I told off this 55 year old woman a few weeks back,....
my god she got it good.

Heres the tale.... well the bits the cider hasn't blocked out.

I was at the Great Dorset Steam Fair (steam engines, loads and loads of scrumpy and 5 music tents and real ale etc) as i live close and if i don't go i can't get to work for the traffic.

Well, we were going to see Dr Busker, legendary victorian drinking song singer. The general theme is to drink beer and sing along - all 4000 of us in a massive real ale tent. Usual hits include "Santa clause (kevin boody wilson), Dicky dido", again the general theme is coarse language, sexual innuendo and choruses of "more beer, more beer, more beer" at half hourly intervals.

I had been in a prime postition amongst the drunken laggards and was readying myself (as i had since lunchtime) for them to come on at 9.30pm.

He came on, i drank and sang, and swayed and drank. Screaming "santa clause, you c*nt, wheres me f*cking bike......" and "one black one one white one, one with a bit of shite on, the hairs on her dicky dido hung down to her knees" along with everyone else.

Then i got my first nudge in the back. I ignored it as it was a gig and shit happens. Then again. then they purposely elbowed me. Then her husband ran at the back of me and shoved me about 3 feet on his way to the bar.

I couldn't take anymore and above the bawdy drinking songs i shouted "What the hell do you think you are doing. This behaviour is unacceptable in the extreme and not a reasonable reaction to any kind of provocation." She said "i was here before you" in a proper annoyed manner of indignance. And she claimed i had only just got there. which was quite untrue. I said "You are a disgrace to womankind and a liar to boot. For i have been here nearly 2 hours already, and am not ready to accept your physical abuse any longer this amounts to enough of a basis for criminal charges to be pressed if i so wish. If you continue i will call the security guards over. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO PROCEED" at which point she holds bakc the tears, fixes my gaze and stares with all her might holding on the the semblance of a notion she was right.

As everyone else around me creased up and cheered me.

I then turned back round and carried on drinking and singing along with "Beastiality's great mate, Beastialitys great, F*CK a WALLABY," (to the tune of tie me kangaroo down)

She persisted in standing about 6 inches from me, but could not even make eye contact.
For the rest of the 4 days we were there i saw her twice, and she just looked sheepishly at the ground.

I have never ever told someone off in such a manner. Normally i swear and cuss the whole way through but for some reason not one word to her was a swear.

If i wasn't 2 gallons of Widscombe SuiCider in i would have loved to have thought this through and been pleased with it. It just fell out of my mouth.
( bazza van der trance , ooh baby baby, baby baby. Get up on this., Fri 21 Sep 2007, 11:05, Reply)

"Nanny" in HR
Well I call her that, as she looks like Nanny from Count Duckula, the fat cow. She's the same size and her face actually looks like her too :)

Anyhows, Nanny runs the HR department in me office, and one of her underlings emailed out a request for me to attend a meeting for a course I was doing last year, but the meeting was outside of my work rota (I work split shifts, and this meeting was right in the middle of the split). So I send a reply back saying something like "Oh nice one, that's right in the middle of me split that is, can't do it"; nothing more. I get a reply back saying "Sorry, we tried to organise when the majority of staff were in" and I thought nothing more about it.

I come back in on the evening shift, and I've received an email from Nanny, with my original email attached to it. Basically she gave me a huge bollocking over the way I had spoken to her member of staff, and wanted to talk to me later. So I wonder over to her desk (which is in front off all the other 100 or so workers) and she starts screaming at me. I mean really screaming, saying that I'll never speak to a member of her staff like that again or I'll be out on my arse etc etc. So after about a minute of this with me sitting there calmly and everyone in the office stopping what they are doing to watch this, I say while smiling slightly "Don't you think you're over-reacting a bit?". She went purple and almost caused herself to hyperventilate while screaming even louder. After about another minute of this with comments like "How dare you!", "respect" and a few NVQ sentences when I say "Thanks for that information" and walked back to my desk. She made herself look a right twat in front of everyone, especially as I'd told a few peeps why I was in this meeting in the first place (including the immediate management). After that, she was off for a few weeks holidays, wouldn't surprise if it was stress related. Stupid "Ducky poos" twat, walk through a wall or something.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 11:03, Reply)

Shut yer fuckin' face uncle fuckerrrrrrr.....
A few months back my friend Phil (of building site fame) got married.

