This time is was a Hovis Bread van. Delivering to our village's Sainsburys Local. Twonk parked opposite said store, on the corner of the road that leads to the station, so not only blocking one lane of traffic he also blocked anyone trying to get out of the station. The Sainsburys has a car park & a special marked bay for deliveries !!!!.
is this Borough Green? Because I have had exactly the same experience opposite that Sainsbury's, it was the day Miere was on talkSPORT and I was already at gasket blowing levels of anger. The fucking idiot was properly blocking the road, couldn't see past him and you are right, there is tons of space to park a delivery truck in the car park.
I went bolo, proper red faced rage. An old west indian dear joined in as well and told him he was a fucking selfish jelk (whatever one of those is)
Yep...BG. Was just about to lean out the window & sarcastically clap him but the car in front managed to get round so followed suit.
Back in the nineties when I was regularly going to gigs they’d announce what day the tickets were going on sale and where from (my place of choice was and still is Stragreen) . If you really wanted to go you turned up a couple of hours early and queued up and would be certain that your effort would be rewarded with tickets.
Now using the internet it’s just pot luck and most seem to go to resale sites.
Also in those days you paid for your ticket and it was handed to you there and then, nowadays you wait until about two weeks before the event until you get them even to the extent that I am waiting on tickets right now for an event at the end of June which I paid for in December, worst of all they are print at home ones so why could I not print them months ago?
Back in the nineties when I was regularly going to gigs they’d announce what day the tickets were going on sale and where from (my place of choice was and still is Stragreen) . If you really wanted to go you turned up a couple of hours early and queued up and would be certain that your effort would be rewarded with tickets.
Now using the internet it’s just pot luck and most seem to go to resale sites.
Also in those days you paid for your ticket and it was handed to you there and then, nowadays you wait until about two weeks before the event until you get them even to the extent that I am waiting on tickets right now for an event at the end of June which I paid for in December, worst of all they are print at home ones so why could I not print them months ago?
It’s also a piss take when they levy the same handling fee for posting your tickets as they do for print at home. I always select the postal option in these instances.
Back in the nineties when I was regularly going to gigs they’d announce what day the tickets were going on sale and where from (my place of choice was and still is Stragreen) . If you really wanted to go you turned up a couple of hours early and queued up and would be certain that your effort would be rewarded with tickets.
Now using the internet it’s just pot luck and most seem to go to resale sites.
Also in those days you paid for your ticket and it was handed to you there and then, nowadays you wait until about two weeks before the event until you get them even to the extent that I am waiting on tickets right now for an event at the end of June which I paid for in December, worst of all they are print at home ones so why could I not print them months ago?
Back in the nineties when I was regularly going to gigs they’d announce what day the tickets were going on sale and where from (my place of choice was and still is Stragreen) . If you really wanted to go you turned up a couple of hours early and queued up and would be certain that your effort would be rewarded with tickets.
Now using the internet it’s just pot luck and most seem to go to resale sites.
Also in those days you paid for your ticket and it was handed to you there and then, nowadays you wait until about two weeks before the event until you get them even to the extent that I am waiting on tickets right now for an event at the end of June which I paid for in December, worst of all they are print at home ones so why could I not print them months ago?
Back in the nineties when I was regularly going to gigs they’d announce what day the tickets were going on sale and where from (my place of choice was and still is Stragreen) . If you really wanted to go you turned up a couple of hours early and queued up and would be certain that your effort would be rewarded with tickets.
Now using the internet it’s just pot luck and most seem to go to resale sites.
Also in those days you paid for your ticket and it was handed to you there and then, nowadays you wait until about two weeks before the event until you get them even to the extent that I am waiting on tickets right now for an event at the end of June which I paid for in December, worst of all they are print at home ones so why could I not print them months ago?
maybe so you don't re-sell them ???
The line "and most seem to go to resale sites." would indicate that's not the case Golfie? Or if it is, it isn't working...
I’ve had two days of meetings and faffing about in London and I’m sure on each of the short walks I did between offices and tubes every single piece of flying/floating dust/jizz and pigshit was magnetically attracted to both my eyeballs. I’m gonna have to buy some of them goggles you used to have to use in Chemistry when you were blowing up the magnesium.....
Not getting tebkatest episode of "MrLargo in/on America" yet today.
