Tick tock.
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(Wed 6th Jul 2022, 12:29, More)

Pob's singing career took off.

(Thu 15th Nov 2007, 15:53, More)

» Best Comebacks

I was at a New Year's party
at my girlfriends all of oooh four months ago.

For some reason everyone had decided to call me 'gay' - possibly because I'm quite camp.

My girlfriend also decided, on one occasion, to proclaim 'You're so gay.'

To which I responded, loudly enough for the whole room to hear:

"You won't be calling me gay when I'm fucking you up the arse later."

You could have heard a pin drop.
(Thu 29th Apr 2004, 15:15, More)

» Stalked

Blimey. Some of these stalking messages are
quite dark aren't they.

Mine's quite sweet really.

I was 16 and I'd just started my first Saturday job at Woolworths. Not for me the delights of the pic n' mix, or slaving over a slightly-too-cold-to-be-classified-as-hot stove in the cafe.

No, I was the king of cool and worked on the record counter.

This meant listening to Daniel O'Donnell for most of the day as that's what most people who came into Woolworths wanted to buy.
In those days I was thin with a highly fashionable curtain-style haircut, before I became the fat mess I am now.

I'd only been there a month before I got my first love letter.

It had been handed to the security guard, who was told to give it to me, which he had done with a smirk, saying it had been given to him by a group of giggling girls.

"Result!" thinks I.

The letter was quite sweet, telling me how cute I was (oh how I long for those days again) and how they all wanted to go out with me.

I got these letters regularly for about three months, never knowing who sent them, apart from it being a 'group of girls'.

We then started Sunday opening. We were the only shop open in the arcade open on a Sunday, so it was never busy. Plus I was generally in charge of the counter on my own, which meant I could put on the music I wanted. I was (and still am) a bit of an indie kid, so it was stuff like the Manics, Radiohead etc The stuff I wasn't allowed to play on Saturdays.

It was then I noticed the group. They were standing outside, just watching me through the doors. They were all only about 14. As soon as they saw I'd noticed them they all ran off giggling.

About two hours later they were all back, all wearing a ton of slap, hair all done and whatever clothes were considered fashionable back then. they'd made a lot of effort.

One of them even dared to come and buy a CD, some terrible Eurodance nonsense. She asked if I liked it. I said I didn't, and told her that the kind of music that was on was the music I liked.

The next Sunday I was working again, and again all the girls piled into the store for most of the day to watch me work. Except this time, all of them were wearing long-sleeve t-shirts professing their love of such bands as Ned's Atomic Dustbin and the Manic Street Preachers. they were all wearing dark eyeliner and stripey socks. It was like Trinny and Susannah had given them a 'My Little Goth Girl' makeover.

I was incredibly touched they'd made the effort.

I was in that job until just before I went to University and they came into the store virtually every weekend, sent me Valentines cards and the odd letter and generally made me feel adored but never threatened. Mainly because apart from when one of them plucked up the courage to talk to me it was only ever to buy a CD.

I felt quite sad when I went to Uni I wouldn't have a little gaggle of admirers any more, even though they were all far too young for me.

These days I'd be happy to have one admirer.
(Thu 7th Feb 2008, 10:52, More)

» DIY disasters

One Christmas
I'd got a nice new handblender for Christmas and decided it would look nice mounted on the wall for ease of access.

I chose an outer wall in the kitchen, about fifteen centimetres from the window.

I didn't have an electric drill and it was a solid stone wall, but I took my little hand-whirry drill thing and started drilling.

It was all going so well. Until....

*kerchunk*

The drill suddenly slipped into the wall about a centimetre deeper than it had been.

I withdrew the bit slowly and a fine jet of water arced straight into my face.

Bollocks.

I scrabbled round trying to find the stopcock for a bit and managed to get the water off.

I then phoned an emergency plumber type person. On boxing day. It cost me £150 and he left a massive great hole in the wall of the house I was renting, as he'd had to get in to cut a section of the pipe away. Even he admitted I'd been unlucky and if the house had been newer there would be no way the pipe would have been that close to the window.

The hole, which was about 50cm by 50cm and about two inches deep was eventually lumpily filled with polyfilla, which I then painted, and then had to paint the entire kitchen to match as the magnolia was ever so slightly different. The landlord never ever noticed that the wall was never quite straight and still hasn't to my knowledge (I moved out about 5 years ago).

to top ot all off, I dropped the handblender about a month after I got it and broke it :(
(Tue 8th Apr 2008, 13:49, More)

» Phobias

I'm shit scared
of puppets. No idea why.

I can't watch Gerry Anderson stuff without getting really spooked.

I'm also really scared of German expressionist film, like The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari.

So, when I first saw the Metz Judderman advert, I almost wet myself.
(Thu 10th Apr 2008, 14:36, More)

» Obscure Memorabilia

I have
a bottle opener that I stole from the Mayor of Reitberg on a foreign exchange trip when i was 13.
(Wed 10th Nov 2004, 15:23, More)