The morning of the wedding I was helping the groom, best man and ushers get ready by ironing suits and making sure everyone was as neat as a pin.

Mid iron, the doorbell rang and I let the best man in along with his six year old son who was one of the ushers. Now Gary (best man) is something of a prude around Harry (son) and immediately asked if I could turn the Casino Royale dvd off and switch to Cebeebies. Not a problem, I duly change channels and the four adults in the room moderate our language accordingly.

"Bathroom's free!"

Taking my cue, I grab my suit and shirt before running to the shower to get ready. I'd been rushed off my feet all morning and felt the need for a little singsong under the shower so I begun to sing a little ditty from a film I'd been watching the previous night. Yes, that's right, South Park - The Movie.

"Shut yer fuckin' face uncle fuckerrrrrr! You're a donkey-raping, shit-eating uncle fuckerrrrrr!"

I got out of the shower, dried off and got dressed.

"You fuck yer uncle, yes you do...."

Gelled hair, slapped on aftershave

"No-one fucks uncles quite like you..."

Smiling like a freshly lobotomized man, I opened the bathroom door in full flow.

"Uncle fuuuuuu-ckerrrrrrrr, that's you!"

However I was just in time to witness a horrified Gary gently ushering his young son away from the vicinity of the bathroom door.

Whoops.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:58, Reply)

My mate Mal....
.... was in the lounge watching sport on TV with his 18 year old son one afternoon. His wife enters the room from the door behind his chair and asks them both to get and do something constructive instead of watching TV all day, seeing that she's in the laundry doing the wash.

Without taking his eyes of the match he replies, "Yes dear."

A few moments pass and Mal asks his son, "What was it your mother wanted...? All I heard was Blah.. Blah.. Blah.. Blah", moving his hand like a sock-puppet without the sock.

He looks over to his son who's now turned a bettroor-red and from behind him, Mal hears, "I. Am. Still. In. The. Room."

The funeral was yesterday...

Heh - he lost all his "rights" for the week. And had to wash and iron his own clothes.

He also now knows it is not EVER worth talking back to his wife when has something in her hand - especially a steaming hot iron..!
(Sir Jester, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:57, Reply)

More teaching
Again in Greece. I had a class of 13 year olds who thought it was the funniest thing in the world to crack jokes about me that I didn't understand and ignore me every time I tried to make them do some work. I cracked.

I smashed my stainless-steel ruler down flat on my desk top and filled the ensuing silence with a spit-flecked and scarlet-faced rant that made a few of the girls cry from its intensity alone. Then I told them that the next hour would be spent copying out the dictionary in silence.

And for the next hour, every murmur or sniff was rewarded with a ruler crashing within inches of their small fingers and a roared "SHUT UP!" By the end of the lesson, even the burly boys with nascent bum-fluff were snivelling, and terror shone in every eye.

For my final insult, I collected all of their fevered scribblings, tore them into shreds and threw the pieces back at them with a promise that every lesson would be the same from now on if they kept on being little shits.

Of course, by the next lesson, their goldfish brains had forgotten and I was back to anarchy.
(frankspencer, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:53, Reply)

This kinda counts as a one line answer..so soz.
This has happened a few times, but the result is always the same.

Whenever people in my family / friends meet up for whatever reason, there is a lot of drinking involved. Like most families' get-togethers there will be a wide smattering of people of all ages and persuasions, spacking around whichever house we’re relinquishing of it's beer and food supplies...sorry, visiting.

Bizarrely, at these ‘parties’, it’s usually the kitchen which ends up being the designated smoking area (I know, logical eh?). I usually end up in there too – I don’t smoke but that’s invariably where the interesting people hang out, and the ‘dull as arse-water’ folk will find a telly somewhere else and slump in front of it.