Bit of a slow news day for you sadists I'm afraid. She's only bought two bandanas since my last report and we have now moved from Playa del Carmen to a picturesque town called Bacalar that doesn't have many shops. Having said that, from what I've seen so far, if the only shop in town was an ironmongers then she would be in there negotiating the purchase of something completely unnecessary. "Oh my gaad, those self-tapping tungsten tip screws are like sooooo cute".
We set off on the three hour drive down the coast yesterday morning and it was reasonably uneventful, except for her insistence on blaring music out at top volume - a mixture of Jewish prayers set to music, gangsta rap songs about busting a ho's pussy (not a cat) and some heavy bass stuff that seemed like a soundtrack for injecting heroine. I felt like a dad ferrying his unruly daughter to the high school prom, which is a bit weird as she's a year older than me.
Yesterday evening she made the mistake of starting a conversation with some English people in a bar. I saw my opportunity to engineer this situation into a good old British piss up. I could feel the disgust in her eyes as we made our way through pretty much every tequila and mezcal on the list. I felt like a man again. Mind you, she's getting her revenge this morning - it's 11am, I'm hungover and she's already blasting out some dope beats at top volume. Every time someone walks past our balcony, I feel a sense of shame that she doesn't seem capable of recognising that we're in a tranquil, scenic town and she's the only person in at least a 15 mile radius who's shattering the peace with ditties about "the bitch is beggin' for my dick".
Anyway, 75 hours from now I'll be on my way to the airport. Never before have I craved a 10 hour flight so desperately.
Not getting tebkatest episode of "MrLargo in/on America" yet today.
Bit of a slow news day for you sadists I'm afraid. She's only bought two bandanas since my last report and we have now moved from Playa del Carmen to a picturesque town called Bacalar that doesn't have many shops. Having said that, from what I've seen so far, if the only shop in town was an ironmongers then she would be in there negotiating the purchase of something completely unnecessary. "Oh my gaad, those self-tapping tungsten tip screws are like sooooo cute".
We set off on the three hour drive down the coast yesterday morning and it was reasonably uneventful, except for her insistence on blaring music out at top volume - a mixture of Jewish prayers set to music, gangsta rap songs about busting a ho's pussy (not a cat) and some heavy bass stuff that seemed like a soundtrack for injecting heroine. I felt like a dad ferrying his unruly daughter to the high school prom, which is a bit weird as she's a year older than me.
Yesterday evening she made the mistake of starting a conversation with some English people in a bar. I saw my opportunity to engineer this situation into a good old British piss up. I could feel the disgust in her eyes as we made our way through pretty much every tequila and mezcal on the list. I felt like a man again. Mind you, she's getting her revenge this morning - it's 11am, I'm hungover and she's already blasting out some dope beats at top volume. Every time someone walks past our balcony, I feel a sense of shame that she doesn't seem capable of recognising that we're in a tranquil, scenic town and she's the only person in at least a 15 mile radius who's shattering the peace with ditties about "the bitch is beggin' for my dick".
Anyway, 75 hours from now I'll be on my way to the airport. Never before have I craved a 10 hour flight so desperately.
Not getting tebkatest episode of "MrLargo in/on America" yet today.
Bit of a slow news day for you sadists I'm afraid. She's only bought two bandanas since my last report and we have now moved from Playa del Carmen to a picturesque town called Bacalar that doesn't have many shops. Having said that, from what I've seen so far, if the only shop in town was an ironmongers then she would be in there negotiating the purchase of something completely unnecessary. "Oh my gaad, those self-tapping tungsten tip screws are like sooooo cute".
We set off on the three hour drive down the coast yesterday morning and it was reasonably uneventful, except for her insistence on blaring music out at top volume - a mixture of Jewish prayers set to music, gangsta rap songs about busting a ho's pussy (not a cat) and some heavy bass stuff that seemed like a soundtrack for injecting heroine. I felt like a dad ferrying his unruly daughter to the high school prom, which is a bit weird as she's a year older than me.
Yesterday evening she made the mistake of starting a conversation with some English people in a bar. I saw my opportunity to engineer this situation into a good old British piss up. I could feel the disgust in her eyes as we made our way through pretty much every tequila and mezcal on the list. I felt like a man again. Mind you, she's getting her revenge this morning - it's 11am, I'm hungover and she's already blasting out some dope beats at top volume. Every time someone walks past our balcony, I feel a sense of shame that she doesn't seem capable of recognising that we're in a tranquil, scenic town and she's the only person in at least a 15 mile radius who's shattering the peace with ditties about "the bitch is beggin' for my dick".
