Miss Beatrice, the church organist, was in her eighties. She was admired for her sweetness and kindness to all. One afternoon the pastor came to call on her and she showed him into her quaint sitting room. She invited him to have a seat while she prepared tea.
As he sat facing her old Hammond organ, the young minister noticed a cut-glass bowl sitting on top of it. The bowl was filled with water, and in the water floated, of all things, a condom! When she returned with tea and scones, they began to chat.
The pastor tried to stifle his curiosity about the bowl of water and its strange floater, but soon it got the better of him and He could no longer resist. "Miss Beatrice", he said, "I wonder if you would tell me about this?" pointing to the bowl.
"Oh, yes," she replied, "Isn't it wonderful? I was walking through the Park a few months ago and I found this little package on the ground. The directions said to place it on the organ, keep it wet and that it would prevent the spread of disease. Do you know I haven't had the flu all winter?"
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Monday, 16 January 2012
Made Me Chuckle (7)
Joe wanted to buy a motorbike. He doesn't have much luck until, one day, he comes across a Harley with a 'for sale' sign on it. The bike seems even better than a new one, although it is 10 years old.It is shiny and in absolute mint condition.
He immediately buys it, and asks the seller how he kept it in such great condition for 10 years.Well, it's quite simple, really," says the seller, "whenever the bike is outside and it's gonna rain, rub Vaseline on the chrome. It protects it from the rain."And he hands Joe a jar of Vaseline.
That night, his girlfriend, Sandra, invites him over to meet her parents. Naturally, they take the bike there. But just before they enter the house, Sandra stops him and says, "I have to tell you something about my family before we go in." "When we eat dinner, we don't talk. In fact, the first person who says anything during dinner has to do the dishes." "No problem," he says. And in they go.
Joe is shocked. Right smack in the middle of the living room is a huge stack of dirty dishes. In the kitchen is another huge stack of dishes. Piled up on the stairs, in the corridor, everywhere he looks, dirty dishes. They sit down to dinner and, sure enough, no one says a word. As dinner progresses, Joe decides to take advantage of the situation. So he leans over and kisses Sandra. No one says a word. So he reaches over and fondles her breasts.Still, nobody says a word.So he stands up, grabs her, rips her clothes off, throws her on the table, and screws her right there, in front of her parents. His girlfriend is a little flustered, her dad is obviously livid,and her mom horrified when he sits back down, but no one says a word.
He looks at her mom. "She's got a great body," he thinks. So he grabs the mom, bends her over the dinner table, and has his way with her every which way right there on the dinner table. Now his girlfriend is furious and her dad is boiling, but still,total silence.
All of a sudden there is a loud clap of thunder, and it starts to rain. Joe remembers his bike, so he pulls the jar of Vaseline from his pocket. Suddenly the father backs away from the table and shouts, "All right, that's enough, I'll do the fucking dishes!"
He immediately buys it, and asks the seller how he kept it in such great condition for 10 years.Well, it's quite simple, really," says the seller, "whenever the bike is outside and it's gonna rain, rub Vaseline on the chrome. It protects it from the rain."And he hands Joe a jar of Vaseline.
That night, his girlfriend, Sandra, invites him over to meet her parents. Naturally, they take the bike there. But just before they enter the house, Sandra stops him and says, "I have to tell you something about my family before we go in." "When we eat dinner, we don't talk. In fact, the first person who says anything during dinner has to do the dishes." "No problem," he says. And in they go.
Joe is shocked. Right smack in the middle of the living room is a huge stack of dirty dishes. In the kitchen is another huge stack of dishes. Piled up on the stairs, in the corridor, everywhere he looks, dirty dishes. They sit down to dinner and, sure enough, no one says a word. As dinner progresses, Joe decides to take advantage of the situation. So he leans over and kisses Sandra. No one says a word. So he reaches over and fondles her breasts.Still, nobody says a word.So he stands up, grabs her, rips her clothes off, throws her on the table, and screws her right there, in front of her parents. His girlfriend is a little flustered, her dad is obviously livid,and her mom horrified when he sits back down, but no one says a word.
He looks at her mom. "She's got a great body," he thinks. So he grabs the mom, bends her over the dinner table, and has his way with her every which way right there on the dinner table. Now his girlfriend is furious and her dad is boiling, but still,total silence.
All of a sudden there is a loud clap of thunder, and it starts to rain. Joe remembers his bike, so he pulls the jar of Vaseline from his pocket. Suddenly the father backs away from the table and shouts, "All right, that's enough, I'll do the fucking dishes!"
Made Me Chuckle (6)
A woman takes a lover home during the day while her husband is at work.
9-year old son comes home unexpectedly, sees them, and hides in the bedroom cupboard to watch. The woman's husband also comes home.
She puts her lover in the cupboard, not realising that the little boy is in there already.