As you are all no doubt painfully aware, whatever the topic of conversation slithers onto, I usually have some pointless twaddle to comment about it and before long I’ll be launching full-on into hip-thrusting, ‘anecdote mode’.

I have my family and friends around me, and we’re all pissed, so of course I’m pretty confident. I know which funny buttons to press and before long I will be running the show, regaling everybody with tales of my adventures; the ups, the downs, the women, the scams and the beer-based frolics. I will have the audience in the palm of my hand, laughing and lapping up every word. The beer flows, I get more animated and 'in the zone', the noise level increases and everybody is glad that I’m there to entertain them, livening up an otherwise crudd-hole bore-fest into a generally decent ‘boozy do’.

Life is good, and then it happens….

My mum will sneak in to the proceedings like a soap opera-obsessed stealth submarine to seize the slightest gasp between laughter and say one line…


“Stop showing off, Pooflake”


Everybody turns to me. I am teleported to a time when I was 5 years old and used to jump up and down shouting ‘look at me!, look at me!’.

My jaw drops, my eyes sink into my head and my cheeks drop to my knees – It feels like my body has shrunk by about 4ft. I point my right big toe into the ground, twist my leg and sway my head from side to side.

“Awwwwwww, mum”

*cue sniggers from everybody in the room*

My credibility is shot to buggery shit

The thing is – it’s the unchallengable ‘telling off’ comment…if you say ‘I’m not showing off’ then you look like a proper twat starting a crappy argument with your mum about ‘showing off’, (much to the hilarity of the people you were showing off in front of). It only makes things worse. However, If you say nothing then it’s a total admission that you were showing off in the first place and that you need your mum there to put you in your place.

Either way – you’re boned

The conversation is killed. Dead. Someone does that little cough, says ‘anywaaaaaay’ and trys to re-ignite the spark but it’s no use.

The party is over.

length? normally a good 20 minutes before the clanger is dropped
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:52, Reply)

Stern father-in-law.
Way back when I first started going out with my now wife her parents used to come over from the east coast from time to time to take us out for a meal.

The first time he paid for everything so on the second occasion I ninja-paid the bill. Apparently this really really pissed him off.

The third time after being warned by my girlfriend not to try paying for the meal again I insisted on going to get a round of drinks in.

As I was getting up to go to the bar I had my father-in-law to be thrust a 20 quid note in my general direction and offered,"These are on me."

"No, No. You got everything the last time. It's the least I could do."

"BOY! Do as you're told." He announced in a well practiced tone in full earshot of all the other diners.

I guiltily took his 20 quid and got the drinks in.

That's Head Masters for you.

8 years later he still refers to me as 'The Boy' when in conversation with my wife. I'm 36 ffs.

He's great though.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:49, Reply)

@ lollylegs
haha, so young and yet so cynical.

I drive a Golf GTi, it's not the fastest car in the world, but it is a lot of fun. I was coming home from work having had a bit of a bad day and I ragged the thing up my road.

Daft thing to do since it was a suburban residential job, but I wasn't really thinking. Just my luck, the copper that lives on the road happened to be outside in his garden and came marching up to me as I pulled up outside my house.

Christ, the bollocking I received was pure, distilled police unnassailable moral superiority. Straight out of the training manuals. I was properly dressed down and made to feel about two inches tall. I was fuming by the end of it and half tempted to chuck a rock through his window. Not because I felt that I had been attacked unfairly, I know that speeding on a residential road was stupid, but that he had chosen Chapter 2 "Scaring a 17 Year Old Chav", rather than Chapter 16 "Giving an Official Warning to 27 Year Old Man Who is Both Larger and Stronger Than You".

I little bit of respect might have stopped me pissing all over his roses on the way back from the pub a couple of weeks later.
( Kroney, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:49, Reply)

Chivalry
Good old fashioned chivalrous manners are dead in this country. Opening doors, giving up seats, standing up when a woman enters or leaves a room etc and for a long time I thought the blame lie with us gents. I was to be proved wrong...

