I have lost three different gloves so far this winter. That's annoying. What's doubly annoying is that they are all right handed ones so I can't event cobble together a makeshift pair out of their partners.
Sunday's. They are like trying to enjoy a last meal before execution
Days have a different atmosphere on Sunday that I have never liked. When I was a kid it meant it was car washing day (which I actually liked) but it also meant a lot of time thinking about doing homework, procrastination, worrying about the homework I hadn't done, thinking of excuses for why I hadn't done the homework.
Now it seems to be the day my missus decides to begin a row with me and ask, as I'm sitting my arse down on the sofa what I want to do today. The answer I want to give is "go to the pub, watch the football, have a couple of pints, maybe go down the pool club, and ceremonial beans on toast for dinner" All of which are not answers she wants to hear.
She is bored incidentally because the house is immaculate (by me), I've done all the laundry, dried it and put it away, and didn't fancy ripping all the decking up which was her suggestion. The argument began when I asked what the plan was once I'd pulled all the decking up. Apparently I never want to do anything.
She's now not talking to me, I'm sat on the shitter writing this bollocks about to text a mate and see if he fancies a game of pool.
At which point my wife will say we are going out and the whole charade starts again
Oh, and it's back to work tomorrow. Last meal before execution time again
Sunday's. They are like trying to enjoy a last meal before execution
Days have a different atmosphere on Sunday that I have never liked. When I was a kid it meant it was car washing day (which I actually liked) but it also meant a lot of time thinking about doing homework, procrastination, worrying about the homework I hadn't done, thinking of excuses for why I hadn't done the homework.
Now it seems to be the day my missus decides to begin a row with me and ask, as I'm sitting my arse down on the sofa what I want to do today. The answer I want to give is "go to the pub, watch the football, have a couple of pints, maybe go down the pool club, and ceremonial beans on toast for dinner" All of which are not answers she wants to hear.
She is bored incidentally because the house is immaculate (by me), I've done all the laundry, dried it and put it away, and didn't fancy ripping all the decking up which was her suggestion. The argument began when I asked what the plan was once I'd pulled all the decking up. Apparently I never want to do anything.
She's now not talking to me, I'm sat on the shitter writing this bollocks about to text a mate and see if he fancies a game of pool.
At which point my wife will say we are going out and the whole charade starts again
Oh, and it's back to work tomorrow. Last meal before execution time again
Read your own post, @Carter. It's not Sunday that's the issue.
Sunday's. They are like trying to enjoy a last meal before execution
Days have a different atmosphere on Sunday that I have never liked. When I was a kid it meant it was car washing day (which I actually liked) but it also meant a lot of time thinking about doing homework, procrastination, worrying about the homework I hadn't done, thinking of excuses for why I hadn't done the homework.
Now it seems to be the day my missus decides to begin a row with me and ask, as I'm sitting my arse down on the sofa what I want to do today. The answer I want to give is "go to the pub, watch the football, have a couple of pints, maybe go down the pool club, and ceremonial beans on toast for dinner" All of which are not answers she wants to hear.
She is bored incidentally because the house is immaculate (by me), I've done all the laundry, dried it and put it away, and didn't fancy ripping all the decking up which was her suggestion. The argument began when I asked what the plan was once I'd pulled all the decking up. Apparently I never want to do anything.
She's now not talking to me, I'm sat on the shitter writing this bollocks about to text a mate and see if he fancies a game of pool.
At which point my wife will say we are going out and the whole charade starts again
Oh, and it's back to work tomorrow. Last meal before execution time again
Sunday's. They are like trying to enjoy a last meal before execution
Days have a different atmosphere on Sunday that I have never liked. When I was a kid it meant it was car washing day (which I actually liked) but it also meant a lot of time thinking about doing homework, procrastination, worrying about the homework I hadn't done, thinking of excuses for why I hadn't done the homework.
Now it seems to be the day my missus decides to begin a row with me and ask, as I'm sitting my arse down on the sofa what I want to do today. The answer I want to give is "go to the pub, watch the football, have a couple of pints, maybe go down the pool club, and ceremonial beans on toast for dinner" All of which are not answers she wants to hear.