The little boy says, "Dark in here."
The man says, "Yes, it is."
Boy - "I have a football."
Man - "That's nice."
Boy - "Want to buy it?"
Man - "No, thanks."
Boy - "My dad's outside."
Man - "OK, how much?"
Boy - "£250"
In the next few weeks, it happens again that the boy and the lover are in the cupboard together.
Boy - "Dark in here."
Man - "Yes, it is."
Boy - "I have football boots."
The lover, remembering the last time, asks the boy, "How much?"
Boy - "£750"
Man - "Sold."
A few days later, the boys father says to the boy, "Grab your boots and football, let's go outside and have a game of soccer. The boy says, "I can't, I sold my ball and boots." The father asks, "How much did you sell them for?"
Boy -"£1,000."
The father says, "That's terrible to overcharge your friends like that. That is way more than those two things cost. I'm going to take you to church and make you confess."
They go to the church and the father makes the little boy sit in the confession booth and he closes the door. The boy says, "Dark in here."
The priest says, "Don't start that shit again! You're in my cupboard now!"
9-year old son comes home unexpectedly, sees them, and hides in the bedroom cupboard to watch. The woman's husband also comes home.
She puts her lover in the cupboard, not realising that the little boy is in there already.
The little boy says, "Dark in here."
The man says, "Yes, it is."
Boy - "I have a football."
Man - "That's nice."
Boy - "Want to buy it?"
Man - "No, thanks."
Boy - "My dad's outside."
Man - "OK, how much?"
Boy - "£250"
In the next few weeks, it happens again that the boy and the lover are in the cupboard together.
Boy - "Dark in here."
Man - "Yes, it is."
Boy - "I have football boots."
The lover, remembering the last time, asks the boy, "How much?"
Boy - "£750"
Man - "Sold."
A few days later, the boys father says to the boy, "Grab your boots and football, let's go outside and have a game of soccer. The boy says, "I can't, I sold my ball and boots." The father asks, "How much did you sell them for?"
Boy -"£1,000."
The father says, "That's terrible to overcharge your friends like that. That is way more than those two things cost. I'm going to take you to church and make you confess."
They go to the church and the father makes the little boy sit in the confession booth and he closes the door. The boy says, "Dark in here."
The priest says, "Don't start that shit again! You're in my cupboard now!"
Made Me Chuckle (5)
Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Heaven, God went missing for six days. Eventually, Archangel Michael found him on the seventh day resting. He enquired of God, "Where have you been?" God pointed downwards through the clouds. "Look Michael, look what I've made" said God.
Archangel Michael looked puzzled and said, "What is it?" "It's a planet," replied God, "and I've put LIFE on it. I'm going to call it Earth and it's going to be a great place of balance." "Balance?" inquired Michael, still confused.
God explained, pointing down to different parts of the Earth, "For example, North America will be a place of great opportunity and wealth while South America is going to be poor; the Middle East over there will be a hot spot and Russia will be a cold spot. Over there I've placed a continent of white people and over there is a continent of black people." God continued pointing to the different countries. "This one will be extremely hot and arid while this one will be very cold and covered in ice."
The Archangel, impressed by God's work, then pointed to another area of land and asked, "What's that?" "Ah," said God "that's the North of England, the most glorious place on earth. There are beautiful people, seven Premiership football teams in the North West alone, and many impressive cities; it is the home of the world's finest artists, musicians, writers, thinkers, explorers, comedians and politicians.
The people from the North of England are going to be modest, intelligent and humorous and they're going to be found travelling the world. They'll be extremely sociable, hard-working and high-achieving, and they will be known throughout the world as speakers of truth."
Michael gasped in wonder and admiration but then proclaimed, "What about balance God, you said there will be BALANCE!" God replied very wisely, "Wait till you see the bunch of tossers I'm putting down South!"
Archangel Michael looked puzzled and said, "What is it?" "It's a planet," replied God, "and I've put LIFE on it. I'm going to call it Earth and it's going to be a great place of balance." "Balance?" inquired Michael, still confused.
God explained, pointing down to different parts of the Earth, "For example, North America will be a place of great opportunity and wealth while South America is going to be poor; the Middle East over there will be a hot spot and Russia will be a cold spot. Over there I've placed a continent of white people and over there is a continent of black people." God continued pointing to the different countries. "This one will be extremely hot and arid while this one will be very cold and covered in ice."
The Archangel, impressed by God's work, then pointed to another area of land and asked, "What's that?" "Ah," said God "that's the North of England, the most glorious place on earth. There are beautiful people, seven Premiership football teams in the North West alone, and many impressive cities; it is the home of the world's finest artists, musicians, writers, thinkers, explorers, comedians and politicians.
The people from the North of England are going to be modest, intelligent and humorous and they're going to be found travelling the world. They'll be extremely sociable, hard-working and high-achieving, and they will be known throughout the world as speakers of truth."