I was in the shithole that is Romford a while back for a reason I choose to forget but I was in some shopping centre (The Liberty?) As I was coming out of it I saw a reasonably well dressed (read: non chavvy) woman with a pushchair coming towards the same door. So I did what any self respecting gentleman would do and opened the door for her.

Only to be met with a tirade of abuse including:

'I can fucking manage the door myself'
'Just because you're a man doesn't mean you have to open the door'
'Child birth hasn't rendered me a cripple'

and on and on. I was so gobsmacked at this avalanche of feminist bullshit that my usual witty comebacks eluded me and I just stood there and took it all. Bitch.
(quantum raspberry quizzically quashing Quebecans, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:46, Reply)

I'm not yet eighteen...
...but it is only one year away, and I feel the need to participate in this one so here it goes.

A few months ago I was standing with my dog outside the corner shop waiting for a friend.

A fat old bag walked up to me, looked at my dog and said "she's panting a bit isn't she?"
"yeah she's been for a walk"
"Ooooh, she shouldn't be panting that much" *dissaproving look* "is that blood on her neck?"
"no, it's just rust from her collar from when she's in the sea."
"OOOOH, IT SHOULDN'T BE LIKE THAT!" *tut tut tut*.

I wish i'd told her take her shitty fat little dog and fuck off. I didn't though.

Also, a while ago me and friends were sitting at the train station. Waiting for a train. Obviously. We'd all had a good night and were were a bit jolly so we were making quite a lot of noise.

All of the sudden we heard the tannoy crackling.
"WILL THE THREE GIRLS ON THE BENCH PLEASE BE QUIET?"

Needless to say, this just caused us to scream, which is actually a lot louder than talking.
( Lollylegs lite, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:39, Reply)

Dole Scum



I usually keep my head down and stay away from the spotlight as much as possible so rarely find myself in any bother.

It would be about two years ago during a lengthy spell of unemployment.

I was hauled in to see the supervisor and questioned on my job-seeking, or lack of same.

For half an hour I was basically called a fool, an eejit and a lazy gobshite for not being able to find work despite providing twice as much proof as I was asked for. She lectured me on my responsibilities and the like and kept dropping in tired cliches such as "No such thing as a free lunch", "When are you going to wake up and smell the coffee?" etc. All delivered in a "I've had it up to *here* with your antics young man" tone of voice.

Not wanting to lose the only source of income I had, I had to sit there and take it going "Yes ma'am" and "No ma'am" at appropriate intervals.

I was bursting to let fly at her but couldn't. Especially as, those lazy cunts at the job centre had basically outsourced (unofficially) all their work to cunting agencies (those cunts that they are). So there she was, her and her colleagues doing sweet fuck all every day but sit on nice civil service 'job for life' arses and lecture me on all the hard work they'd been doing on my behalf while I just spent my days watching tv.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:32, Reply)

Mums acting around their parents.
Whenever we visit my grandparents, my mum switches from a typical yorkshire lass to a posh dignified woman from the 1950s. Her accent changes, and everything. But most annoyingly, she still refers to us as "The Boys" Despite the fact im 26, and my brothers are 22 and 28.

One day in particular we all sat down for dinner, and my mother parps up "Boys! You havnt washed your hands! Go and wash your hands this instant" so there we were, all queued up outside the bathroom waiting to wash our hands before we could go and sit down again. Thankfully there was no inspection afterwards otherwise id have blown it.
(Miggyman, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:30, Reply)

Nudity! Mops! CCTV! Shame!
I used to be a counter-monkey at a small, walk-in KFC. This was a great job for a student, but it is also where I met Danny. My year of employment was distinguished by regular outrages; we were disciplined weekly, arrested twice and generally caused mayhem.

There are several things we did that deserve metntioned, including the freezing of colleague's clothing and the drinking and fucking (not each other) in the staff room.

One of the most severe bollockings we ever got though was for a minor offence. Danny and I were closing up, so we naturally prepared a bucket of chicken for home, cleaned it all up and then got to the mopping up stage.

