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Oh dear, wish I wasn't posting this after the last message, but here goes...


One of my favourite posts of all time, made me howl with laughter. In a sympathetic way, of course. :-$ The sparkly tights are particularly good.


mightyroar Wrote:

-------------------------------------------------------

> parenthood

>

> Walk past child in corridoor as we come in from

> laugh a minute trek around sainsburys, carrying

> heavy bags (always carry more than is confortable

> in stupid attempt to get the whole thing done

> quicker). So arms hurting carrier bag straps

> cutting into flesh, of course we live in the

> upstairs flat so stairs still to go. did i mention

> howling rain and wind outside having had to park

> miles from house?, child dawdling in front of me,

> so step past child. Child remains in (shared)

> coridoor.

>

> Shouts: 'You are in front of me. I'm not in the

> lead. I'm not in the lead I'm not in the lead'

> Descends into angry tears lies on floor screaming,

> until carried still screaming inside.

>

> Later, attempting to leave house to pick up other

> child from school. Screams: 'Not wearing socks. no

> socks. no no no no'

> Fetch tights from upstairs.. screams'Not those

> tights. sparkly tights' Hops up and down to

> emphasise point. fetch more tights. Urge at this

> stage to shout something really bad at child or

> use brute force really really strong. attempt to

> remain calm. Eventually leave after converation

> continues in this style for several minutes.

> Arrive at school 10 minutes late, other child

> crying on mat as is last to be called by

> teacher.manage to make out 'I thought you weren't

> coming' through sobs.

>

> Friends at dinner later. one says:

>

> 'So you're not working at all just looking after

> the two of them?'

>

> NOT F*CKING WORKING?

> Dont f*cking patronise me with your easy life

> breeze of a rewarding career. Grown up people talk

> to you in a grown up way and actually listen to

> some of what you say. You use your computer for

> other things than CBeebies. and you get to visit

> the toilet without an entourage enquiring into

> what exactly you are doing and trying to sit on

> your lap whilst you do it. AND you get paid!

thanks Moos. at least now it's summer we arent worrying about tights anymore!


agreed, the meths post from Keef is very fine indeed.


on the same threat Asset's response to the job search question also made me smirk a good deal:


If you really want to know. Daddy bought me a two bedroomed place and I wouldn't say we are landed exactly as the estate only has 50 or so acres.

I've drifted in and out of PR jobs for companies that Daddy's chums own - it's been fab!

Thought I might get real and try and get a proper job now though.

When you say deliver, do you mean as in providing the best quality large chicken kebab, and possibly a cheeky beer or two on a late Friday/early Saturday return from on the lash?

Or do you mean, are there any kebab shops that might deliver said comestible to your home?

As John Cooper-Clarke once remarked 'suffering Jesus this aint my venue' And I reckon he knows a thing or two about kebabs.

Unless you go to the kebab restaurant itself, see it being prepared before your drunk unfocussed eyes, vetoed the chilli sauce (or not, if that's your bag, man, live like you wanna live) and taken it home, having not had it wrapped in a plastic bag so that it gets all sweaty then you're not really a kebab person, and should stick to the safer forms of home delivery.

You know the ones. In the time it has taken me to type this, there'll have been a half-dozen of those menus thrust through your letterbox. Jolly good many will be an' all.

So the rules of kebab are:

1. I will always be outside my home, preferably on the way back there when I become involved with one.

2. Prior to this I will have taken, with friends, an immoderate amount of alcohol.

3. The effect said alcohol will have on me, will be to dull my senses to a degree that I think I can pull a 20 year old in the kebab house, but not to the extent that I'm prepared to fight her 18 year old boyfriend, who will tell me that if I'm prepared to 'diss' him he wil take me outside and 'f@ck me up'. He will also confidently inform me that if by some fluke I better him in combat, he has confederates who will trace me to my home address and seek retribution on his behalf.

4. Realise that though I have taken on board an injudicious amount of alcohol, I have no desire to become a crime statistic.

5. Raise my upturned palms and slightly bent elbows in the internationally recognised gesture for 'what a terrible misunderstanding, how could we two reasonable people have come to this?'

6. Watch couple snatch their food from friendly (but when it comes to siding with anyone is Swiss in his neutrality) proprieter, and leave, with some teeth-kissing that I imagine is directed at the amount of time they've been kept waiting. Possibly.

7. Order a large chicken kebab. And two/three/four beers.

8. Reject chilli sauce.

9. Accept plastic bag to carry home the polystyrene pod.

10.Do not allow it to be tied up. Let your kebab breathe. It was once a living thing you know.

11.Walk home.

12.Put oven on low heat. Place polysterene pod on tray in oven.

13.Turn on DVD and TV and insert series 9 of Seinfeld. Open first of beers. Laugh immoderately at series 9 of Seinfeld. Open second and third of beers. Fall asleep.

14.Awake at 8:15am on Saturday morning.

15.Get kebab from oven. Burn hands.

16.Eat kebab for breakfast with leftover beer.

17.Wish you'd had the chilli sauce after all.

18.Shrug philosophically, and watch the final episode of Seinfeld, knowing it's not that good, but knowing that you must.


Know that no matter how poor the experience of buying a kebab form a shop might be, it can't possibly be as appalling as having one delivered.



Replace Seinfeld with Simpsons/Team America/Dodgeball/Napoleon Dynamite and that is like reading my own autobiography!

honaloochie worthy of the two ronnies..


"I've decided to put two films to a line to save space, and I'm sick of puntuation.


The Cook The Thief His Wife And Her Lover On The Buses

Carry On Screaming Carrie

McCabe And Mrs Miller Driller Killer

The Deep Heat

I Spit On Your Grave Mrs Doubtfire"

A spanker from Brendan on the Northerners thread.


"It?s crap down here anyway.


I were down Bolton high street two weekend back and it were great. I go up to barmaid in pub and says, ?pint of larger and 3 vodka and cokes for me please luv and a WKD blue for me missus.?


?No problem.? she says, ?that?ll be a fiver.? and hands them over.


A fiver! You can?t piss on a tramp in London for a fiver. And this weren?t just any old pub, Yates Wine Bar it were. Propper posh.


Anyway so I?ve not got through me first two drinks when this group of lasses walk in. All giggling and stuff like. Not one of them wearing enough clothing to cover their bras and knickers. You ?ave to pay good money for that kind of entertainment on Lordship Lane on a Friday. And the way they battered those lads who were standing over by fruit machine." It were class.

  • 2 weeks later...
on honeymoon????


No, I can exclusively reveal that the new Mr & Mrs Mockney Piers have not yet departed.

I bumped into Mockney this morning, just after I bumped into another forumite making his, somewhat tardy, way to work (mentioning no names... Brendan.)


Is it weird that I feel like I should be posting this on the famous people thread?

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