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Drunk? Bored?? Psychopath???

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I'm there too by the red curtains.

 

You can't see me because I'm sewing anonymously, but there's clearly space for me and my machine between ie+ and the Hispanic lady.

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Can't think what you mean Mme D.

index11wk2.jpg

 

I'm the one holding the camera.

I can't find myself in this picture, I reckon I'm skulking about outside having a fly smoke.

I'm the extremely enthusiastic-looking one in the far corner (blonde hair and glasses).

 

ie+ (who does not even need a thimble anymore :banghead: )

 

I wouldn't believe that if somebody payed me. I don't think it looks like Cate Blanchet in her old age? Looks like that woman is about to drop dead!

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[خدمات الترجمة من الإنكليزية والفرنسية إلى العربية وبالعكس، وترجمة شفوية لزوا

 

Whyever would I want anything translated into Arabic, Banshees Scream?

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I'm there too by the red curtains.

 

You can't see me because I'm sewing anonymously, but there's clearly space for me and my machine between ie+ and the Hispanic lady.

 

I'm not trying to imply that you might be a little accident prone, Boudicca, but I believe the

reason for your absence is that you are down at the hospital getting the sewing machine needle

and possibly the entire machine removed from your finger. Don't look at the tetanus shot syringe,

it won't hurt as much.

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I'm not trying to imply that you might be a little accident prone, Boudicca,

 

Accident prone............... . . . Never.

 

 

Boudicca.............. accident prone have you lost your mind?

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have you lost your mind?

IT may be a opium laced possibility (I take it that this is an open questione to all)

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have you lost your mind?
IT may be a opium laced possibility (I take it that this is an open questione to all)

I haven't lost my mind. I have a back-up on tape somewhere...

 

regards,

Hein

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I genuinely did once think I had lost my mind.

 

After a considerable drink and drugs binge (back in the days when I succumbed to such decadent behaviour) I once woke up in the middle of the afternoon in what can only be described as a straw and mud littered hut in the middle of a field which, upon looking out the entrance, also appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. I had about my person a three quarters full litre bottle of vodka, the best part of forty fags and my trusty tin of, ahem, magical tricks.

 

I spent two-three days in that hut in varying stages of hallucinogenic delirium and during this period I became convinced that I could converse with crows and, more importantly, they could converse with me. I was the King of Crows and I was sending them off to do my bidding to further our empire. It sounds bizarre now, but at the time I was convinced it was happening.

 

My reign ended when a couple of mates who had been looking for me, on and off during this period, heard me loudly addressing my subjects from my ramshackle shelter- had I bothered to walk around to the back of the hut I would have noticed the quiet little road some fifty yards in the distance.

 

Anyway, to cut a long story short they carried me back to the girl I was living with at the time and thus began a week of sweaty come down that I would not wish on anyone. And then she finished with me which, looking back, was fair enough really I 'spose. She's have made a rubbish queen anyway.

 

I've been all right since, although sometimes I do spot a crow regarding me in a certain way and I find myself wondering whether it recognises my true status...

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Anyway, to cut a long story short . . .

 

I was enjoying that! <_<

 

I'm a little intrigued as to how you managed to wake up with your "supplies" still in your possession. Whenever I got into that state I was usually surrounded by empty bottles, not a fag in sight and my credit card missing.

 

Great story, BHB. It's a pity you don't remember much about it as it would have made a fine screenplay.

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Boudicca said:
Quote
Anyway, to cut a long story short . . .

 

I was enjoying that! <_<

 

I'm a little intrigued as to how you managed to wake up with your "supplies" still in your possession. Whenever I got into that state I was usually surrounded by empty bottles, not a fag in sight and my credit card missing. 

 

Great story, BHB. It's a pity you don't remember much about it as it would have made a fine screenplay.

 

10 years ago I woke up in a field near Culloden, Inverness with no idea how I had got there. It is still a mystery to me although I think it is safe to say that alcohol and drugs were involved. One moment I was in Glasgow and then ..... who knows?