Anyway, 75 hours from now I'll be on my way to the airport. Never before have I craved a 10 hour flight so desperately.
Not getting tebkatest episode of "MrLargo in/on America" yet today.
Bit of a slow news day for you sadists I'm afraid. She's only bought two bandanas since my last report and we have now moved from Playa del Carmen to a picturesque town called Bacalar that doesn't have many shops. Having said that, from what I've seen so far, if the only shop in town was an ironmongers then she would be in there negotiating the purchase of something completely unnecessary. "Oh my gaad, those self-tapping tungsten tip screws are like sooooo cute".
We set off on the three hour drive down the coast yesterday morning and it was reasonably uneventful, except for her insistence on blaring music out at top volume - a mixture of Jewish prayers set to music, gangsta rap songs about busting a ho's pussy (not a cat) and some heavy bass stuff that seemed like a soundtrack for injecting heroine. I felt like a dad ferrying his unruly daughter to the high school prom, which is a bit weird as she's a year older than me.
Yesterday evening she made the mistake of starting a conversation with some English people in a bar. I saw my opportunity to engineer this situation into a good old British piss up. I could feel the disgust in her eyes as we made our way through pretty much every tequila and mezcal on the list. I felt like a man again. Mind you, she's getting her revenge this morning - it's 11am, I'm hungover and she's already blasting out some dope beats at top volume. Every time someone walks past our balcony, I feel a sense of shame that she doesn't seem capable of recognising that we're in a tranquil, scenic town and she's the only person in at least a 15 mile radius who's shattering the peace with ditties about "the bitch is beggin' for my dick".
Anyway, 75 hours from now I'll be on my way to the airport. Never before have I craved a 10 hour flight so desperately.
I would piss myself if she gets your phone and finds these posts!
Not getting tebkatest episode of "MrLargo in/on America" yet today.
Bit of a slow news day for you sadists I'm afraid. She's only bought two bandanas since my last report and we have now moved from Playa del Carmen to a picturesque town called Bacalar that doesn't have many shops. Having said that, from what I've seen so far, if the only shop in town was an ironmongers then she would be in there negotiating the purchase of something completely unnecessary. "Oh my gaad, those self-tapping tungsten tip screws are like sooooo cute".
We set off on the three hour drive down the coast yesterday morning and it was reasonably uneventful, except for her insistence on blaring music out at top volume - a mixture of Jewish prayers set to music, gangsta rap songs about busting a ho's pussy (not a cat) and some heavy bass stuff that seemed like a soundtrack for injecting heroine. I felt like a dad ferrying his unruly daughter to the high school prom, which is a bit weird as she's a year older than me.
Yesterday evening she made the mistake of starting a conversation with some English people in a bar. I saw my opportunity to engineer this situation into a good old British piss up. I could feel the disgust in her eyes as we made our way through pretty much every tequila and mezcal on the list. I felt like a man again. Mind you, she's getting her revenge this morning - it's 11am, I'm hungover and she's already blasting out some dope beats at top volume. Every time someone walks past our balcony, I feel a sense of shame that she doesn't seem capable of recognising that we're in a tranquil, scenic town and she's the only person in at least a 15 mile radius who's shattering the peace with ditties about "the bitch is beggin' for my dick".
Anyway, 75 hours from now I'll be on my way to the airport. Never before have I craved a 10 hour flight so desperately.
I would piss myself if she gets your phone and finds these posts!
His beast man will bring them up when he is marrying her.
Not getting tebkatest episode of "MrLargo in/on America" yet today.
Bit of a slow news day for you sadists I'm afraid. She's only bought two bandanas since my last report and we have now moved from Playa del Carmen to a picturesque town called Bacalar that doesn't have many shops. Having said that, from what I've seen so far, if the only shop in town was an ironmongers then she would be in there negotiating the purchase of something completely unnecessary. "Oh my gaad, those self-tapping tungsten tip screws are like sooooo cute".
We set off on the three hour drive down the coast yesterday morning and it was reasonably uneventful, except for her insistence on blaring music out at top volume - a mixture of Jewish prayers set to music, gangsta rap songs about busting a ho's pussy (not a cat) and some heavy bass stuff that seemed like a soundtrack for injecting heroine. I felt like a dad ferrying his unruly daughter to the high school prom, which is a bit weird as she's a year older than me.
