blink."
(dasfunkman eats spastics, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 12:19, Reply)

My father is by all accounts, a fuckwit.
He brought me, my brother and sister up after he and my mum divorced and would swing from being so lax and uniterested he wouldn't notice the vast amounts of alcohol could all imbibe by the age of 14 to getting ultra-strict and paranoid I was pregnant because *gasp* I had a male friend at thirteen.

Had to get used to a string of weirdo woman (all of them control freaks apart from the alcoholic). Worst of all was the trout-faced bitch he married who would:
*snipe about me and my sister
*get him to do her bidding even getting him to lie and say it was his idea,
*Stop us cooking for ourselves when we got in (to stop the house smelling of cooking)
*Insist that only women should clean toilets, she shouldn't clean them at all, and her son should get a whole room to himself and turning it into a festering swamp while being the most idle little fucker to walk the earth.

My father would pride himself on never hitting a woman but would quite happily lay into my younger brother. He had frequent temper tantrums where we would all scarper round the house, tidying furiously in an effort to appease his nasty fucking temper. He would freak out if MTV was on when he walked in. Not because we couldn't watch it, but because he didn't want to see it on when he came in.

He used to lie through his teeth about ANYTHING too and then pretend he wasn't even when caught out. I was came in to all my worldy possessions chcuked in the middle of my room ("it was untidy"- marvellous logic!) and his favourite threat was 'go and live with your mother then' until I said she doesn't want me either. That shut the twat up.

He used to stomp down to my ex-boyfriend's house and order me home for the slightest thing (usually to walk the dogs). Dog-walking would take place in all weathers despite the fact the dogs didn't even want to go out in the pissing down rain. If I hadn't been out long enough I would be sent back out (usually tootling back to the comfort of my boyfriend's house!).

Luckily he chucked me out during my A'Levels (not quite sure what for to be honest, it invloved me apologised to his psycho girlfriend- like fuck!) and came the cherished day where I told him to 'get fucked'. I quite enjoyed watching him physically shrink before my eyes.

Now he is married to Trout-face (I wore black to the wedding) and looks haggard and miserable when I see him! Ha!

Sadly not funny. Well not to anyone but me!
(Medibot, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 11:42, Reply)

A teacher at my school
babied her son to such an extent that she would take him to school herself (OK, for convenience's sake as much as anything probably), even though the bus passed right by her front door, and she would check up on his behaviour at various points throughout the day, too.

(This is all hearsay so if she hears this I hope she doesn't sue me.)

There came a time when the kid (poor little mummy's boy) was being bullied by an older kid, most likely because he was an arrogant little shit but also because he didn't have much of a social life (I understand he's out and proud now though I may be wrong). Does the mother allow someone else to deal with it. Noooo. She pulls this kid out of his class and proceeds to tell him in no uncertain terms that if he ever even looks at her son again that she'll personally kill him/have him expelled.

She got the sack.
( Maladicta, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 11:09, Reply)

fierce mum?
when I were a nipper my mum was one of the fiercest on the street. One time she head my brother, who was grounded for some misdemeanour (probably blowing his nose on the kitchen curtains again) getting his bike out. She leaned out of the front bedroom window and shouted 'Where the hell do you think you are going with that bike? Get back in here immmediately'. It was the plumber arriving by bike to do some job. He commented later that he thought he was back at home.
(grangeb77 bored of sigs. boom zig, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 10:53, Reply)

Thanks...
My parents aren't strict at all. Hence the reason i'm posting on here as apposed to working on the piece of coursework i've got to hand in today.

Thanks mom and dad :'(
(Twisted Nerve Twisted his erm....nerve, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 10:36, Reply)

my parents
were vey strict about standing up for others, so i feel i'd be letting them down if i didnt say

lay the fuck off apeloverage
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 10:26, Reply)

my brother's mate
is a lovely kid but his mum, by reputation, is a bit of a nutter. When he was in 6th form she used to kick him out of the house for no reason every now and again, things like that.

Anyway, one summer he was back home on holiday from uni where he was doing a course in forestry and tree surgery. He'd had a few beers in the afternoon and was in the garden taking some branches off a tree. The inevitable happened and he fell (well, his story is that he thought he'd jump from a high branch, grab a low branch and swing gracefully to the ground...) and landed badly. He went back into his house holding an arm that was clearly broken. So you'd think his mum would call an ambulance, yeah? Well, apparently she doesn't trust english hospitals, so instead of an ambulance she drove him to the airport, packed him onto a plane to fly to france (she's french) to get it treated there. If I hadn't heard that story from my mum I'd never have believed it.

p.s. apeloverage - if you don't like being flamed stop posting such smug nonsense. Simple as. Oh yeah, and note that I've never flamed you myself, this is just friendly advice cos you seem to be getting a bit defensive :) like.
( yes yes yes man oi mate, someone's writtten 'bum' on your neck, Wed 14 Mar 2007, 10:19, Reply)