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» Best Graffiti Ever
Four letter word
On the way to Brighton from Tunbridge Wells, you pass by a town called Uckfield, and over the river Uck. The sign for the river used to be square, but now they've chopped it down so that there's no room for any extra letters.
Always used to make me chuckle.
(Fri 4th May 2007, 13:24, More)
Four letter word
On the way to Brighton from Tunbridge Wells, you pass by a town called Uckfield, and over the river Uck. The sign for the river used to be square, but now they've chopped it down so that there's no room for any extra letters.
Always used to make me chuckle.
(Fri 4th May 2007, 13:24, More)
» Shame
Cringe cringe cringe.
She lived at the bottom of my road. I fancied her. I was thirteen, I think she was a bit older. There was a party on a Saturday. I invited her on the Friday. Rather than just asking, I contrived to get my mate to post a letter through her door whilst doing his paper round. A sad, pathetic, pleading letter in the spideriest thirteen year old's hand imaginable; it's a miracle she could read it.
By about six o'clock on the Friday evening, I was in surgery having my appendix out, it having erupted on the way to school. On Sunday, she came to visit me in hospital. I was mortified; I hadn't been able bring myself to ask her out face-to-face, and yet here she was at my bedside, my stinking hospital bedside, with me in my pyjamas, reading comics, and generally being otherwise unfanciable.
This was twenty years ago, but I still feel my face glow when I think about it.
Looking back, I should probably feel more shame for not making the most of the vulnerability thing, but hey I'm a nice guy.
(Mon 28th Nov 2005, 23:15, More)
Cringe cringe cringe.
She lived at the bottom of my road. I fancied her. I was thirteen, I think she was a bit older. There was a party on a Saturday. I invited her on the Friday. Rather than just asking, I contrived to get my mate to post a letter through her door whilst doing his paper round. A sad, pathetic, pleading letter in the spideriest thirteen year old's hand imaginable; it's a miracle she could read it.
By about six o'clock on the Friday evening, I was in surgery having my appendix out, it having erupted on the way to school. On Sunday, she came to visit me in hospital. I was mortified; I hadn't been able bring myself to ask her out face-to-face, and yet here she was at my bedside, my stinking hospital bedside, with me in my pyjamas, reading comics, and generally being otherwise unfanciable.
This was twenty years ago, but I still feel my face glow when I think about it.
Looking back, I should probably feel more shame for not making the most of the vulnerability thing, but hey I'm a nice guy.
(Mon 28th Nov 2005, 23:15, More)