» Lies I told on my CV

I have qualifications
...according to my CV. Not true. I'm just experienced.

See, I wrote my CV on my dad's computer, years ago, and I'd lied to him about finishing that college course. I figured after dropping out of university for being a lazy cnut, he'd be angry if I failed as miserably at my HND.

So he never knew I was just an 'A' Level guy. I needed his help getting the CV in order, so he was going to see what I'd written, and I was living at home for this jobless period, so he got to see the printed versions I sent out too.

I got a job, and no-one checked.
And another one.
And another...

It still says I have an HND on my CV. It's stayed firmly on the file, no matter what other updates I've made over the years.
I'm used as a consultant on all matters legal and scientific due to my "qualifications".
Bollocks - I've just got thirteen years of work in the field.
(Thu 6th Jul 2006, 16:14, More)

» Awesome Sickies

My boss liked me.
My line manager wanted to give me a pay rise, but there was no way the tight fisted cnuts at the top of the company would authorise it. Instead, my boss let me get away with anything as long as the work was up to date.

My girl friend came to visit me one evening. Rabbits don't shag as much as we did - all night and into the dawn.
Knowing that my boss would most likely already be in the office, I called at 7.30.

Me: "Hi Dave. My girl friend came over last night, and well, I'm really exhausted... all the stock checking's up to date... can I take today off?"
Dave: "Ha ha! Yes, totally! See you tomorrow!"
Me: "Yay!" [goes to sleep, has more sex all day]

Priceless. Best boss I ever had.
(Fri 9th Jun 2006, 9:46, More)

» Strict Parents

When I was in sixth form, I lived with my Grandma
(RIP), cause she lived closer to the school I went to (parents moved away to a wholly new area, see).
She would not let me out at in the evenings past 10pm. On a weekend, that was extended to 11pm.
For context, my parents (with whom I'd lived up til I was 15) let me out at weekend up til about 3am, provided I told them.
Being 17, and entitled to drive at 16 in my country, I had a car and a girlfriend. I was a responsible lad, not drinking and driving or anything, but - well, that car saw some abuse: both mechanical and sexual. You can't take ladies home for a shag when you live with you gran, nor will their parent's think much of you using her bed, and in the wilds of the Irish Sea, outdoors is a bit parky for sex.

Anyway, I had dropped of my girlfriend at her place at about 9.50pm. I was about ten miles from home via winding country roads, the likes of which only the Peak District, Wales and Scotland can mirror. It was a weekday. I had lost track of time while jiggling the car excitedly with my young lass. Ten minutes to get home, ten miles... I needed to average 60 miles an hour in a 1 litre mini... just about possible.
So, dead of night, on country roads, I thrashed it home. Because at times I had to drop down to 30 for the bendy roads, I had to get up to 70 and 80 whenever I could. Past the airport, I floored it on the only piece of dual carriageway on the whole Island.

That's a 40 zone. No-one lives there, but it's a 40 nonetheless. I got followed and stopped.

The police man was very polite. He asked why I was in such a hurry. I told him my granny didn't let me out past ten, and I was going home. He asked where I'd been, and I told him I'd been seeing my girlfriend. He shook his head and told me to get off home while he reported me for my fine.

Arriving home, at half-past ten, my gran had called the police. She was just putting down the phone when I got in. I got my ear chewed, and confessed to being stopped on the way home - so I could blame the police for being late! That didn't help though, she grounded me (a chap legally entitled to marry, drive, buy fags - grounded!).

My mum told me, at my gran's funeral, years later, that she'd pulled the same guilt trick on her when she was that age. Gran waited up, and as mum'd come in late, she'd picked up the phone, said "No, don't worry officer, her she comes now," to the dial tone, and hung up.

So not only was she a strict lady, she was a blagging old bag too! Loved her though.
(Thu 8th Mar 2007, 14:29, More)

» The Weird Kid In Class

What was his name..?
I forget. It'll come to me I'm sure. It was more the stuff he did that I remember...

10 years old, shat himself in class. Quizzed about this years later, he says he "did a fart that felt a bit wet" but thought little of it until break, when he found that he'd "plopped his kecks". Naturally, he took off his shitty pants and hid them in his desk. By summer, the shit-stench was quite bad.

Coloured everything in in his exercise books with a variety of highlighter pens. So much was highlighted that any sections not coloured in stood out more.

Suddenly went bald in clumps.

In a private study lesson he abruptly shouted out "Fucking scooter!" in a weirdly high-pitched shriek - the local accent he had (strongly) made it sound like "Ferkin Shcootie!"
Why? What scooter? Why did it upset him so? We will never know.
Admittedly, this became a sort of sixth form catch-phrase: faint cries of "Ferkin Shcootie!" haunt me to this day - but still - strange chap.
(Fri 19th Jan 2007, 11:34, More)

» Intense Friendships

My party friend
I always used to hang out with this guy. Wrote him into my will to inherit my car if I died. We smoked dope and drank and partied in general - philosophical and moral talks were had with no kind of intoxication and with plenty...
He always had weed on him. He had threesomes with his girlfriend and her mates. He did coke and pills and would share them with me if I wanted (though I never liked coke).
I guess that a certain amount of the intoxicants were messing with us. I was increasingly depressed. Party Guy's fiancee left him and he was found on a bridge threatening suicide - he got arrested and Sectioned (declared mad, in effect). He didn't want to face living in the flat he'd shared with her, so he needed somewhere to live. I moved him into my spare room.
Party Guy has a booming voice. I needed to sleep so I could commute 126 miles to work - he was unemployed. He'd talk on the phone late into the night, have mates round and get stoned... I wasn't getting any sleep, getting more depressed, and starting to feel invaded. One saturday I came downstairs in a really freaked out mood, just wanting some privacy, and I find Party Guy and several chavs with dozens of carrier bags full of weed, chopping it up in my lounge. I figured out later, there was about 35 grand's worth of skunk in my house. It had been stolen by Party Guy's dealer from the growers out in the Fens. 35 k worth of dope in my lounge, with pissed off fenland dope-growers out there somewhere looking for it...
I went out for a walk, I just needed to be alone that day.
I started therapy and stopped my constant smoking. Kind of helped.
Then at a party, there was a girl I really fancied - like "relationship" fancied, not "quick shag" fancied. I told Party Guy - please, pull anyone except her. He fucked her that same night.
Well, I kicked him out. I was sick of it. I've sorted my life out, got a good career job, sorted my head out, and he's still dating girls half his age, cheating on them, smoking and coking his brain to bits and acting like he's 21. He's 31. You can only hold onto your youth for so long until it becomes sad and riduculous. Party Guy is way beyond that.
(Fri 28th Jul 2006, 13:27, More)