» What was I thinking?

Bad day
Many moons ago I was happily working in the stockroom of a shop when I reached a bit too far whilst stacking some boxes on high shelves. During my frantic descent I somehow managed to catch my wedding ring on something hooky, which left me hanging mid-air for a second before I was free-falling again and the bloke who should have been holding the ladder broke my fall. My ring had cut right into the soft tissue at the bottom of my finger, much blood ensued. Being a stoic type at the time I wrapped it up with a cleaning cloth and shortly afterwards headed home. In retrospect a trip to A&E might have been a bit more prudent.

On the way back my ancient Audi's exhaust chucked the latest 'temporary' (8 months) patch on its exhast and I spluttered the last few miles back to Riffjedibaby Villas. One of the very few redeeming features of this former residence was a garage in the back garden with an inspection pit.

After cleaning the finger up a bit and thinking "I should have taken that ring off whilst I had the chance" because the bottom of my finger was starting to swell, I bandaged it up again and put the car in the garage to start working on my latest gun gum/chicken wire/coke can repair.

Half an hour later my latest creation seemed to be holding up but the finger was now swollen and angry and starting to indicate through the medium of acute pain that I should do something fairly quickly to relieve the swelling.

Again, the prudent move would have been A&E but (due to another totally unrelated finger getting trapped in something daft experience) I knew that the fire brigade would inevitably be called to cut the ring off with a grotesque can-opener type device and I couldn't be doing with all the fuss.

So I fetched a hacksaw and secured as much of the ring in a bench vice as I could and started to carefully saw it off.

The ring I mean, not the finger.

Incredibly this did just the trick, not too much self inflicted additional damage and an immense feeling of relief when circulation was restored.

In a giddy whisky and analgesic fuelled mood I stepped back from the bench to admire my home surgery success, straight into the open inspection pit.

As I lay in the oily gunk of the pit marvelling at how much skin I'd scraped off on my second descent of the day, I realised what the inexplicable decision was that brought me here.




Marriage.



Length? Almost 20 years. Depth, about 5 foot.
(Wed 29th Sep 2010, 22:53, More)

» Fears and Phobias

Legless proper scared me once
Worst shit ever

Love

Reeva xx
(Sat 13th Sep 2014, 22:52, More)

» Silly Achievements

sausage
Back in the early 80s, my next door neighbour & I enjoyed filling the time between spliffs by sending off for every freepost offer in the back of magazines and having a laugh at the stream of inappropriately addressed junk mail that dropped through our doors each day. We even had a personal visit from a finance company after we'd expressed an interest in borrowing some money (got a free Parker pen with that one).

"Is there a Mrs Pindet at home today please?"
"Errm..which one?"
"It's a Mrs. Dee Pindet we'd like to speak to?"

After a couple of months of this we decided that we had enough pens and started thinking about the relative merits of annoying minor celebrities. About this time a certain Stuart Hall was on the telly a lot. News slots, sport reporting, It's a Knockout. His trademark look was a stripy shirt, white collar and outrageous ties. I couldn't stand the cunt and rather than having to listen to the local news and be outraged by his neckwear I started making plain paper ties that you could blutak to your TV screen thus reducing retinal pain by up to 20%.

One evening my friend and I penned a letter to Mr Hall addressed to him at the TV studios he worked from suggesting that we could start up a fanclub for him. We even floated the idea of custom paper ties for members. If I recall correctly we went for random pseudonyms and were surprised and delighted to receive a nice big envelope franked by the BBC addressed to Aard Strider and Jericho Cadbury. Along with the signed photos ("all the best Aard & Jerry!") was a genuine offer for us to run his fanclub and speak to his 'people' about financial remuneration. He even liked the paper tie idea.

Sadly due to the massive drugs, we never followed him up on his offer and he ended up going to jail. Jericho and I drifted apart. He'd kept our scrapbook of silly junk mail and the correspondence from Stuart and other minor celebrities we'd annoyed.

A few years ago I bumped into Jericho and asked him if he'd kept any of the letters. He reckoned they were somewhere in his loft, couldn't be arsed looking for them but if they turned up he'd let me know.

I looked him up on Facebook last week and sent him a message to ask about the evidence of our creative genius and he basically told me to fuck off as he had more important things to worry about on his life and that I should just fucking grow up. I'm sure he's still got everything filed away in his loft.

If this isn't an example of a surly archivement then frankly I'll be sausaged.
(Fri 17th Oct 2014, 16:38, More)

» Bodge Jobs

Sorry
To the person who bought my very old Audi 80, the bolts (which I trust are still) holding your automatic gearbox together aren't exactly the manufacturer's original parts. They are scattered somewhere on the M6, the bolts I used to bodge it were from the concrete panels attached to the pillars in my old garage.

Sorry

To the person who bought my old house off me, I believe some bastard stole the bolts holding your garage together and it fell down just after contracts were exchanged, what a total bummer. You don't drive an old Audi 80 auto by any chance?

Length? Almost exactly the right size.
(Sun 13th Mar 2011, 21:13, More)

» Tragic Attempts at Being Cool

18, a gold paisley cravat
and a fucking pipe.
(Fri 13th Nov 2015, 10:26, More)