Our mate Jo (of the big tits and easy virtue) was meant to open the next day so we thought we'd leave her a treat via the CCTV system. We stripped, put our aprons on, then commenced mopping, buttocks proudly on display. This lasted 10 mins, and as we finished we Full Monty'd the camera.

We laughed, chuckled, put the tape on repeat so she'd see it first thing, and went home. We had an angry call from Gemma (the dimwit temporary manager) the next morning. Jo hadn't gone in - Gemma had. She had seen the video. More importantly, the owner had seen the video. And so had untold numbers of people walking down the street. In our haste to be off and eating pifered chicken and skinning up, we had put the tape onto the front monitor too.

Naturally we got a bollocking (pun intended) the next day. It was most embarassing. Especially as the tape was played at all staff gatherings from then on.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:26, Reply)

EVERY FUCKING DAY
My wife has a rather serious case of post-natal depression, which she only takes out on me. If I do one thing wrong or I've not done something which she thought she'd asked me but hasn't, she'll immediately explode and give me a huge row while I stand there looking at her with the "wtf?" look on me face, and then I'll smile and say "Tablet time!" and she'll take one and be back to normal again.

I swear to god though, it's getting worse rather than better and it's making me tired and almost suicidal. Christ, I've now started doodling pictures of Death all the fucking time (seriously, look here and sort it into Date order if you don't believe me) and am becoming an insomniac too (although that's most probs down to the baby not sleeping most of the time).

PS thanks for the PM's everyone, I know I have other options if things get worse for me
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:25, Reply)

Pub shame
A few years ago I was drinking in a rough pub one Sunday afternoon when along with several locals, we started throwing beermats around, ripping them up and throwing at each other for some time.

The carpet was covered in them. So me, along with several nasty, horrible rough Brummies were bollocked and emasculated by the landlady and ordered to pick them all up on our hands and knees. Not a pretty sight. I also got told off by my then girlfriend too who'd been telling me to throw them in the first place.

Went home and Last Of The Summer Wine was on, what a crap day that was.
( abefroman skating on the thin life of modern life on, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:24, Reply)

embarrassing moment
Teaching in Greece, my final lesson finished at 10.30 pm and was with four girls in their late teens - all of them hot.

By this time, all of the other teachers had gone home and the school was otherwise empty. Thus, the lessons were quite relaxed (so relaxed in one case that 18-year-old Nikki came over and straddled me as I sat in my teacher's chair "to see what I would do.")

In one lesson, the girls were totally ignoring me and just carrying on their own conversation. So I walked out of the classroom and went into the darkened office, where I hid under the desk. My reasoning? After a few moments, they'd miss me and come to find me.

And in a few minutes, the lights came on and someone came in. The next thing I heard was: "What the fuck are you doing?!"

It was my female boss, returning to work to collect some papers and finding her teacher hiding under a desk in the dark and his class utterly absent (they'd sneaked off home).

This woman was a klaxon-voiced harridan at the best of times, and the dressing down I received has left me partially deaf to this day.

(Oddly enough, I'm still in touch with three of those students ten years after. Nikki is not one of them).
(frankspencer, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:19, Reply)

pmt
The last time i was told of as an adult, I actually cried. I'd gone in to tell my doctor that my hormones were even worse on my new pill, and he had a go at me because i couldnt remember what it was. I'm not sure if he was trying to test whether my hormones really were worse, or he was just horribly insensetive, but either way, i'm sure i taught him a lesson by sobbing patheticly...........
(skankgirl, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:17, Reply)

Never work for family
My step-father is my boss and is also only 8 years older than me, (a prediliction for toy-boys run in my family). After 6 years working for him he still speaks to me like I'm a 16 year old office junior and sometimes in front of other staff.

Unfortunaly the perks outweigh this problem so I'm doomed to stay daily chastised in this manner.
( girlinthehole, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:10, Reply)

Well...
I should post something here about the right bollocking my missus gave me last week ... but I wasn't listening.
( Udderbelly A tale of four titties, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:03, Reply)

...like a bunch of farts lost in a sandstorm...
In my first real job after graduation, I worked with four blokes who studied with me. We were all young and eager. It was company policy to not pay overtime, because (according to the boss) it is your fault if you can't finish your work in normal hours. Yeah, right! This let to us being abused to no end - constant overtime, travel without compensation, working every weekend for six months straight, while being payed as little as was legally possible.