She is bored incidentally because the house is immaculate (by me), I've done all the laundry, dried it and put it away, and didn't fancy ripping all the decking up which was her suggestion. The argument began when I asked what the plan was once I'd pulled all the decking up. Apparently I never want to do anything.
She's now not talking to me, I'm sat on the shitter writing this bollocks about to text a mate and see if he fancies a game of pool.
At which point my wife will say we are going out and the whole charade starts again
Oh, and it's back to work tomorrow. Last meal before execution time again
Sneak out the shitter window and fuck off down the pub mate.
Sunday's. They are like trying to enjoy a last meal before execution
Days have a different atmosphere on Sunday that I have never liked. When I was a kid it meant it was car washing day (which I actually liked) but it also meant a lot of time thinking about doing homework, procrastination, worrying about the homework I hadn't done, thinking of excuses for why I hadn't done the homework.
Now it seems to be the day my missus decides to begin a row with me and ask, as I'm sitting my arse down on the sofa what I want to do today. The answer I want to give is "go to the pub, watch the football, have a couple of pints, maybe go down the pool club, and ceremonial beans on toast for dinner" All of which are not answers she wants to hear.
She is bored incidentally because the house is immaculate (by me), I've done all the laundry, dried it and put it away, and didn't fancy ripping all the decking up which was her suggestion. The argument began when I asked what the plan was once I'd pulled all the decking up. Apparently I never want to do anything.
She's now not talking to me, I'm sat on the shitter writing this bollocks about to text a mate and see if he fancies a game of pool.
At which point my wife will say we are going out and the whole charade starts again
Oh, and it's back to work tomorrow. Last meal before execution time again
Sneak out the shitter window and fuck off down the pub mate.
Sunday's. They are like trying to enjoy a last meal before execution
Days have a different atmosphere on Sunday that I have never liked. When I was a kid it meant it was car washing day (which I actually liked) but it also meant a lot of time thinking about doing homework, procrastination, worrying about the homework I hadn't done, thinking of excuses for why I hadn't done the homework.
Now it seems to be the day my missus decides to begin a row with me and ask, as I'm sitting my arse down on the sofa what I want to do today. The answer I want to give is "go to the pub, watch the football, have a couple of pints, maybe go down the pool club, and ceremonial beans on toast for dinner" All of which are not answers she wants to hear.
She is bored incidentally because the house is immaculate (by me), I've done all the laundry, dried it and put it away, and didn't fancy ripping all the decking up which was her suggestion. The argument began when I asked what the plan was once I'd pulled all the decking up. Apparently I never want to do anything.
She's now not talking to me, I'm sat on the shitter writing this bollocks about to text a mate and see if he fancies a game of pool.
At which point my wife will say we are going out and the whole charade starts again
Oh, and it's back to work tomorrow. Last meal before execution time again
I'll add, before anyone actually comes put and says I need to go to marriage counselling. I love my wife dearly, like every couple we can have some very pyrotechnic rows and the dust clears very quickly. As it has today and we are friends again
I've gone out for a few frames of pool and to chat shit with one of my pals who is also having the same Sunday dilemma
We both agreed that ripping decking up is to be done on the Saturday and taken to the tip on the Sunday as early as possible. Then time is left to have the car cleaned and be available for leisure by late lunchtime.
I've taken my frustration out on him and 7 balled him to take the score to 4-2 in my favour. We have only played for an hour and I'm more happy and he's having a paddy!
I'll play left handed when he comes back from his smoko, see if he clocks.
People who continuously use your name when talking to you. I know my name, it's not that fun to say. If my name was Jean-Pierre Boateng I'd understand. It's not. It's Chris.
What's worse is the people, usually public speakers, who recount conversations others have with them where the other person uses their name constantly. So what you are saying is that you talk to fannies, and that you think they (and I) think your name is exciting. Not the case, now shut up.
People who continuously use your name when talking to you. I know my name, it's not that fun to say. If my name was Jean-Pierre Boateng I'd understand. It's not. It's Chris.
What's worse is the people, usually public speakers, who recount conversations others have with them where the other person uses their name constantly. So what you are saying is that you talk to fannies, and that you think they (and I) think your name is exciting. Not the case, now shut up.
I've taken my frustration out on him and 7 balled him to take the score to 4-2 in my favour. We have only played for an hour and I'm more happy and he's having a paddy!