Yesterday evening she made the mistake of starting a conversation with some English people in a bar. I saw my opportunity to engineer this situation into a good old British piss up. I could feel the disgust in her eyes as we made our way through pretty much every tequila and mezcal on the list. I felt like a man again. Mind you, she's getting her revenge this morning - it's 11am, I'm hungover and she's already blasting out some dope beats at top volume. Every time someone walks past our balcony, I feel a sense of shame that she doesn't seem capable of recognising that we're in a tranquil, scenic town and she's the only person in at least a 15 mile radius who's shattering the peace with ditties about "the bitch is beggin' for my dick".
Anyway, 75 hours from now I'll be on my way to the airport. Never before have I craved a 10 hour flight so desperately.
I would piss myself if she gets your phone and finds these posts!
His beast man will bring them up when he is marrying her.
Not getting tebkatest episode of "MrLargo in/on America" yet today.
Bit of a slow news day for you sadists I'm afraid. She's only bought two bandanas since my last report and we have now moved from Playa del Carmen to a picturesque town called Bacalar that doesn't have many shops. Having said that, from what I've seen so far, if the only shop in town was an ironmongers then she would be in there negotiating the purchase of something completely unnecessary. "Oh my gaad, those self-tapping tungsten tip screws are like sooooo cute".
We set off on the three hour drive down the coast yesterday morning and it was reasonably uneventful, except for her insistence on blaring music out at top volume - a mixture of Jewish prayers set to music, gangsta rap songs about busting a ho's pussy (not a cat) and some heavy bass stuff that seemed like a soundtrack for injecting heroine. I felt like a dad ferrying his unruly daughter to the high school prom, which is a bit weird as she's a year older than me.
Yesterday evening she made the mistake of starting a conversation with some English people in a bar. I saw my opportunity to engineer this situation into a good old British piss up. I could feel the disgust in her eyes as we made our way through pretty much every tequila and mezcal on the list. I felt like a man again. Mind you, she's getting her revenge this morning - it's 11am, I'm hungover and she's already blasting out some dope beats at top volume. Every time someone walks past our balcony, I feel a sense of shame that she doesn't seem capable of recognising that we're in a tranquil, scenic town and she's the only person in at least a 15 mile radius who's shattering the peace with ditties about "the bitch is beggin' for my dick".
Anyway, 75 hours from now I'll be on my way to the airport. Never before have I craved a 10 hour flight so desperately.
Not getting tebkatest episode of "MrLargo in/on America" yet today.
Bit of a slow news day for you sadists I'm afraid. She's only bought two bandanas since my last report and we have now moved from Playa del Carmen to a picturesque town called Bacalar that doesn't have many shops. Having said that, from what I've seen so far, if the only shop in town was an ironmongers then she would be in there negotiating the purchase of something completely unnecessary. "Oh my gaad, those self-tapping tungsten tip screws are like sooooo cute".
We set off on the three hour drive down the coast yesterday morning and it was reasonably uneventful, except for her insistence on blaring music out at top volume - a mixture of Jewish prayers set to music, gangsta rap songs about busting a ho's pussy (not a cat) and some heavy bass stuff that seemed like a soundtrack for injecting heroine. I felt like a dad ferrying his unruly daughter to the high school prom, which is a bit weird as she's a year older than me.
Yesterday evening she made the mistake of starting a conversation with some English people in a bar. I saw my opportunity to engineer this situation into a good old British piss up. I could feel the disgust in her eyes as we made our way through pretty much every tequila and mezcal on the list. I felt like a man again. Mind you, she's getting her revenge this morning - it's 11am, I'm hungover and she's already blasting out some dope beats at top volume. Every time someone walks past our balcony, I feel a sense of shame that she doesn't seem capable of recognising that we're in a tranquil, scenic town and she's the only person in at least a 15 mile radius who's shattering the peace with ditties about "the bitch is beggin' for my dick".
Anyway, 75 hours from now I'll be on my way to the airport. Never before have I craved a 10 hour flight so desperately.
You done her up the arse yet?
No mate. Quite frankly, at this exact moment I'd rather have an orgy with 2 alligators and a boa constrictor. We had a "liaison" last night - I'm usually high fiving myself if I get past a minute and a half, real struggle to get over the line though. I felt like a male hooker, albeit a slightly tubby, sunburnt one that has to pay his own clients in drinks.
Not getting tebkatest episode of "MrLargo in/on America" yet today.
Bit of a slow news day for you sadists I'm afraid. She's only bought two bandanas since my last report and we have now moved from Playa del Carmen to a picturesque town called Bacalar that doesn't have many shops. Having said that, from what I've seen so far, if the only shop in town was an ironmongers then she would be in there negotiating the purchase of something completely unnecessary. "Oh my gaad, those self-tapping tungsten tip screws are like sooooo cute".