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10 years ago I woke up in a field near Culloden, Inverness with no idea how I had got there. It is still a mystery to me although I think it is safe to say that alcohol and drugs were involved. One moment I was in Glasgow and then ..... who knows?

The closest I got to such an incident was when I woke up one summer's Sunday morning on the verge of a road. Apparently I managed to use my bicycle as a blanket, so I wasn't cold, it was just the light and the noise the sparrows made that woke me up. I had no idea where I was, but I vaguely remembered that I had been to a birthday party in Barendrecht, a small town south of my home town Rotterdam.

 

I decided that the most logical thing to do was continue cycling the road in the direction my bike was lying. After a few kilometers I entered the town of Dordrecht, which made things a bit more clear, that I had slept near Alblasserdam. Another hour's drive in the other direction got me home, eventually. How I crossed the river Noord is still a mystery.

 

Here's a map of the surroundings:

 

mapsa1.jpg

 

regards,

Hein

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caqan yiou fgert dfrynk drrtinking Pabst blue tiirbon beeer? and if I pier it itno a mug wiull I then e aobliged toi criy in my bier/.?

 

 

Byr yhre way I may eb alkomost drtunk ....

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Boudicca said:
Quote
Anyway, to cut a long story short . . .

 

I was enjoying that! :P

 

I'm a little intrigued as to how you managed to wake up with your "supplies" still in your possession. Whenever I got into that state I was usually surrounded by empty bottles, not a fag in sight and my credit card missing.

 

Great story, BHB. It's a pity you don't remember much about it as it would have made a fine screenplay.

 

Back in those days I had a wonderful coat; long, warm and fairly waterproof, but the best thing about it was the amount of pockets concealed about it- especially the inside. At times I could consider myself fag or potless and then rifle through that coat in the same away you can a sofa and find all manner of illegal substances and cash.

 

During times of poverty, I am ashamed to admit, that it was ideal for shoplifting and, on a good day, you could get half a convenience store inside all those pockets and still not look overweight or pregnant. It really was a magical coat and excruciatingly amusing to see policemen trying to search through it whilst listing your possessions during the booking in ceremonies at the nick. God only knows what happened to it, but I like to think that it's still keeping some lucky bastard warm and dry.

 

Anyway, the long and short of it is that that coat made it nigh on impossible to lose anything, unless I lost the coat of course, which eventually happened. As to how I had a bottle of vodka about my person I have no idea, although I can well imagine some house owner regretting their decision to invite me back and bribing me with it to leave. Ditto the fags, although I have always been anal about making sure I have enough smoke, no matter what state I get into. It's a chilly day in Hell if BHB ends up without a smoke.

 

Oh, and thank you for the signature change, Bou, you rogue editor you. I like it. I shall keep it, for I am the King of the Crows and I can do anything!

 

I have to go now...the birds are calling...

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The closest I got to such an incident was when I woke up one summer's Sunday morning on the verge of a road. Apparently I managed to use my bicycle as a blanket, so I wasn't cold, [snip]

regards,

Hein

Do they make quilted bikes in Holland then? Or have I just shown my lack of biking knowledge to the world?

 

BHB, awesome story! I had no such magic coat unfortunately, but I'm with you on the never ever running out of fags part of the story. If I'm going to a club I always take at least 40, especially as by 2am every other f*cker has run out and I turn into a vending machine yet again.

 

Equally, I could never live somewhere that isn't within a 15 min walk of a 24-hour petrol station or newsagents. Unless I ever manage to give up, but that's just potty talk.

 

I wish I could help you locate the coat, but I don't know enough about crow behaviour. The only wisdom I can impart is that it won't be in Holland, as that's too orangey for crows....

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Not drunk, just bored... with Starcrossed and Windsor, who seem to be young lads having problems forming attachments to young ladies, hence their testosterone (emphasis on toss) fuelled mega-rants at each other. If Starcrossed really was that bothered about moderators, moderaters, and any other F*****g spelling you care to use, he would have buggered off in a huff and not come back. No, he just likes baiting people because he needs to get laid. Same goes for Windsor. Grow up, for f**ks sakes. You're entitled to rant to your heart's contents if you want, but it's starting to get boring, so why not just PM each other and then set up home, eh?

