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- a member for 22 years, 5 months and 12 days
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- has posted 8 stories and 1 replies on question of the week
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Got an idea for a b3ta image challenge? Then post it here. Hooray!
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» Never Meet Your Heroes
Nick Cave
In the early days of Xfm Radio I booked all the interviews and live sessions. During one of our trial broadcasts I'd arranged for Nick Cave to come in, and he turned up a bit worse for wear.
I took his PR girl aside and had a word - "look, we've got to be careful here, we're tying to get a broadcasting license and can't afford any cock-ups - is Nick going to behave himself?" She went away, spoke to the singer and came back, saying that he'd promised to be good.
So he goes on the air, and the DJ greets him by saying "So, Nick, thanks for coming in. How are you?"
And Nick shouts "I'M AS DRUNK AS A FUCKING CUNT".
It was years before I could listen to the Bad Seeds again.
(Thu 25th May 2006, 14:53, More)
Nick Cave
In the early days of Xfm Radio I booked all the interviews and live sessions. During one of our trial broadcasts I'd arranged for Nick Cave to come in, and he turned up a bit worse for wear.
I took his PR girl aside and had a word - "look, we've got to be careful here, we're tying to get a broadcasting license and can't afford any cock-ups - is Nick going to behave himself?" She went away, spoke to the singer and came back, saying that he'd promised to be good.
So he goes on the air, and the DJ greets him by saying "So, Nick, thanks for coming in. How are you?"
And Nick shouts "I'M AS DRUNK AS A FUCKING CUNT".
It was years before I could listen to the Bad Seeds again.
(Thu 25th May 2006, 14:53, More)
» Sacked
Mayonnaise Revenge
My only sacking came at my first job, as a salad monkey at a well-known McRestaurant in Northampton. The manager was a vicious type, and seemed to delight in giving me any number of ludicrous tasks. After spending one afternoon clinging precariously to the roof of the building cleaning the outside of the skylight above the staff changing room (see what I mean?), I was summoned for another duty, this time to clean out the dirt from between the tiles on the restaurant floor. When I asked for a bucket and mop, he grinned and handed me a toothbrush.
Unwilling to face this humilation, I grabbed the nearest thing (the mayonnaise gun), and shot him in the face. Wiping the creamy discharge away, he screamed that I was fired. "Fine", I shouted back, "I'll go get a job at Wimpey", as if this carried some kind of threat.
And that was that. I walked.
(Thu 23rd Feb 2006, 19:56, More)
Mayonnaise Revenge
My only sacking came at my first job, as a salad monkey at a well-known McRestaurant in Northampton. The manager was a vicious type, and seemed to delight in giving me any number of ludicrous tasks. After spending one afternoon clinging precariously to the roof of the building cleaning the outside of the skylight above the staff changing room (see what I mean?), I was summoned for another duty, this time to clean out the dirt from between the tiles on the restaurant floor. When I asked for a bucket and mop, he grinned and handed me a toothbrush.
Unwilling to face this humilation, I grabbed the nearest thing (the mayonnaise gun), and shot him in the face. Wiping the creamy discharge away, he screamed that I was fired. "Fine", I shouted back, "I'll go get a job at Wimpey", as if this carried some kind of threat.
And that was that. I walked.
(Thu 23rd Feb 2006, 19:56, More)
» My first experience of porn
Stuck In A Lift
Like a lot of twelve year-olds, I had a paper round, and once a month I had a delivery that took me to a block of flats that wasn't otherwise on my route. I'd get in the lift, press the top button and deliver a magazine wrapped in brown paper to one of the flats. I never knew what the magazine was, but I found out the day the lift failed between floors. After pressing the alarm for several minutes and not hearing a response, I sat down on the floor of the lift and pondered what to do next. Only one possibility, really: I unwrapped the package to reveal, much to my eager suprise, a pristine copy of Hustler magazine. Apart from the extremely graphic nature of the shots, the thing I remember most about the experience was the smell of the varnish used on the pages, and the look of surprise on the fireman's face as he prised the door open an hour later to reveal an extremely embarrased-looking child attempting to conceal a well-thumbed porn mag...
(Fri 26th Jan 2007, 9:41, More)
Stuck In A Lift
Like a lot of twelve year-olds, I had a paper round, and once a month I had a delivery that took me to a block of flats that wasn't otherwise on my route. I'd get in the lift, press the top button and deliver a magazine wrapped in brown paper to one of the flats. I never knew what the magazine was, but I found out the day the lift failed between floors. After pressing the alarm for several minutes and not hearing a response, I sat down on the floor of the lift and pondered what to do next. Only one possibility, really: I unwrapped the package to reveal, much to my eager suprise, a pristine copy of Hustler magazine. Apart from the extremely graphic nature of the shots, the thing I remember most about the experience was the smell of the varnish used on the pages, and the look of surprise on the fireman's face as he prised the door open an hour later to reveal an extremely embarrased-looking child attempting to conceal a well-thumbed porn mag...
(Fri 26th Jan 2007, 9:41, More)
» Apparently I'm a sex offender
Frottage
Copied from an entry in my blog from a while back...
Some years ago I was heading home from work on London’s Northern Line. My train arrives at Leicester Square, slap-bang in the middle of the rush-hour, and is packed. I squeeze on, followed by a couple of dozen fellow commuters, and pretty soon we’re all scrabbling for air and room to stand.
I’m crushed between four people at a near 45% angle, but can’t move to make myself more comfortable, a predicament heightened when the train pulls to a stop in the middle of a tunnel and shows no sign of moving. I try and tug myself into a comfortable position (so to speak), at which point the woman I’ve been leaning against swivels round, glares at me and shouts, “EXCUSE ME! WILL YOU STOP TOUCHING ME?” The entire carriage goes silent and two hundred heads turn to stare at the pervert in their midst. It’s awful. I redden from head to toe, mumble a denial, and am grateful that the train starts to move almost immediately. I flee at the next station, leaving behind a wake of silently shaking heads, as others mutter angrily about how London simply isn’t safe for women travellers these days.
Wanna know the really weird part? The woman concerned was a former (very minor) Coronation Street actress.
(Fri 18th Aug 2006, 9:03, More)
Frottage
Copied from an entry in my blog from a while back...
Some years ago I was heading home from work on London’s Northern Line. My train arrives at Leicester Square, slap-bang in the middle of the rush-hour, and is packed. I squeeze on, followed by a couple of dozen fellow commuters, and pretty soon we’re all scrabbling for air and room to stand.
I’m crushed between four people at a near 45% angle, but can’t move to make myself more comfortable, a predicament heightened when the train pulls to a stop in the middle of a tunnel and shows no sign of moving. I try and tug myself into a comfortable position (so to speak), at which point the woman I’ve been leaning against swivels round, glares at me and shouts, “EXCUSE ME! WILL YOU STOP TOUCHING ME?” The entire carriage goes silent and two hundred heads turn to stare at the pervert in their midst. It’s awful. I redden from head to toe, mumble a denial, and am grateful that the train starts to move almost immediately. I flee at the next station, leaving behind a wake of silently shaking heads, as others mutter angrily about how London simply isn’t safe for women travellers these days.
Wanna know the really weird part? The woman concerned was a former (very minor) Coronation Street actress.
(Fri 18th Aug 2006, 9:03, More)