Michael gasped in wonder and admiration but then proclaimed, "What about balance God, you said there will be BALANCE!" God replied very wisely, "Wait till you see the bunch of tossers I'm putting down South!"
Thursday, 5 January 2012
A small complaint about trains......
So, I park my car on the free car-park outside Blackburn Station to catch the train. Although you have to get there early (about 7:30am), as if it's full, the only other spaces are for the connected Vue Cinema, which are 4-hour maximum stays. It's never full (even on Orange Wednesdays) but the traffic wombles are happy to write out a ticket and pop it on the windscreen at every opportunity.
Anyway, the next leg is to buy a ticket. This is easy enough. Take out the required price (£5.40) for a return journey (Blackburn to Preston and back) and hand it to the bloke behind the glass through the slidey metal thingy. Sometimes you don't have the cash, so you have to pay by card. Sometimes the card machine won't work properly, so you have to do the whole 'sign a receipt' deal that was obsolete about 5years ago.
That's IF there isn't a long queue to the ticket office. The train (at this point) will decide whether to be on-time (when you're being forced to be late by the inept ticket-office guys, who sometimes just pull a shutter down and ignore us) or be delayed, causing us to freeze on the platform and be late further down the line.
The train has come on time, but I'm unable to buy a ticket. So I get on the train with the full intention of paying. When the ticket bloke comes out from the front cab, he wobbles his way skilfully down the aisle checking tickets. He threatens me with police arrest for not buying a ticket at the platform (but inevitably let's me off because he can't be arsed with the paperwork). The way to deal with people who travel for free is simple: Give ticket-guys (and citizens on the train) power of arrest in such a situation. Simple as that. No-nonsense. Example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IgBxygQDud8
Anyway, the next leg is to buy a ticket. This is easy enough. Take out the required price (£5.40) for a return journey (Blackburn to Preston and back) and hand it to the bloke behind the glass through the slidey metal thingy. Sometimes you don't have the cash, so you have to pay by card. Sometimes the card machine won't work properly, so you have to do the whole 'sign a receipt' deal that was obsolete about 5years ago.
That's IF there isn't a long queue to the ticket office. The train (at this point) will decide whether to be on-time (when you're being forced to be late by the inept ticket-office guys, who sometimes just pull a shutter down and ignore us) or be delayed, causing us to freeze on the platform and be late further down the line.
The train has come on time, but I'm unable to buy a ticket. So I get on the train with the full intention of paying. When the ticket bloke comes out from the front cab, he wobbles his way skilfully down the aisle checking tickets. He threatens me with police arrest for not buying a ticket at the platform (but inevitably let's me off because he can't be arsed with the paperwork). The way to deal with people who travel for free is simple: Give ticket-guys (and citizens on the train) power of arrest in such a situation. Simple as that. No-nonsense. Example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IgBxygQDud8
Railway companies are now mostly owned by ludicrously-high-profit-chasing (and ludicrously-high-profit making) companies who still expect the state to pay for any of it's own shortfalls with tax revenues. We (the public) barely notice anymore that the expensive and unprofitable maintenance of a crumbling infrastructure is funded by the state; whereas the lucrative business of charging someone a 3-figure sum (for having the temerity to wait until the day of travel to decide where to go) is done by sharkish private companies. It's like an airline over-filling a plane with passengers and then asking the Government to supply extra air!
The issue of far-too-high pricing is exacerbated by the fact that if you break up a journey into smaller journeys by buying (for example) a ticket from Manchester to Wolverhampton, then Wolverhampton to London (rather than directly from Manchester to London), it's much cheaper! Savings of around £30 can be made for exactly the same journey! So why is the smaller price not immediately offered as the total price? It's extortionate and it's wrong.
Now for the issue of the carriages themselves. The carriages on trains on journeys that travel about 50miles or more are generally quite nice. But the local-journey carriages are knackered! They're like buses that have lost their wheels and been forced to go on the rails (or indeed off them at times) and have let themselves go. Graffiti all over the so-called 'graffiti-proof' glass. Sliding toilet doors that slide open (whether locked or not) while you're having a satisfying dump. Food and drink stains all over the floors and knife-slashed seats. Occasionally there'll be spit marks too (at least I HOPE it's spit, rather than my suspicion that there have been some randy homeless people on the last train of each day).
It's even more annoying that the private companies that own railway networks (which are actually local monopolies) pretend that they're a free option. Instead of employing a PR firm to come up with a catchy slogan enticing us to travel with them, why not spend that money on CLEANING THE CARRIAGES??? Honestly we don't care about your firm; it's not like we can pick a different train firm to travel with when it comes to local journeys! A slogan on a paper cup of coffee will not lead me to associate the excellence of your coffee with the speed or efficiency at which you plan to take me from Blackburn to Preston. In any case, the reason I travel to Preston from Blackburn is to go to University. It has nothing to do with either the excellence of your coffee, nor how persuasive your slogan is. As if having a snappier slogan or better coffee would cause me to abandon my Psychology course to randomly travel on a Virgin train to Edinburgh!
