dead Pat "bomber" Roach

[Slave to the Grave 22]

Hey have we been mentioned in "Site of the day"?

 

Dole bludger (nice word, by the way, well done)? Excuse me, but I pay my taxes and what do I get in return? A F*****g wheelie bin.

 

Only one F*****g wheely bin? We got three in Suffolk, a brown one, a grey one and a nice green one. Technically, it was actually three and a half as there was a little white one to put in the kitchen to collect composty stuff, but then it didn't have wheels so wasn't really wheelie at all. Perhaps you ought to consider moving to another county to get better value for money.

[Godot 148]

Hey have we been mentioned in "Site of the day"?

 

Dole bludger (nice word, by the way, well done)? Excuse me, but I pay my taxes and what do I get in return? A F*****g wheelie bin.

 

Only one wheely bin? We got three in Suffolk, a brown one, a grey one and a nice green one. Technically, it was actually three and a half as there was a little white one to put in the kitchen to collect composty stuff, but then it didn't have wheels so wasn't really wheelie at all. Perhaps you ought to consider moving to another county to get better value for money.

OK, I lied: two F*****g wheelie bins - one with a blue top for certain stuff and one with a black top for other stuff. Only Mrs Godot seems to understand them. It means that these days we have tin cans drying on the radiators. Delightful.

[Six 22]

I too am a fan of Pat Roach, and the Auf Wiedersehen Pet series. I also come from the Birmingham area (more precisely I am from Staffordshire). ... You need to actually all get a "life" and find something useful to do. You are all probably nothing but lazy dole bludgers who continue to bleed this country dry.

 

Does coming form the ' Birmingham area ' make you more susceptible to feelings of grief over the sad loss of Pat Roach? Or is it that you have more of a right to have feelings for him because you're almost a Brummie?

I can't understand why that was even mentioned.

I was born and raised in Birmingham ( IN Birmingham, not Staffordshire BTW.) and lived there for almost 30 years. Does this mean that I am allowed to talk about his death? Or not, because I don't live there anymore?

 

Quite honestly I couldn't give a flying-fizzbomb! I feel for the guys family and close friends as I would for anyone who had just lost someone, but that's it. Where I come from has nothing to do with it at all.

 

As for being a dole bludger, I wish! They live rent free and get all kinds of benefits! Oh, to live like that!!

 

 

(Thankfully I was able to escape Birmingham and now live in a much more pleasent area.)

 

Ps, I didn't even get ONE wheelie bin! I want my wheelie bin!!!!

[Paul Bearer 5,685]

We get a F*****g bin bag......................................... a F*****g PINK bin bag. Top that.

[Brinsworth House Baiter 12]

Hey have we been mentioned in "Site of the day"?

 

Dole bludger (nice word, by the way, well done)? Excuse me, but I pay my taxes and what do I get in return? A F*****g wheelie bin.

 

Only one wheely bin? We got three in Suffolk, a brown one, a grey one and a nice green one. Technically, it was actually three and a half as there was a little white one to put in the kitchen to collect composty stuff, but then it didn't have wheels so wasn't really wheelie at all. Perhaps you ought to consider moving to another county to get better value for money.

OK, I lied: two F*****g wheelie bins - one with a blue top for certain stuff and one with a black top for other stuff. Only Mrs Godot seems to understand them. It means that these days we have tin cans drying on the radiators. Delightful.

 

I know what you mean. We've got one of those recycling bins as well and it drives me nuts. As the bins are outside we now have a system just outside of the kitchen in the hallway, whereby all recyclable (?) stuff festers in a plastic box before someone gets round to dragging it outside.

 

This is a feat in itself and usually involves the kids dropping empty dog food tins and a week's worth of newspapers all over the front porch and me pissing myself laughing from the sofa. What really gets me about this recycling business is that a week's worth of empty Carling cans soon mount up and I have to run a gauntlet of the neighbours watching me staggering with an armful of empties (you're not allowed to put them in anything) and no doubt deriding me as a hopeless alcoholic. Especially her at number at twenty-seven. She's like that old Mrs Cravatte from Hancock's Half Hour. Bitch. I'm referring to her at number twenty-seven and not Patricia Haye's character.

 

I keep telling Mrs BHB that the binmen/recycling men don't check every bin, but she won't have it and waves every beer can I've tried to conceal at the bottom of the pedal bin like she did several magazines that time she discovered my stash of American porn.

 

F*****g recycling...I'm sure it's replacing adultery, physical violence and holding partner's heads under the covers after a Madras fuelled fart as the number one reason cited for divorce.

 

New Labour, they've got a lot to answer for...

[Slave to the Grave 22]

You think you've all got it bad. No F*****g wheelie bins here in France. Bottles go to the bottle bank which happens to be in the school car park. Assembled mums exchange horrified glances as they draw their own conclusions about your family's excesses.

 

On the subject of Madras farts. I hear it's quite effective in a bubble bath as well, just let rip and then burst the bubbles under your loved one's nose.

[Six 22]

I know what you mean. We've got one of those recycling bins as well and it drives me nuts. As the bins are outside we now have a system just outside of the kitchen in the hallway, whereby all recyclable (?) stuff festers in a plastic box before someone gets round to dragging it outside.

 

This is a feat in itself and usually involves the kids dropping empty dog food tins and a week's worth of newspapers all over the front porch and me pissing myself laughing from the sofa. What really gets me about this recycling business is that a week's worth of empty Carling cans soon mount up and I have to run a gauntlet of the neighbours watching me staggering with an armful of empties (you're not allowed to put them in anything) and no doubt deriding me as a hopeless alcoholic. Especially her at number at twenty-seven. She's like that old Mrs Cravatte from Hancock's Half Hour. Bitch. I'm referring to her at number twenty-seven and not Patricia Haye's character.

 

I keep telling Mrs BHB that the binmen/recycling men don't check every bin, but she won't have it and waves every beer can I've tried to conceal at the bottom of the pedal bin like she did several magazines that time she discovered my stash of American porn.

 

F*****g recycling...I'm sure it's replacing adultery, physical violence and holding partner's heads under the covers after a Madras fuelled fart as the number one reason cited for divorce.

 

New Labour, they've got a lot to answer for...

 

Hilarious!

[Gunjaman5000 30]

No wheelie bins in the 'Southern-most' 'Garden City' either.

 

 

Only the much maligned recycling bin and overpriced plastic bags for dogs to rip open. I don't mind the recycling bin at all. It says to the neighbours "Look how much I can drink, I'm better than you" and "This is why I drive such a shitty car, I drink my savings" all in one go.

[The Four Horsemen 25]

I can confirm that there are wheelie bins in the Worlds First Garden City though - especially as those jolly binmen woke me up at some ungodly hour this morning with their "Warning - this vehicle is reversing" lorry and seemingly having some sort of competition to see who could hit the recycling cart from the furthest distance with the largest bottles. They've got all day, why do they feel the need to make a huge racket before the sun has even come up!

 

Must go for a lie down.........