» Things you've done when you've had no money.

Pizza-go-go
I offered my housemate a blowjob in return for a slice of pizza.

B*stard declined saying he really was THAT hungry...
(Mon 11th Oct 2004, 9:55, More)

» The Onosecond

Sheesh, another one...
It was my first *proper* job from the tender age of 17, working as a "document processing operative" (read "typist")...

One hot, sunny Friday afternoon, (during those final few hours before I would be released to enjoy a weekend of partying) when the rest of my colleagues had failed to return from the pub as usual, I found myself typing out the equivalent of War and Peace. The office was stuffy, I was longing for freedom and my mind began to wander, but finally 5.30 arrived and I scooted out the door with a whoop of joy...

The onosecond didn't hit until the Monday morning when my boss took me aside... As it turns out, my colleagues had returned from the pub shortly after I'd left and had gone straight into a meeting, having grabbed my afternoon's work and shoved it into the copier before distributing it to the rest of the department... As he was relating this to me for reasons that were soon to become clear, he pushed the circulated papers at me and urged me to read...

I got about half a page in before that wave of nausea hit - not only had my mind wandered on that sweltering afternoon, but my wanderings had taken written form... It was all there, the outfit I'd planned to wear for Friday night, my pursuit of the current romantic target and chances of success...

Fortunately they thought it was a good laugh, but I still feel mortified just thinking about it...
(Fri 27th May 2005, 15:35, More)

» Injured Siblings

The Typewriter...
Many years ago when I could still prove a worthy foe for my now 6ft tall, hard-as-nails younger brother, we fought like cat and dog but fortunately we never did each other any serious harm...

The main cause for this was that despite being a kicker and a biter in my younger years, my weapon of choice was the Typewriter. During an argument I would drag my little brother (3 years my junior) onto the floor, sit on him and tap frantically away at his chest (hence the Typewriter), and every time he protested or tried to wriggle free I'd push his face to one side with a "TING!" for the carriage return (what can I say, it was years ago).

The best thing about it was he'd usually end up laughing and serious violence would be averted. If only all the world's troubles could be tackled with a good old fashioned typewriter...
(Tue 23rd Aug 2005, 14:28, More)

» Posh

Yikes...
My ex's folks aspired to poshness... They made the best of his bastard status by giving him a truly horrendous double-barrelled surname (for which reason I'm grateful that the relationship ended before I was lumbered with the damn thing). And he called them Mummy and Daddy. Even to other people. The shame of it...

I remember once being severely told off for eating grapes off the stalk when I should "nip the stalks with a knife dear, it's so revolting to leave them like that"...

Now I eat grapes how I like. Peeled, with a warm summer fruit coulis in a cage of spun sugar.
(Mon 19th Sep 2005, 11:31, More)

» Scary Neighbours

Buhlimey
Where do I start?

With the couple in the flat upstairs who used to sing along with the theme tune to Friends every Friday night without fail (complete with claps)?

Or with my former landlord's girlfriend who caught my housemate smoking in the yard and proceeded to scream the house down while emptying his cupboards into a bin liner and screeching for the police?

Maybe I should start with another former landlord who would barge straight into my room when I'd just got out the shower? After a while I realised I could hear him breathing through the door moments before he opened it (shudder). Actually the housemates were all freaks too, next door's hamster used to be let out every night and at 4am I'd hear it eating my bedroom door while its owners had very loud domestic disputes (or romantic interludes, usually preceeded my Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On - I kid you not!)

The latest mad neighbour just likes to demand that we chop down random plants and calls the council every few weeks to report some heinous (and completely imaginary) crime committed by my housemates. And if you so much as drive slowly over their parking space, don't be surprised to see them leaning out of the window with a sawn-off. Happy days.

It's definitely time I moved to that desert island...
(Thu 25th Aug 2005, 14:56, More)