We set off on the three hour drive down the coast yesterday morning and it was reasonably uneventful, except for her insistence on blaring music out at top volume - a mixture of Jewish prayers set to music, gangsta rap songs about busting a ho's pussy (not a cat) and some heavy bass stuff that seemed like a soundtrack for injecting heroine. I felt like a dad ferrying his unruly daughter to the high school prom, which is a bit weird as she's a year older than me.
Yesterday evening she made the mistake of starting a conversation with some English people in a bar. I saw my opportunity to engineer this situation into a good old British piss up. I could feel the disgust in her eyes as we made our way through pretty much every tequila and mezcal on the list. I felt like a man again. Mind you, she's getting her revenge this morning - it's 11am, I'm hungover and she's already blasting out some dope beats at top volume. Every time someone walks past our balcony, I feel a sense of shame that she doesn't seem capable of recognising that we're in a tranquil, scenic town and she's the only person in at least a 15 mile radius who's shattering the peace with ditties about "the bitch is beggin' for my dick".
Anyway, 75 hours from now I'll be on my way to the airport. Never before have I craved a 10 hour flight so desperately.
I would piss myself if she gets your phone and finds these posts!
I've changed my pin three times this week to avoid that risk. However, I also dallied with the idea of screenshotting these posts and Whatsapping them to her to explain my mysterious disappearance, before I accepted that I'm a coward and settled down to another day of meekly following her around handbag shops.
Fitness fads, or rather people that go on about them
Talking to people at work I’m always loathed to hear what the latest pile of bollocks they have signed up for because a PR agency has got said fad a double page spread in the evening standard and they’ve bought into it
Some stuff is okay but I can’t stand these people wanking on about the new way to exercise or telling me it’s really good and I should try it.
I’m okay for handing over £30 a session for some boot camp just because it’s got a bit of branding behind it
Why don’t you just go on a proper run or cycle or swim and stop seeking attention
Comments
proper twonk.
Back in the nineties when I was regularly going to gigs they’d announce what day the tickets were going on sale and where from (my place of choice was and still is Stragreen) . If you really wanted to go you turned up a couple of hours early and queued up and would be certain that your effort would be rewarded with tickets.
Now using the internet it’s just pot luck and most seem to go to resale sites.
Also in those days you paid for your ticket and it was handed to you there and then, nowadays you wait until about two weeks before the event until you get them even to the extent that I am waiting on tickets right now for an event at the end of June which I paid for in December, worst of all they are print at home ones so why could I not print them months ago?
I’m gonna have to buy some of them goggles you used to have to use in Chemistry when you were blowing up the magnesium.....
Bloody phone Stupid fat fingers.
We set off on the three hour drive down the coast yesterday morning and it was reasonably uneventful, except for her insistence on blaring music out at top volume - a mixture of Jewish prayers set to music, gangsta rap songs about busting a ho's pussy (not a cat) and some heavy bass stuff that seemed like a soundtrack for injecting heroine. I felt like a dad ferrying his unruly daughter to the high school prom, which is a bit weird as she's a year older than me.
Yesterday evening she made the mistake of starting a conversation with some English people in a bar. I saw my opportunity to engineer this situation into a good old British piss up. I could feel the disgust in her eyes as we made our way through pretty much every tequila and mezcal on the list. I felt like a man again. Mind you, she's getting her revenge this morning - it's 11am, I'm hungover and she's already blasting out some dope beats at top volume. Every time someone walks past our balcony, I feel a sense of shame that she doesn't seem capable of recognising that we're in a tranquil, scenic town and she's the only person in at least a 15 mile radius who's shattering the peace with ditties about "the bitch is beggin' for my dick".
Anyway, 75 hours from now I'll be on my way to the airport. Never before have I craved a 10 hour flight so desperately.
What I said, if the situation was reversed the owner would be phoning the police.
I mean, why would you do that?
Talking to people at work I’m always loathed to hear what the latest pile of bollocks they have signed up for because a PR agency has got said fad a double page spread in the evening standard and they’ve bought into it
Some stuff is okay but I can’t stand these people wanking on about the new way to exercise or telling me it’s really good and I should try it.
I’m okay for handing over £30 a session for some boot camp just because it’s got a bit of branding behind it
Why don’t you just go on a proper run or cycle or swim and stop seeking attention