b3ta.com user Uncle Gilly
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Hello, as of now I'm just an 19 year old Loiner who lives and works in Leeds lest he's working in York.

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» I'm your biggest Fan

Jimmy and the Flying Pizza.
My paternal family exist now in a state of disarray, geographically speaking, basically they're all over the place. I have an Aunt and young cousins in London; Uncle, Aunt and some more cousins in Gloucester and grandparents in Ballantrae - that is a small coastal area in the West of Scotland, (actually where a lot of Gilmours are to be found. I've seen signs for Legal associates and graffiti bare the name in the same area, there's sod all of that elsewhere)- other members of this disporia are great uncles whom also reside in Scotland. But this story is about my segment of the family, from my immediate grandparents to my new cousin Sam. This segment which is now so fragmentated used to reside in Leeds. I've been raised there and seen little of my family aside from odd snippets. From what I did see I saw a quiet somewhat unemotional family. Fortunately enough my father and his actions provided enough trauma to show how repressed they could be. I had barely seen my family for ten years after he was convicted and didn't really expect to see them at all. By that time my mother and I were formed into a strong unit. One so much so that for whatever reason rumours of concern for my confinement were spread around. They wanted me to visit them a lot more than was I was really prepared to move around for. In hindsight if I had been a regular visitor to wherever the hell they wanted to go I probably might have emerged a more confident person, but at the time it wasn't me, I instead felt I didn't want to leave what I felt was my mum and my home. I did visit alone at one point but that went fairly disasterously at one point and a bridge was never truly formed.

Given time, however, they decided to come to me and repair what the damage they felt could have been somewhat avoided more by them. They visited me for my Eighteenth birthday.

When all converge to Leeds, there is one restaurant which is favoured always as a destination by the family, that is "Adriano's Flying Pizza." (the early memory of a visit from the family with me wrapping myself round my grandfather's leg and unsuccessfully bidding for Burger King is seared in my mind). It's an italian restaurant and not a cheap one at that, but one which is elegant and well dressed.

It must have been some kind of race day there were too many people in suits and hattery the kind not seen since Ascot.

I had been driven by my Uncle I think and on the way there it was noticed an expensive car was outside, inevitably it must have been Jimmy Saville. A man whos income now resides on royalties from a Louis Theroux special, to keep that car he had to work his way round the restaurant for dinner. Allegedly.

Through the course of one meal I got on with my family. I sat next to my Uncle and discussed the coming future, the past and how my cousins were doing. It's always uncomfortable to have my mother there though it's never that I prefer one over the other, heaven forbid, it's just that I know even though she's kept the name to avoid reverting to a rather unfortunate maiden name she never truly fits in and that's a fact I truly detest. My patnernal family are hardly a dynasty that rejects the uninvited but they're just seemingly very different to my mum-

Oh God - here comes Jimmy Saville.

Walking through the aisles of diners Jimmy makes a movement towards the table opposite, the group opposite are amused enough and Jimmy starts rousing all in a celebration of one of the troupe's birthday. I'd kiss more alcohol, but young as I am, I feel a cliche isn't quite yet where I'd like to go, but the apprehension does makes itself strong enough to appear in the form of flatulence.

Sure enough

"Hey, its my nephew's birthday would you mind?"

The smell of some sort of fragrance young men aren't to know yet breezes past me. Suddenly I'm being grappled by this titan of yesteryear, he has me in a headlock, long enough for a few slow photographs and good enough for me to fear the arm hair, sharp and aged that they are, striking my chin.

I stopped moving, totally - I was fixed I tells ya.
(Tue 21st Apr 2009, 13:55, More)

» Council Cunts

A well hung council.
I was once thought in my once childish and imaginative mind that perhaps a hung council would imply that all councillors could be well endowed. I was frequently seen to stare at a poster of all "members" in the corridor of my local leisure centre..not a looker in the bunch..and it was a labour majority at the time, and of course new labour meant no penis. Well a borrowed penis. I have no taste for the cock personally and especially not a blue one so I was uninterested.
It would not be til many moons later that after many years of shit leadership the foxy proletariat as with the rest of the voting lot would find it in their hearts to bid a fair fuck you to labour and instead vote for the other two a little more. This has lead to a hung council. And the lovely limbo land where a Conservative and Liberal Democrat alliance runs like most cities in my county. This has remained as such in the recent election.
Sadly this is most certainly a council who has the penile length (and girth!) of an earwig. And I not talking in terms of scale.
They have destroyed some delightful foreign food festivals set in the Milleni-overpriced-um square built by the previous council. And as such have cut off a link to a very favoured cheese I chanced upon in one.
That may be petty but from an artsy p.o.v like mine it hurts.
Hence I will now run down to the civic hall and doodle thereon.

You see it's big but small.
(Sun 29th Jul 2007, 23:20, More)

» The Weird Kid In Class

Of course I'm tired now, so I'll narrow the description to some short sentences:

A vastly knowledgeable student, one of the top mathematical whizzes of the UK. Uncomfortable with wearing anything less than second hand sports clothing. Failed at drama GCSE and his name when typed out in the Google "I'm feeling lucky search" actually linked to his work and it of course rhymes with the above title.
(Sun 21st Jan 2007, 2:26, More)

» My most treasured possession

My Buddhist Monk certificate.
As well as My Patrick Stewart signed photo and my enlightenment. If only I could find that.
(Sat 10th May 2008, 19:54, More)