Profile for gfreeman:
First off, I am not Gordon of Half-Life fame. I am Graham. There. Glad we sorted that out.
I live in Canada. I used to live in the UK, but it got too crap. Canada is much nicer, friendlier, cleaner - but it can get a bit nippy in winter.
This is a piccie of me:
I am forty-something years old. Honest.
Here is my FoldsFive pixelation:
I started a badge collection:
Add me as a FB friend, you bastards:
Some of my b3ta images at
http://www.gfreeman.com/images/b3ta
My first front page:
Miss Norway wins Miss World:
Arf:
Tower 42 takes Bank Holidays seriously:
Mixer taps:
Astronomy humour:
Fore!:
This was a real ad in the yellow pages:
One knob and you're nibbled:
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First off, I am not Gordon of Half-Life fame. I am Graham. There. Glad we sorted that out.
I live in Canada. I used to live in the UK, but it got too crap. Canada is much nicer, friendlier, cleaner - but it can get a bit nippy in winter.
This is a piccie of me:
I am forty-something years old. Honest.
Here is my FoldsFive pixelation:
I started a badge collection:
Add me as a FB friend, you bastards:
Some of my b3ta images at
http://www.gfreeman.com/images/b3ta
My first front page:
Miss Norway wins Miss World:
Arf:
Tower 42 takes Bank Holidays seriously:
Mixer taps:
Astronomy humour:
Fore!:
This was a real ad in the yellow pages:
One knob and you're nibbled:
Starfish Enterprise:
Recent front page messages:
Best answers to questions:
» Airport Stories
Emigration Valentine style
I married a Canadian, which means I got the choice to carry on living in the UK, or up sticks and move to Canada. After nanoseconds of thought, I decided to emigrate to Canada.
So after filling in the forms, submitting various bodily fluids for testing, paying who knows how much money, and then waiting almost a year, I had my permanent visa approved. So we sold the house and booked our one-way flight to Canada.
We were flying out on Valetines Day, which was the first Saturday of half term that year. We checked out of the hotel [Another long story, but never, ever stay at the Radisson at Heathrow] and somehow got a cab despite the hotel's attempts to keep us from being on time. Heathrow was packed (half term, remember?), and it took over an hour just to get inside the terminal - the queues were that long. This despite us arriving three hours before take off, like the good little travellers we are.
We'd booked World Traveller Plus for a couple of hundred quid extra, which means you get an extra peanut or something, rather than the usual cattle-class World Traveller. Hey, we're leaving the country for good, so why not splash out a bit? Anyway, we finally get to the check-in desk about 45 mins before the flight, and we're told that we were lucky - we were being bumped to business class. Yes! We were so excited, but we didn't have long to celebrate as it took 30 mins to get through security - so any duty free shopping had to be done at top speed.
I was feeling pumped about being upgraded, about leaving the litter-strewn land of my birth, about it being Valentine's Day, about having a few grand in the bank after selling the house ... So I decided to buy the wife a ring. A really, really expensive ring. We headed for the high-falootin' jewelery shop, and I asked wifey to pick out the ring she liked best. We settled on one that came to a couple of quid less than a grand, so I waved the Visa card and the sales assistant went into the back to call the credit card company.
It took ages, and I was getting worried that we'd miss the flight. After lots of too-ing and fro-ing, and me talking to Visa and telling them my mum's inside leg measurement or whatever passes for a security test, they finally let us go, the ring having been well and truly paid for.
We run like maniacs to the gate, slap down the boarding passes, and wheeze that we've been bumped to business class, and sorry we're late.
"Oh noes!", says the airline chick, "you're not in business class at all!!11!!1oneone!1!".
I wept silently for a split second, until she added "you've been further upgraded to first class".
Bottom line - we flew first class (free shampers & Belgian choccies, and horizontal bed-sized seats) on our way out of the UK, my wife got a sparkly multi-diamond platinum ring, and my life in a new continent started on a high.
Of course when we landed and it was minus 40 and three feet of snow, but twas a grand day.
(Fri 3rd Mar 2006, 18:35, More)
Emigration Valentine style
I married a Canadian, which means I got the choice to carry on living in the UK, or up sticks and move to Canada. After nanoseconds of thought, I decided to emigrate to Canada.
So after filling in the forms, submitting various bodily fluids for testing, paying who knows how much money, and then waiting almost a year, I had my permanent visa approved. So we sold the house and booked our one-way flight to Canada.
We were flying out on Valetines Day, which was the first Saturday of half term that year. We checked out of the hotel [Another long story, but never, ever stay at the Radisson at Heathrow] and somehow got a cab despite the hotel's attempts to keep us from being on time. Heathrow was packed (half term, remember?), and it took over an hour just to get inside the terminal - the queues were that long. This despite us arriving three hours before take off, like the good little travellers we are.