So one fateful day after we all left 15 minutes early, as we were car pooling, because one of the guys had to go do something and the boss was out, on our way out we ran into said Dickhead who proceeded to crap on us from an almighty height infront of everybody while we stood ther and looked like a bunch of farts lost in a sandstorm.

Anyway, we proceeded to get our revenge on him by basically doing nothing for about a year until we all left. I stole my own bodyweight in office stationary - we had a competition going on, but I lost to a guy who in one go took a whole car boot load of stationary. Anything that was not stealable we broke or fucked up seriously. When we went away on business trips we use to ring up restaurants bills and not pay - he actually nearly got arrested once when the restaurant found out from what company we were and he went there. He had to pay our bill or go to jail. We destroyed rental cars, hotel rooms the lis goes on.

Anyway, for some reason the company went bankrupt and was in some serious debt. Good times.

Oh, the folly of youth...
(MotaBoy, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 10:01, Reply)

Drink! Theft! JCBs! Disappointment! Celibacy!
I can, on prima facie evidence, be described as an adult. I hold down a semi-responsible job, I'm a father, I wear suits (and these days not just on court appearances), I own a house and these days rarely have cause for concern answering the front door.

This evidence however, while accurate, is totally misleading. There are a lot of incidents that have got me told off since turning 18; a succession of policemen, parents, magistrates, partners and bosses have looked at me with that exasperated, angry and disappointed expression in their eyes.

Particularly memorable tellings off have included the threat to ban me from the business park's car parks after Rob and I caused destruction of a grass verge and a number of flower beds while racing (neither of us would give way on a narrow corner). The end result was speed bumps every fifteen metres.

Another memorable telling off was from my girlfriend when she discovered that the people she'd heard about on the news, racing and crashing JCB's on a building site, were me and my mate. The police were looking for the culprits, and my girlfriend mentioned how disgusting it was. Then she looked at us. Danny and I were sitting there, smirking and a little proud to have been on the telly.

The night before I was drunk. Drunk beyond belief, and in the company of my mate Danny. Danny, while a good friend, was a catalyst for trouble. We met at KFC, where we worked, and the next year we left a trail of destruction, offence and hurt feelings. This particular evening we left the pub, staggering somewhat, and on the way home we saw a building site.

Now, despite the impression you may have, I was brought up as a reserved middle class boy and consequently had never played on a building site. Therefore, when Danny and I were walking home and saw a lonely, deserted and slightly spooky construction site I felt compelled to climb the fence and have a play. It took a while, and ruined our clothes, but we made it over the fence and began to look about. I climbed some scaffolding and then disaster struck.

Danny noticed that the JCB's and other earthmoving vehicles had been left with their keys in the ignition. Lightbulbs went off in mine and Danny's heads simultaeneously.

"Let's hide the keys!" said Danny.
"No. Lets get a vehicle each and race them!" I replied.
"That idea is much better than mine!" said Danny.
"Isn't it just." I concluded.

So we did. Danny picked a tractor unit, and I picked a digger. We hadn't realised how hard it would be to control them, so as we drove, we learned. Or didn't. Danny crashed into the perimeter fencing early on, abandoned his vehicle, and leapt into my cab, pulling randomly at the myriad levers. Swearing and throwing the odd punch at him, I gradually discovered he was bent on destruction; certainly the vehicle., possibly the pair of us. Suffice to say that after a corkscrew of turns we ended up dumping the digger in the foundations.

Oops.

As we stumbled from the cab, we heard sirens moving towards us, and we shit ourselves. In an uncharacteristic display of co-ordination and sense we legged it, almost hurdling the fence in our terror.

We took refuge beneath cars in the adjacent forecourt, and to our lasting amazement weren't found.

