» Twattery

You Park Like an Arsehole, Arsehole!
To begin a bus stop is not a parking space, it is, in fact, a place for a bus to pull over and stop, allowing passengers to embark and disembark, not that you'd know that from the HGV drivers passing through my parents village. No they park like the massive twats that they are, sometimes one on each side of the road completely blocking all the traffic and making it impossible to pull out of the T junction from the main part of the village and escape to somewhere more interesting. To really up the levels of twatishness however and to tip me from slightly angry to full on enraged is when you try and ask them to move.

As I was staying with Mummy and Daddy Whiskey this weekend I've had the pleasure of an interaction quite recently. After sitting in my car unable to pull out for nearly 5 minutes I casually strolled into the petrol station to inquire as to whether I could expect to get to the shops that afternoon or if I should give up and go home. This fine gentleman decided to ignore me. And continue to ignore me when I double checked if it was his lorry. And carried on ignore me when I followed him back across the road asking why he parked there when it was clearly a bus stop. Told me to fuck off when I told him he'd parked like an arsehole though.

Sadly for him the village harridan lives behind the bus stop and rather than spending time moaning about the youth of today, like she did when I was younger, she now calls the "how's my driving?" number on the back of the lorries and lets them know.

I don't dislike all lorry drivers at all, just the ones that park in the bloody bus stop, twats.
(Fri 13th Apr 2012, 15:52, More)

» Grandparents

Mama
Apologies for length and lack of humour etc. My maternal grandmother, Mama, is an amazing lady. She's 86 years old now and still completely independent despite losing my Poppa 10 years ago, however as I've got older I've come to appreciate how much of a role model and what a fantastic person she is. She worked as a driver in WWII for the RAF, transporting munitions all over Scotland and also officials and airmen despite being an 18 year old girl and only just over 5 feet tall she learnt to drive lorries, tankers and all sorts of cars.
However the thing I admire her most for is after her own son died as a toddler she adopted first my mum (possibly saving her from a nasty Irish nun-run home) and then another baby. In the 1960's most children with special needs like my uncle would be institutionalised and denied education and the chance of a normal life but her and my Poppa fought to bring my uncle up themselves sending him to normal schools, getting him the best medical help they could even when things were difficult for them financially. She still accompanies my uncle to his hospital appointments, helps him to live independently, will go to his flat at anytime of the day or night when he is panicked about anything and help him to get anything he needs organised.
She also looked after me and my brothers and sister when we were little and up until last year drove my sister to and from school when ever my mum or dad couldn't. She is one of the loveliest people I know, with never a bad word to say about anyone and would help anyone who needed anything. I dread the day I have to tell anyone about her in the past tense, she's an inspiration.
On the other hand my paternal grandmother seems to get her kicks insulting myself and my sister in anyway possible, so win some lose some I guess
(Mon 6th Jun 2011, 19:01, More)

» Advice from Old People

helpful drink advice ...
Long time lurker etc. etc. ...
As my grandad took his time over dying last year it was decided that he should probably meet my little brothers missus while he still could so him, her and me headed oop north for a respectful visit and introduction.
He was obviously keen to make a good impression and having always been a very hospitable chap offered us all a wide range of drinks when we arrived he was also a big drinker so wine, beer and lager were what was offered and after a moments hesitation, tonic water as a soft alternative. The polite image was ruined almost instantly by the sound of my grandmothers voice shouting from the kitchen
"Tonic water? Why in the hell would you drink that?"
to be honest, sound advice grannie it tastes like shite ...
and of course it makes a nice change from her usual advice to lose some weight aimed at me and the 12 year old as we're looking "a bit chubby" ho hum
(Thu 19th Jun 2008, 20:22, More)

» Blood

Stupid Stupid Brothers
Not completely blood related but it seemed close enough at the time.

My younger brother has never known when to stop and so (aged 16) whilst my parents and youngest siblings were away in London he decides a party is in order. He and his mates are some of the most pretentious idiots I know, so instead of your usual cider/vodka teenage party they procede to get absolutely mullered on port, red wine, malt whiskey and real ale. Brothers tipple of choice apparently being port washed down with whiskey followed by a hefty amount of cigars. I was woken up at 4.30am by his hysterical girlfriend screaming down the 'phone that he'd killed himself and was lying prone in a pool of blood.
After the initial fear and shouting at the dopey mare to call 999 not me who was 100 miles away a more sober member of the party was found

...and we discovered the twat had simply passed out in his own port coloured vomit.

Bloody kids.
(Wed 13th Aug 2008, 19:48, More)

» Road Trip

The USA is really REALLY big
Apologies for length, hopefully there's a bit of humour to make up for it.

Hoaxy's tale reminded me of my own experiences on the greyhound travelling around America my own epic trip was from Seattle to Boston which google tells me is approximately 2484 miles. 2484 miles, on a bus, on my own, yeah...

I'd decided (as a result of a drunken bet) to quit my job and spend 3 months travelling around the USA on a tourist visa, I booked my return flight to New York and my first night in a youth hostel and that was quite literally the extent of my planning, I got there and started to explore. My first hint that going across the entire f***ing country on a bus was going to be a bad idea was going across 3/4 of it (Chicago to San Fran) and after 3 days travel arriving stinking, exhausted and with a random throat infection caught from a redneck's child, but no, I was an intrepid explorer (and to skint for a plane) what could possibly go wrong?
My first hint that something might be amiss was when my first seat partner told me she was on her way home after being discharged from the army for being mentally unfit to see combat and the rest of her group confirmed that as they had been as well, yes mentally unstable trained killers, on a bus surrounding me, it sounds like the start of a really bad horror film. The army, along with prisons send people they've finished with home on the greyhound rather than pay for flights. However she seemed nice enough, although dumb as a rock, she was shocked at how well I spoke English despite me telling her I was from England and seemed more happy to believe that we spoke Birtish (a strange amalgamation of French, German and English I created when she wouldn't believe we spoke English). She also couldn't work her debit card at all until I pointed out the fact the card had debit written across it meant she should probably press that not credit in the ATM.
My next seat partner was some sort of wannabe gangsta who within 5 minutes of sitting next to me asked if I had any pot and would I be interested in smoking with him. Now I have nothing against marijuana at all but it did seem a little risky to basically use that as an introduction to a stranger on a bus. As the journey progressed he got weirder and weirder not like happy baked but creepy on something that's not weed, he would alternate between propositioning me and berating me, getting quite verbally abusive and aggressive, when I moved seats he followed me and started telling me how I should give him a chance and he was on his way to rehab to get clean. He eventually got kicked of the bus for being obnoxiously intoxicated and left at a random bus station, I was pretty relieved to be honest.
The rest of my journey was uneventful but pretty depressing people moving house on the bus or who seemed to be basically homeless, random 5 hour layovers in little towns that made me feel slightly homeless and so much junk food (literally the only option for eating) that by the time I got to Boston all I wanted to eat was salad forever.
I eventually arrived at my hostel in Boston, tired, really stinky and with the worst back ache I've ever known (the seats are not designed for comfort), although fortunately still alive unlike the poor guy who got beheaded in Canada.
I guess the moral of the story is don't go on a really long bus trip, get a plane, it's quicker and the passengers might be saner.
(Wed 20th Jul 2011, 10:57, More)