Weird Traditions
Talking with a friend yesterday about school dinners, she suddenly said, "We had to march into the dining room behind the School Band... except on Thursdays." Since all of us were now staring, she qualified this with, "...on Thursdays there was no wind section. It was a tradition."
What weird stuff have you been made to do "because it's a tradition."
( , Thu 28 Jul 2005, 11:11)
Talking with a friend yesterday about school dinners, she suddenly said, "We had to march into the dining room behind the School Band... except on Thursdays." Since all of us were now staring, she qualified this with, "...on Thursdays there was no wind section. It was a tradition."
What weird stuff have you been made to do "because it's a tradition."
( , Thu 28 Jul 2005, 11:11)
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Buerk Biscuits
A few years back, I worked in a touring theatre company with a nutter called Matthew Davey. During the tour, to help pass the time on those long winter evenings staying in digs light years from the nearest pub, he introduced us to a traditional game he used to play with his flatmate. Each week we would buy a packet of really nice biscuits, which would be known as the Buerk Biscuits. At ten o'clock we would all sit down to watch the news on BBC1, and if - and only if - Michael Buerk opened proceedings by tapping his pen on the desk, we would all be allowed to eat a biscuit.
This may not seem like a big deal, but believe me, after a few weeks of being on tour to to furthest reaches of civilisation, a really nice biscuit can become a seriously big deal. I shall never forget the bitter disappointment of the evenings when the news was read by someone else, the tension in the air the nights Michael B appeared on screen, and the way we whooped and cheered when he tapped that pen.
Thanks Michael.
( , Tue 2 Aug 2005, 20:43, Reply)
A few years back, I worked in a touring theatre company with a nutter called Matthew Davey. During the tour, to help pass the time on those long winter evenings staying in digs light years from the nearest pub, he introduced us to a traditional game he used to play with his flatmate. Each week we would buy a packet of really nice biscuits, which would be known as the Buerk Biscuits. At ten o'clock we would all sit down to watch the news on BBC1, and if - and only if - Michael Buerk opened proceedings by tapping his pen on the desk, we would all be allowed to eat a biscuit.
This may not seem like a big deal, but believe me, after a few weeks of being on tour to to furthest reaches of civilisation, a really nice biscuit can become a seriously big deal. I shall never forget the bitter disappointment of the evenings when the news was read by someone else, the tension in the air the nights Michael B appeared on screen, and the way we whooped and cheered when he tapped that pen.
Thanks Michael.
( , Tue 2 Aug 2005, 20:43, Reply)
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