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» Personal Hygiene
Dirty Duvet
A long, long time ago I was living and working in London. Whilst visiting some friends from home we used to regularly wonder about the mysterious moving duvet that lived in my friends squalid but sunny squat.
Every day when she would leave the house her duvet was on her bed but every night she got home it had moved half way across the floor. All rational explanations for this were ruled out. It being a rather temporary squat for young Irish students not much was really thought about it I suppose. This particular duvets origins were unknown. Nobody knew who bought it or how long it had been there or indeed when or how it had appeared and indeed apart from its rambling nature and some curious staining not much was thought of it – I mean it was a dirty squat anyway.
It came to pass that some overly curious individual decided to investigate further and found out something which nearly 20 years later still makes my stomach flip. The duvet in question was one enormous breeding ground for some type of bug. The bugs used to follow the sun around the room and so the sheer volume of bugs was able to physically move the duvet across the room following the path of the sun.
The poor individual who used to sleep with this fetid blanket of bugs was later to remark that no other duvet would ever be the same as the bugs predilection for warmth meant that whilst sleeping the duvet “used to hug her back” was the way she put it.
(Tue 27th Mar 2007, 11:18, More)
Dirty Duvet
A long, long time ago I was living and working in London. Whilst visiting some friends from home we used to regularly wonder about the mysterious moving duvet that lived in my friends squalid but sunny squat.
Every day when she would leave the house her duvet was on her bed but every night she got home it had moved half way across the floor. All rational explanations for this were ruled out. It being a rather temporary squat for young Irish students not much was really thought about it I suppose. This particular duvets origins were unknown. Nobody knew who bought it or how long it had been there or indeed when or how it had appeared and indeed apart from its rambling nature and some curious staining not much was thought of it – I mean it was a dirty squat anyway.
It came to pass that some overly curious individual decided to investigate further and found out something which nearly 20 years later still makes my stomach flip. The duvet in question was one enormous breeding ground for some type of bug. The bugs used to follow the sun around the room and so the sheer volume of bugs was able to physically move the duvet across the room following the path of the sun.
The poor individual who used to sleep with this fetid blanket of bugs was later to remark that no other duvet would ever be the same as the bugs predilection for warmth meant that whilst sleeping the duvet “used to hug her back” was the way she put it.
(Tue 27th Mar 2007, 11:18, More)
» I witnessed a crime
Max the Boxer
My granny had a farm in the middle of a very big bog in the middle of Ireland. She also had two boxer dogs who were known far and wide as good guard dogs. The had a type of bark that would frighten fully grown tough farmers and most of the county was terrified of them. We went to a funeral one day and got back to find the front door pushed in and big old Max chewing on something and looking very proud of himself. We quickly realised that someone had tried to get in by smashing the glass panel on the door and opening the latch. Next conclusion was that Max was chewing a human finger. We never heard anything more about it. (oh yeah and we let him finish eating the finger because neither of us wanted to touch it and he had been chewing it for ages so we decided that it was unlikely to be claimed)
(Tue 19th Feb 2008, 16:55, More)
Max the Boxer
My granny had a farm in the middle of a very big bog in the middle of Ireland. She also had two boxer dogs who were known far and wide as good guard dogs. The had a type of bark that would frighten fully grown tough farmers and most of the county was terrified of them. We went to a funeral one day and got back to find the front door pushed in and big old Max chewing on something and looking very proud of himself. We quickly realised that someone had tried to get in by smashing the glass panel on the door and opening the latch. Next conclusion was that Max was chewing a human finger. We never heard anything more about it. (oh yeah and we let him finish eating the finger because neither of us wanted to touch it and he had been chewing it for ages so we decided that it was unlikely to be claimed)
(Tue 19th Feb 2008, 16:55, More)
» Pet Stories
Just for you
A couple of years ago myself and some work colleagues went out for a drink or two one Friday night. This of course resulted in many, many drinks and we all ended up at a party. One of my lovely colleagues, Sean, (the poor unfortunate IT manager) had been unsuccessfully trying to leave all night as he had promised his wife he’d be directly home after work. By pub closing he was in an alcoholic stupor and we started to wind him up about his every more increasingly annoyed wife at home. What could he do to make it up to the Mrs.?
Someone at this party had some kittens living in a shed at the back of the garden and it seemed like the best idea in the world to bring one of the kittens home to the wife (she loved animals) and he would be right back in the good books when she saw the fluffy ickle kitty.
Well drunk and all as they were the managed to catch one of the kittens and Sean struggled home with the poor kitten wrapped in his jacket and trying to escape. He was covered in scratches but the excess of alcohol and the euphoria of the genius plot had convinced him that it was all worth it.
When he got in the wife was in bed so he just dumped the cat in the sitting room and stumbled to bed. In the morning he woke up with an awful headache and no recollection of his genius cat giving idea. He grovelled and snivelled to his wife and blamed the rest of the office and promised to make it up to her that night.
The wife gets up and goes downstairs to put the kettle on. As she opens the door she screams. The cat (which as it turned out was an entirely wild child completely unused to humans) and gone mental being tapped in a strange house and had TRASHED the place. It had pissed on the couch, ripped the curtains and scratched and clawed its way through cupboards and the contents, knocked over plants and ornaments and the place was ruined. As soon as she opened the door the cat flew out past her and out an open window never to be seen again. But the smell remained.
