» Crap meals out

Curry Favour? I think not.
I'm a surveyor 'oop norf' and part of my job is to scoot round lots of properties every so often to value them and make sure nothing major has fallen off them or stoped working. Anyhoos lots of these properties are curry houses ranging from really shitty little ones to big posh 'uns with lots of chrome, LED lights and trendy furniture. I can safely say that the kitchens of most of these places are friggin terrifying. Proper black hole of Calcutta stuff. Needless to say I don't eat curries. Ever. No matter how pissed.
Mild apologies about length but I am a virgin.
(Sat 29th Apr 2006, 10:36, More)

» Road Rage

Served the bastards right
Honda Civic. Stick on "mirror" windows. Booming Bangra. Tracksuited, Burberried fuckwits. You get the picture.

Tools past a line of traffic, through a red light and turns right. General carnage ensues.

Where's a frigging copper when you need one? We lament.

Just behind us in an unmarked Vaxhall estate it would appear.

We slowed down to give all concerned a round of applause when they had been pulled over a mile up the road. Made one of the coppers smile at least.


If I wiggle it does it seem more girthsome?
(Fri 13th Oct 2006, 14:43, More)

» The Worst Journey in the World

I knew we should have walked
Bound for Spain for a week of hedonism on something like Sleazyjet before it was invented. Boarded the plane to find our seats were directly in front of a group of dangerously refreshed Scousers one of whom had a frigging guitar. Fantastic! Two hours of musical comedy from this bunch of tossers. Sure enough the poor cow who was doing the “if we crash you’re fucked speech” was heckled with witty one liners like “please extinguish your drinks” and couldn’t get sat down quick enough. It was going to be a long flight.

A bit into the flight just as I was wondering how many of them I’d have to kill to make a jail sentence worthwhile (I decided on 5) there’s a tug on my sleeve and my mate points to floor level smoke working it’s way down the plane towards the pointy end. Cue frantic attempts to get stewardess’ attention to point out a very bad thing without sending the plane into a Airplane movie style frenzy. Stewardess spots it before we get chance to tell her. Runs to the back and then to the front, presumably to tell the driver. We’re quite worried as are those around us but at least it’s shut the Scousers up.

Captain informs us that there is a “technical issue” with the plane and we are going to make an “unscheduled stop”. Plane returns groundwards at a speed akin to an anvil being dropped out of a window. We land at a Portugese military base who were really pleased to see us and remain there for the next 20 hours with fuck all to do apart from be stared at by swarthy looking psychos with uniforms and automatic weapons.

Eventually another plane comes to pick us up and it turns out that the smoke was because someone burnt the lunch in one of the ovens!! I still hold the Scousers responsible and have never been to Spain since. Or Liverpool for that matter. Nothing to do with the plane fire just one of those things.

Apologies for the length but I am rather excited and pleased to see you.
(Fri 8th Sep 2006, 15:06, More)