I'll play left handed when he comes back from his smoko, see if he clocks.
I've taken my frustration out on him and 7 balled him to take the score to 4-2 in my favour. We have only played for an hour and I'm more happy and he's having a paddy!
I'll play left handed when he comes back from his smoko, see if he clocks.
DHOTYA ... :-)
You are right it didn't happen. Things slowed down finished 6-6 I tried to break left handed and it went as well as someone using their wrong hand was always going to.
The 7 balling is 100% legit we are not talking about throwing a 180 here or a 147 in snooker, get a good spread of balls and a 7 balling is more than in my capability.
Annoyingly it is also in his and he did one to me first game back. In the old days a 7 balling meant a circuit round the table with your trousers and pants round your ankles. Today it didn't thankfully.
People who continuously use your name when talking to you. I know my name, it's not that fun to say. If my name was Jean-Pierre Boateng I'd understand. It's not. It's Chris.
What's worse is the people, usually public speakers, who recount conversations others have with them where the other person uses their name constantly. So what you are saying is that you talk to fannies, and that you think they (and I) think your name is exciting. Not the case, now shut up.
I agree, Chris. Very good post, Chris.
Luckily, I had steeled myself for such a likely response
People who continuously use your name when talking to you. I know my name, it's not that fun to say. If my name was Jean-Pierre Boateng I'd understand. It's not. It's Chris.
What's worse is the people, usually public speakers, who recount conversations others have with them where the other person uses their name constantly. So what you are saying is that you talk to fannies, and that you think they (and I) think your name is exciting. Not the case, now shut up.
I agree, Chris. Very good post, Chris.
Luckily, I had steeled myself for such a likely response
Would have been rude if I'd read your post and not responded in the way I did IMO. There are rules.
People who leave leaflets under the car window wipers.
That alone is bad enough, but this morning I had a leaflets frozen fast below a thick, hard frost which thawed out to leave a right old gooey mess. Yuk!
Comments
'What do they look like?' he said.
'Hands' I replied.
Days have a different atmosphere on Sunday that I have never liked. When I was a kid it meant it was car washing day (which I actually liked) but it also meant a lot of time thinking about doing homework, procrastination, worrying about the homework I hadn't done, thinking of excuses for why I hadn't done the homework.
Now it seems to be the day my missus decides to begin a row with me and ask, as I'm sitting my arse down on the sofa what I want to do today. The answer I want to give is "go to the pub, watch the football, have a couple of pints, maybe go down the pool club, and ceremonial beans on toast for dinner" All of which are not answers she wants to hear.
She is bored incidentally because the house is immaculate (by me), I've done all the laundry, dried it and put it away, and didn't fancy ripping all the decking up which was her suggestion. The argument began when I asked what the plan was once I'd pulled all the decking up. Apparently I never want to do anything.
She's now not talking to me, I'm sat on the shitter writing this bollocks about to text a mate and see if he fancies a game of pool.
At which point my wife will say we are going out and the whole charade starts again
Oh, and it's back to work tomorrow. Last meal before execution time again
I've gone out for a few frames of pool and to chat shit with one of my pals who is also having the same Sunday dilemma
We both agreed that ripping decking up is to be done on the Saturday and taken to the tip on the Sunday as early as possible. Then time is left to have the car cleaned and be available for leisure by late lunchtime.
I've taken my frustration out on him and 7 balled him to take the score to 4-2 in my favour. We have only played for an hour and I'm more happy and he's having a paddy!
I'll play left handed when he comes back from his smoko, see if he clocks.
What's worse is the people, usually public speakers, who recount conversations others have with them where the other person uses their name constantly. So what you are saying is that you talk to fannies, and that you think they (and I) think your name is exciting. Not the case, now shut up.
The 7 balling is 100% legit we are not talking about throwing a 180 here or a 147 in snooker, get a good spread of balls and a 7 balling is more than in my capability.
Annoyingly it is also in his and he did one to me first game back. In the old days a 7 balling meant a circuit round the table with your trousers and pants round your ankles. Today it didn't thankfully.
That alone is bad enough, but this morning I had a leaflets frozen fast below a thick, hard frost which thawed out to leave a right old gooey mess. Yuk!
Repeated by boring trollops who waste their lives on social media, instead of going outside and actually living.