We'd booked World Traveller Plus for a couple of hundred quid extra, which means you get an extra peanut or something, rather than the usual cattle-class World Traveller. Hey, we're leaving the country for good, so why not splash out a bit? Anyway, we finally get to the check-in desk about 45 mins before the flight, and we're told that we were lucky - we were being bumped to business class. Yes! We were so excited, but we didn't have long to celebrate as it took 30 mins to get through security - so any duty free shopping had to be done at top speed.
I was feeling pumped about being upgraded, about leaving the litter-strewn land of my birth, about it being Valentine's Day, about having a few grand in the bank after selling the house ... So I decided to buy the wife a ring. A really, really expensive ring. We headed for the high-falootin' jewelery shop, and I asked wifey to pick out the ring she liked best. We settled on one that came to a couple of quid less than a grand, so I waved the Visa card and the sales assistant went into the back to call the credit card company.
It took ages, and I was getting worried that we'd miss the flight. After lots of too-ing and fro-ing, and me talking to Visa and telling them my mum's inside leg measurement or whatever passes for a security test, they finally let us go, the ring having been well and truly paid for.
We run like maniacs to the gate, slap down the boarding passes, and wheeze that we've been bumped to business class, and sorry we're late.
"Oh noes!", says the airline chick, "you're not in business class at all!!11!!1oneone!1!".
I wept silently for a split second, until she added "you've been further upgraded to first class".
Bottom line - we flew first class (free shampers & Belgian choccies, and horizontal bed-sized seats) on our way out of the UK, my wife got a sparkly multi-diamond platinum ring, and my life in a new continent started on a high.
Of course when we landed and it was minus 40 and three feet of snow, but twas a grand day.
(Fri 3rd Mar 2006, 18:35, More)
» Conspicuous Consumption
All that was missing was the royalty
For my honeymoon I wanted to go overboard. Full on monty, never to be topped. My betrothed was half Italian but never had been to Italy. So I thought "What's the most romantic place in Italy?"
Venice, I thought. And what's the most romantic way to get there? Orient Express, I thought. So I said to myself "sod the cost" and booked a trip to Venice on the Orient Express, and a room in the best hotel in Venice that I could find.
The stretch limo had trouble reversing down our very thin cul de sac the morning of departure, but it did feel weird having about 30 feet of leg room and a bottle of bubbly at 8am in the morning on the way to Victoria station.
Checked in wearing suit and tie, shiny shoes, and the new wife wearing a summer dress. Brunch on the way to the channel was dainty and the service delightful.
The sun was beginning to set when we got to Paris, and the train carried on through as we got into our Dinner Jackets/Tuxuedos and the ladies squiggled into their little black dresses. A piano tinkled, a real honest to god grand fucking piano on a train, and dinner was served. It seemed to be as many endangered species as you could cram onto a plate, with wine that would set James Bond's accountant crying into his linen hankie.
Honeymoon shagging ensued after dinner, and I'm sure we crossed a couple of borders on the way. Who else has literally shagged their way across Europe?
In the morning we were high in the Alps, crossing into Italy, and the missus burst into tears because she was "home". Pulled into Venice that evening and continued the opulence, tipping like a madman and generally being an upper class arse for the weekend.
Fuck, you need to just let go once in your life. Shame she turned into a real cunt and I divorced her a couple of years ago, but it was one of those weekends where it all went right and minions did our bidding.
Pip pip.
(Fri 29th Jul 2011, 15:59, More)
All that was missing was the royalty
For my honeymoon I wanted to go overboard. Full on monty, never to be topped. My betrothed was half Italian but never had been to Italy. So I thought "What's the most romantic place in Italy?"
Venice, I thought. And what's the most romantic way to get there? Orient Express, I thought. So I said to myself "sod the cost" and booked a trip to Venice on the Orient Express, and a room in the best hotel in Venice that I could find.
The stretch limo had trouble reversing down our very thin cul de sac the morning of departure, but it did feel weird having about 30 feet of leg room and a bottle of bubbly at 8am in the morning on the way to Victoria station.
Checked in wearing suit and tie, shiny shoes, and the new wife wearing a summer dress. Brunch on the way to the channel was dainty and the service delightful.
The sun was beginning to set when we got to Paris, and the train carried on through as we got into our Dinner Jackets/Tuxuedos and the ladies squiggled into their little black dresses. A piano tinkled, a real honest to god grand fucking piano on a train, and dinner was served. It seemed to be as many endangered species as you could cram onto a plate, with wine that would set James Bond's accountant crying into his linen hankie.
Honeymoon shagging ensued after dinner, and I'm sure we crossed a couple of borders on the way. Who else has literally shagged their way across Europe?
In the morning we were high in the Alps, crossing into Italy, and the missus burst into tears because she was "home". Pulled into Venice that evening and continued the opulence, tipping like a madman and generally being an upper class arse for the weekend.
Fuck, you need to just let go once in your life. Shame she turned into a real cunt and I divorced her a couple of years ago, but it was one of those weekends where it all went right and minions did our bidding.
Pip pip.
(Fri 29th Jul 2011, 15:59, More)