However there was a bit on Look North the next day, describing the thousands of pounds cost in damage and delays. We were red faced and sniggering and my girlfriend got cross; she queried the sort of man she was dating, invoked the disappointment I was bound to be to my parents, described the risks we had taken and all in all spoke constantly for about 45 minutes.

I have never felt so much like a 7 year old boy. Well, not since I was 7 anyway.

I got no sex for some time, and it took a lot of cooking and cups of tea before she even began to thaw.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 21 Sep 2007, 9:46, Reply)

The unescapeable lure of mincemeat..
At a Christmas charity do to raise awreness for cancer/AIDS/diabetes, I forget which one, the guest of honor was none other than wrinkly eighties question master "can I have a B please" Bob Holness.

This in itself made the whole turgid affair bearable as Bob was a legend. No arguments there, his friendly yet professional delivery of tricky letter based questions would put many young "quizmasters" today to shame. Yes I'm taliking about you Dermot Murnaghan, Eggheads my foot, I've never seen such a bunch of arrogant jumped up nob jockeys in my life.

The charity do involved some singing, some talking, more singing and some more talking, fascinating stuff I'm sure you'll agree. It was also rather long and by the end I was clammering forr food like so many tracksuited charvers queing outside Slutty Fried Offal.

To allivate my hunger I raided the aftershow party, WTF, with gusto and extreme prejudace towards the meat based snacks. My irrepresable urge to stuff my engorged (tee hee) stomach lead me down the slippery slope to ruin.

As I slipped the last delicious mince pie into my cavenous gob an erudite and strangly familiar voice echoed in my ear.

"Was that the last mince pie" it said with undisclosed menance.

"Yes...sorry" I mumbled through butter pastry and raisins.

"Well I haven't had any yet taht was really rather selfish" Bob continued, in a tone reminisant of your parents expressing disapointment.

"Sorry" was all I could say before sulking out of his cold accusing glare.

I was told off by Bob Holness and could'nt even manage a witty "Can I have a pie please Bob" style comeback.
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 9:42, Reply)

Red mist over a tea cup
Rewind back to me being 17, and working in an office run by a woman who was a complete control freak and permanent whinge arse, and was a sort of English "Mrs Doyle" lookalikey.

One of my duties in the morning was to make the old hag a cup of tea. Tea making facilities (no kettles allowed in offices) were a floor above, with a sink and a geyser on the wall in a little room next to the gents.

Anyway, this particular morning, I had forgotten to take her teacup up, so she got her tea in a radio station's promotional mug.

I brought it down to her, she had a sip, then dressed me down in front of the whole office for ruining her tannin experience by not presenting her with her usual "china" teacup. (Incidently, the china mug would not feature on antiques roadshow - all the office teacups had been stolen from a local hospital!)

My job was up for review, and I needed the cash, so I had to take it on the chin. But her petty ramblings made me boil and seethe, and the fact that I was taking it made me feel like the said school boy.

So I was sent upstairs to correct the matter. I couldn't resist a stop by the gents to piss in her china teacup, before transferring radio mug tea into urine residue.

I took it downstairs, gave it to her. She sipped it, and remarked how better it tasted, while I had to stand in front of her and wait for her approval.

Everyone said they knew what I had done by the smile on my face when I returned.

Glad she liked drinking from the yellow fountain of youth!

Length: 32 steps and a 20 yard corrider to the tea room.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 9:36, Reply)

Interesting comment about teachers....
It's true, a friend of mine is a teacher, and he does it.

Other public service workers whose salaries our taxes pay for, guilty of this crime are..

1. Policemen
2. Council Officials (we've been here, I know)
3. Traffic Wardens
4. Public Park attendants.
5. Doctors

In my adult years, I've been spoken down to (or 'at') by all of these, and it never ceases to amaze me.

But it doesnt stop there..