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Not drunk, but want an answer to a question and I thought I'd get away with it here...

 

Do glory-holes actually exist? I mean, I've travelled a lot (that's no euphemism) and never seen one - has anybody else or do they not exist?

 

Cheers!

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A good question, Hacky. I recall a largish hole 'twixt two cubicles in the bogs at my local bus station . I always assumed this was one of the aforementioned 'Glory Holes'. Another could be found here

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They exist. I do not wish to go into further details, save to say that I was at this coach station once, having a contented crap and there was an intrusion. Followed by a blood curdling scream.

 

So no, they are not an urban myth, nor a mere porn fantasy. They exist and sick f**ks use them.

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They exist. I do not wish to go into further details, save to say that I was at this coach station once, having a contented crap and there was an intrusion. Followed by a blood curdling scream.

 

So no, they are not an urban myth, nor a mere porn fantasy. They exist and sick f**ks use them.

 

Ok, but when was this? I'm trying to work out when they were first used.

 

Were they about in Wilfrid Brambell's day, when the handbag-carrying one was stopped by the police after being seen going into more than a dozen "cottages" in an hour?

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Well, it was when I was at Exeter College, so mid-eighties.

 

Doing a little research on Brambell, eh?

 

No lesser personage than Alec Guinness was done for the same thing in Liverpool once, but he got away with it at the time because he gave the police the name of the stage character he was using at the time and thus avoided public scandal.

 

I discovered that little gem when idly researching something I wrote once. I'm 99% certain it was Alec Guinness anyway, but it was a couple of years ago and I've slept since. You should be able to find a clarifying link somewhere in Google, if it helps.

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Well, it was when I was at Exeter College, so mid-eighties.

 

Doing a little research on Brambell, eh?

 

No lesser personage than Alec Guinness was done for the same thing in Liverpool once, but he got away with it at the time because he gave the police the name of the stage character he was using at the time and thus avoided public scandal.

 

I discovered that little gem when idly researching something I wrote once. I'm 99% certain it was Alec Guinness anyway, but it was a couple of years ago and I've slept since. You should be able to find a clarifying link somewhere in Google, if it helps.

 

Wasn't Gordon Ramsey done for lewd behaviour when a joke backfired (he claimed)...

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Well, it was when I was at Exeter College, so mid-eighties.

 

Doing a little research on Brambell, eh?

 

No lesser personage than Alec Guinness was done for the same thing in Liverpool once, but he got away with it at the time because he gave the police the name of the stage character he was using at the time and thus avoided public scandal.

 

I discovered that little gem when idly researching something I wrote once. I'm 99% certain it was Alec Guinness anyway, but it was a couple of years ago and I've slept since. You should be able to find a clarifying link somewhere in Google, if it helps.

 

Wasn't Gordon Ramsey done for lewd behaviour when a joke backfired (he claimed)...

 

I don't know.

 

Although if he was in Exeter Coach station during the mid eighties and had his intruding cock swatted with a rolled up copy of Kerrang! and then released a blood curdling cry, then yes, he did.

 

F*****g Jock pervert.

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Am I the only person sad and bored enough to be in the chat room, feeling ill, a day after their ex-girlfriend won half a million pounds in a poker tournament?

Er, yes...

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Am I the only person sad and bored enough to be in the chat room, feeling ill, a day after their ex-girlfriend won half a million pounds in a poker tournament?

Er, yes... :(

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Am I the only person sad and bored enough to be in the chat room, feeling ill, a day after their ex-girlfriend won half a million pounds in a poker tournament?

Er, yes... :(

Just one more of life's cruel blows, the answer lies in hard drink, don't let dogooders tell you any different.

 

No you're not imagining it, fate really is laughing at you. Destiny is also having a good sN-word. :ph34r:

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