I felt sorry for him really – she gave him such a bollocking that he was still shaking on Monday and was NEVER allowed out with us again.
(Fri 8th Jun 2007, 13:37, More)
Just for you
A couple of years ago myself and some work colleagues went out for a drink or two one Friday night. This of course resulted in many, many drinks and we all ended up at a party. One of my lovely colleagues, Sean, (the poor unfortunate IT manager) had been unsuccessfully trying to leave all night as he had promised his wife he’d be directly home after work. By pub closing he was in an alcoholic stupor and we started to wind him up about his every more increasingly annoyed wife at home. What could he do to make it up to the Mrs.?
Someone at this party had some kittens living in a shed at the back of the garden and it seemed like the best idea in the world to bring one of the kittens home to the wife (she loved animals) and he would be right back in the good books when she saw the fluffy ickle kitty.
Well drunk and all as they were the managed to catch one of the kittens and Sean struggled home with the poor kitten wrapped in his jacket and trying to escape. He was covered in scratches but the excess of alcohol and the euphoria of the genius plot had convinced him that it was all worth it.
When he got in the wife was in bed so he just dumped the cat in the sitting room and stumbled to bed. In the morning he woke up with an awful headache and no recollection of his genius cat giving idea. He grovelled and snivelled to his wife and blamed the rest of the office and promised to make it up to her that night.
The wife gets up and goes downstairs to put the kettle on. As she opens the door she screams. The cat (which as it turned out was an entirely wild child completely unused to humans) and gone mental being tapped in a strange house and had TRASHED the place. It had pissed on the couch, ripped the curtains and scratched and clawed its way through cupboards and the contents, knocked over plants and ornaments and the place was ruined. As soon as she opened the door the cat flew out past her and out an open window never to be seen again. But the smell remained.
I felt sorry for him really – she gave him such a bollocking that he was still shaking on Monday and was NEVER allowed out with us again.
(Fri 8th Jun 2007, 13:37, More)
» Personal Hygiene
sick bag
Very posh group of young ladies I know went to Greece for the summer - they all ended up living in a small 1 bed roomed flat. After about 24 hours it was a bit of a mess and after a week it was disgusting.
About 2 months later the summer holiday was over and it was time to return to Dublin to do the resits so these lovely ladies decided to pack their bags and head home to their mammies.
Whilst sorting out the giant mess of clothes that had accumulated on the floor in the bedroom one of the girls came accross a plastic bag under a bed. This bag was knoted at the top. Thinking it was a discarded wet bikini or some other manner of normal girly filth she opened it to have a look. It was a SEVEN WEEK OLD BAG OF SICK.
On the first week one of the other girls had been out and drank way, way too much. When she got home and lay on her bed the room started to spin. She grabbed the nearest thing to hand - a plastic bag - and vomit profusely into it. She then tied a knot in the top of it and left it under the bed fully meaning to dispose of it in the morning. Instead the filthy pig left this bag of sick under the bed for nearly 2 months.
(Tue 27th Mar 2007, 16:18, More)
sick bag
Very posh group of young ladies I know went to Greece for the summer - they all ended up living in a small 1 bed roomed flat. After about 24 hours it was a bit of a mess and after a week it was disgusting.
About 2 months later the summer holiday was over and it was time to return to Dublin to do the resits so these lovely ladies decided to pack their bags and head home to their mammies.
Whilst sorting out the giant mess of clothes that had accumulated on the floor in the bedroom one of the girls came accross a plastic bag under a bed. This bag was knoted at the top. Thinking it was a discarded wet bikini or some other manner of normal girly filth she opened it to have a look. It was a SEVEN WEEK OLD BAG OF SICK.
On the first week one of the other girls had been out and drank way, way too much. When she got home and lay on her bed the room started to spin. She grabbed the nearest thing to hand - a plastic bag - and vomit profusely into it. She then tied a knot in the top of it and left it under the bed fully meaning to dispose of it in the morning. Instead the filthy pig left this bag of sick under the bed for nearly 2 months.
(Tue 27th Mar 2007, 16:18, More)
» Childhood Ambitions
Plan A
As a small and pampered little girl I was allowed sweets only at weekends and chips about twice a year. I then very practically decided that when I grew up I would probably work in (or own) the local sweetshop. Then I could eat all the sweets all day long.
I further intended to balance my diet by marrying the fat italian in the chip shop next door to my sweetshop (the very exotically named Angelos) so I could then have chips for my tea every night.
Sadly being an adult and getting more boring by the day has meant that the thoughts of sweets and/or chips now makes me sick. I wish I could go back to a time when a bag of stinky chips made me so wildly happy.
(Wed 4th Apr 2007, 16:21, More)
Plan A
As a small and pampered little girl I was allowed sweets only at weekends and chips about twice a year. I then very practically decided that when I grew up I would probably work in (or own) the local sweetshop. Then I could eat all the sweets all day long.
I further intended to balance my diet by marrying the fat italian in the chip shop next door to my sweetshop (the very exotically named Angelos) so I could then have chips for my tea every night.
Sadly being an adult and getting more boring by the day has meant that the thoughts of sweets and/or chips now makes me sick. I wish I could go back to a time when a bag of stinky chips made me so wildly happy.
(Wed 4th Apr 2007, 16:21, More)