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- a member for 19 years, 1 month and 26 days
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» Accidentally Erotic
Probably not the right time
Mrs Rabbits was about six hours into labour when we were asked if a student midwife could join the delivery team. Not a problem, we said. Only it turned out that said student was a 21 year old blonde nurse from Germany. Seeing this young lady with several fingers probing Mrs Rabbits front bottom and whispering 'Is that ok, jah?' created some troubling feelings deep within me.
In an act of faith I did confess such feelings at a later date to Mrs Rabbits. We have had no more children since.
(Fri 3rd Feb 2006, 12:13, More)
Probably not the right time
Mrs Rabbits was about six hours into labour when we were asked if a student midwife could join the delivery team. Not a problem, we said. Only it turned out that said student was a 21 year old blonde nurse from Germany. Seeing this young lady with several fingers probing Mrs Rabbits front bottom and whispering 'Is that ok, jah?' created some troubling feelings deep within me.
In an act of faith I did confess such feelings at a later date to Mrs Rabbits. We have had no more children since.
(Fri 3rd Feb 2006, 12:13, More)
» School Sports Day
Old Enough to Know Better
Not my sport's day, you understand......my son's.
The ridiculous father's race. By the time in the afternoon this came around I had consumed a couple of bottles of chilled wine in relaxed and pleasant surroundings. Absolutely NO WAY was I going to be involved in that sort of thing, thank you very much.
Five minutes later I was walking towards the start line fuelled with fatherly devotion ('please win the race, dad. We know you can') and the recently alcohol fuelled and wifely inspired competitive spirit ('reckons he's won it five years on the trot and this year's a walkover'). Off with the shoes and barging on the start line.
Gun goes and I'm off like a rocket. Carl Lewis eat your heart out. And I'm ahead. At half way. And still ahead. After 60 metres. And then it all went wrong. The grass track started to slope gently downhill at this point and so I started to, as they say in the athletics trade, 'over rotate'. For the last 30 metres or so I career along with windmill arms and legs, losing control of my balance until the inevitable crash came - scattering the judges behind the finish line and demolishing the front three rows of chairs after it.
Having beaten all the dads it turns out I was beaten by some 17 year old brother of a kid at the school. Apparently at this stage I was pulled off the chief judge, yelling that I wanted to see the winner's child's birth certificate, and give me the winner's medal, please, if you don't mind (in a colloquial fashion).
I was confined to the car for the next year's sports day.
(Thu 30th Mar 2006, 21:48, More)
Old Enough to Know Better
Not my sport's day, you understand......my son's.
The ridiculous father's race. By the time in the afternoon this came around I had consumed a couple of bottles of chilled wine in relaxed and pleasant surroundings. Absolutely NO WAY was I going to be involved in that sort of thing, thank you very much.
Five minutes later I was walking towards the start line fuelled with fatherly devotion ('please win the race, dad. We know you can') and the recently alcohol fuelled and wifely inspired competitive spirit ('reckons he's won it five years on the trot and this year's a walkover'). Off with the shoes and barging on the start line.
Gun goes and I'm off like a rocket. Carl Lewis eat your heart out. And I'm ahead. At half way. And still ahead. After 60 metres. And then it all went wrong. The grass track started to slope gently downhill at this point and so I started to, as they say in the athletics trade, 'over rotate'. For the last 30 metres or so I career along with windmill arms and legs, losing control of my balance until the inevitable crash came - scattering the judges behind the finish line and demolishing the front three rows of chairs after it.
Having beaten all the dads it turns out I was beaten by some 17 year old brother of a kid at the school. Apparently at this stage I was pulled off the chief judge, yelling that I wanted to see the winner's child's birth certificate, and give me the winner's medal, please, if you don't mind (in a colloquial fashion).
I was confined to the car for the next year's sports day.
(Thu 30th Mar 2006, 21:48, More)
» Apparently I'm a sex offender
Depends on your definition of a perv I suppose
Some people think that I'm a perv because I like watching Mrs Rabbits having sex with other women. And then joining in.
If you think that this is totally normally behaviour, click 'I like this'.
If you think this is pervy......get a life and try it at least once.
(Mon 21st Aug 2006, 22:47, More)
Depends on your definition of a perv I suppose
Some people think that I'm a perv because I like watching Mrs Rabbits having sex with other women. And then joining in.
If you think that this is totally normally behaviour, click 'I like this'.
If you think this is pervy......get a life and try it at least once.
(Mon 21st Aug 2006, 22:47, More)
» Airport Stories
Not so much a fear of flying as....
....a fear of crashing.
I've got progressively more frightened of flying over the years despite having to travel abroad several times a year on business. In the early 90's I regularly flew from Stansted to Edinburgh, flying out on the first flight of the day - about 6.30am ish if I remember.
Now there is an unwritten rule in business travel that paying attention to the cabin crew whilst they give announcements and safety advice is just girly tartishness and shows you're not an experienced, hugely cocked member of the travelling business community. So I studiously studied my newspaper as the stewardess advised that, as this was the first flight of the day, condensation would come out of the air con grills when the engines started off. Nothing to be alarmed about at all.
Unfortunately I had missed all of this, and seeing the 'smoke' coming out of the grills all along the plane, and being the girly flying tart that I am, I leap to my feet and shout 'FUCKING HELL THE PLANE'S ON FIRE'.
For the rest of the flight I was subjected to what one could only call unrelenting smirking from my fellow passengers and undisguised loathing by the cabin crew.
(Sat 4th Mar 2006, 22:11, More)
Not so much a fear of flying as....
....a fear of crashing.
I've got progressively more frightened of flying over the years despite having to travel abroad several times a year on business. In the early 90's I regularly flew from Stansted to Edinburgh, flying out on the first flight of the day - about 6.30am ish if I remember.
Now there is an unwritten rule in business travel that paying attention to the cabin crew whilst they give announcements and safety advice is just girly tartishness and shows you're not an experienced, hugely cocked member of the travelling business community. So I studiously studied my newspaper as the stewardess advised that, as this was the first flight of the day, condensation would come out of the air con grills when the engines started off. Nothing to be alarmed about at all.
Unfortunately I had missed all of this, and seeing the 'smoke' coming out of the grills all along the plane, and being the girly flying tart that I am, I leap to my feet and shout 'FUCKING HELL THE PLANE'S ON FIRE'.
For the rest of the flight I was subjected to what one could only call unrelenting smirking from my fellow passengers and undisguised loathing by the cabin crew.
(Sat 4th Mar 2006, 22:11, More)