1. Bank Clerks. (Now they can f*ck right off)
2. Railway Ticket Collectors.
3. Postal Workers (The ones that work in the depot and are responsible for breaking and damaging your parcels.)
4. Bus Drivers

The list goes on - does anyone have any more to add? I'd be interested to know your experiences.
(Vic Flange, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 9:32, Reply)

supermarkets
Regularly get told off by the missis for doing my homage to George Romero round the local Tescos. Apparantly shuffling round the isles, clutching the trolley for support and moaning for brains isnt the done thing. Surprised anyone notices the difference between that and the normal sheep who shop at our branch
(andythepieman Is surfing the waves of indifference on, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 9:32, Reply)

Vampyre/ cats (redux)
That story reminded me of a cat-related telling-off of my own.

The guy who was (until recently) my next-door-but-something-or-other neighbour frequently used to tell me off about allowing my cat to shit in his garden. Apparently the cat was deliberately targeting his place. Because cats are scrutable like that, aren't they, Wilf? You pillock.

Going off thread a bit - oh, all right, a lot - this was the same neighbour who, when he discovered I was moving away, came around to ensure that I didn't sell the house to any Pakistanis or anything like that. Fucktard.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 9:09, Reply)

We were...
.. hurtling down the A27 outside of Brighton towards the old granny’s house, me and my younger sister in the back of my parents car.

Suddenly, due to the windows being open a paper bag slowly and majestically rose into the air and then hovered in the middle of the car causing myself and my sister to roll about the back seat, like the Smash robots having a fit.

The old fella then turns ‘round shouting;

“Will you kids stop messing around, I’m trying to concentrate on driving. Your mother has a bag full of books, choose one read it and keep quiet!”

I was 37, my sister was 32..
(greyhoundone is too old to care.., Fri 21 Sep 2007, 9:06, Reply)

Vampyre/ cats
The implication of what that woman said is that it's perfectly OK to run over your own cat... Bizarre.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 9:02, Reply)

Wedding
Went to a wedding recently. The food was bought to our table on some buffet tier thing. They didn't give serving spoons, so we used our dessert spoons. Five minutes later, a bloke comes over to tell us that we weren't supposed to have started eating as grace hadn't been said yet, and the happy couple weren't back in the room.

I'm sorry, but the food was bought to the table at 9pm. The church service started at 1pm. In between then we were given some cocktail sausages and juice. I was starving, and I'm an atheist, so couldn't care less whether the food was blessed or not.
(ToysForBigBoys would spread her legs for Nick Clegg., Fri 21 Sep 2007, 8:58, Reply)

Death Valley
A few years back, I was on holiday in the western US and we decided to go to Death Valley for a day. For those of you who haven't had the chance to visit yet, it's not like the Cherwell Valley in Oxfordshire - Death Valley is enormous. I've been in smaller countries, seriously.

So after a lot of driving, on the way back up from Badwater Basin to go home, we got up behind a Land Rover Discovery, which was pissing me off by going somewhat erratically - slowing down, speeding up etc Every time I tried to overtake, the bloke in the Disco put the foot down and blocked me.

Anyway, we came to a long straight - 3 miles or so - and I floored it, pulled out, passed the Disco and pulled in again. He wasn't going quickly at this point so I probably didn't exceed 70mph (in a 60 mph limit), then pulled in and continued. Being a reasonably law abiding citizen, I would have been doing no more than 65mph along the straight.

A small dot at the side of the road grew larger and revealed itself to be a Park Ranger's vehicle. As I passed, he started up and followed us.

Next thing, the flashing lights were on and he pulled me over.

"The speed limit's 60mph on this road, sir, not 75".

I protested (truthfully) that I wasn't doing 75 but he was having none of it. So I got the full works about how the major cause of deaths in Death Valley was actually road accidents, and how the nearest hospital was "in Las Vegas, three hours away".

"Bollocks", I thought. "It's in Ridgecrest, and we came from there this morning in two hours, and given a chance I could do it in an hour and a half". But, surprising myself, I didn't say anything.

So I had to suffer the humilitation of a dressing down in 50°C heat. Which left me even hotter. I think he decided that giving a ticket to a foreign national for an offence he'd fabricated was too much hassle, as he said he could have indicted me, but had decided not to. Big of him, eh?

Apologies for length (95 miles or so)

PS Try not to get a Chevy Malibu as a rental car in the US. They're crap!
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 8:58, Reply)