Now for over-crowding. It's not THAT bad in my opinion. There are usually enough seats for everyone, with standing space too. The only complaint I would have is that all the standing space is by that little door where the ticket-guy comes out; where the luggage rack and bike-space is. That means that anyone standing is likely to have a door-handle rammed into their back, have their foot trampled by an non-secured bike or be crushed by luggage that is heavy and a little too highly placed. It's when you're packed in like sardines that you're actually safest, although it can get very hot and bothered.
Which brings me onto unattended luggage. Unattended luggage itself doesn't bother me. Nobody wants to put a bomb on a train from Blackburn to Preston, surely? Maybe a Burnley fan, but the 6th finger would get in the way of the trigger. What annoys me is the announcement which bellows 'Please do not leave your luggage unattended', then followed by (at all stops) 'Please remember to take your stuff with you'.
Occasionally, when staying somewhere, we need to take stuff with us. This is why it annoys me when people look at me with contempt for daring to bring a suitcase onto an already hot and over-crowded train. I therefore leave my suitcase in that space at the end of the carriage, before wandering off to find a seat. Then comes that announcement (as I said before) 'Please don't leave luggage unattended at any time.' WHAT?? So what am I expected to do with this big bag of clothes, university notes, some books, toiletries and bits of electronic equipment that weighs about the same as me? Shall I perch it on my lap? Shall I wedge a corner of it into the inadequate little poor excuse for a shelf above me? Shall I leave it in the aisle for other passengers (and the ticket-guy) to clamber over? No. What they expect me to do, is exactly what I have done and leave it t the end of the carriage. They know I HAVE to do that, which means that they cannot stop it being stolen. They have reduced (cut off completely) their liability should anything happen to my stuff while I'm sat down. They are covering their own arses by asking me to do something which they have made impossible to do! They can then make out that any consequences are my fault entirely. Tossers.
Finally, I do believe that trains are under-funded. This is not the fault of the Government, but the companies that refuse to subsidise at least SOME of their massive profits back to Joe Public/ passengers/ customers/ suckers. The fact that the Government has to unnecessarily fork out on railways leads me to conclude that they are well within their rights treat it like an elderly relative who won't do the decent thing and die. It's a shame, but the Government's money is better spent elsewhere (healthcare, education etc). The only way our trains will be as good as the French/German/Japanese services (yes, I mean that) is if the companies that run our railways are prepared to give back say 10% of their £438million profits. Yes, those are their PROFITS, after every other cost is accounted for. Greedy bastards!
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
The hypocrisy of Haulage.
This is where I inadvisably make an enemy of lots of short tempered men who are considerably tougher than I am.
Admittedly the problem of making stuff stop being in one place and start being in another place is an ancient one. But taking it in lorries, by road, is an inefficient, environmental disaster of a solution. It is slow. It is the cause of slowness in others. It's massively polluting. It does huge damage to the infrastructure it uses and, because it doesn't PAY for that damage, it is subsidised by the rest of us.
The only upside to anyone who isn't a blood relation of Eddie Stobart is fuel duty, which is at least a useful source of government revenue. Yet whenever the price of fuel goes up (for global economic reasons over which the government has no control), hauliers cut up rough and blockade the petrol stations. They want us to cut the fuel duty to compensate them; to subsidise them even more than we already do by building all the bloody motorways for them to break in the first place!
Hell, we invaded Iraq! How much more of a commitment to controlling the price of oil do they expect our government to demonstrate? I can understand high fuel costs annoying them, but where the feck do they get the nerve to be militant about it? Surely, what they ought to be doing is keeping theirs heads down and counting their blessings that the combination of our unthinking acceptance of the status quo (and their own massively powerful political lobby) is ensuring that their unsustainable business is kept alive?? They need to stop acting as if they are victimised crofters, who are being denied their age-old right to pump the skies full of CO2 and occasionally plough into a low-hanging railway bridge.
Fuel duty is an important source of revenue and environmental good news. It's really not up to the government to cut that duty to sustain a business that isn't supportable. The system is already massively in the road lobby's favour. Transport money is automatically poured into motorways, and so our Victorian railway network becomes more and more antiquated and further away from the faster, cheaper, more efficient and far less polluting haulage solution that it could be.
No, mass transportation goods by road is a TERRIBLE idea. And it's not anyone's noble heritage, tradition, way-of-life or raison d'etre (apart from the late Eddie Stobart). But even if you disagree, surely the very worst way for lorry drivers to protest against unfair treatment is to cruise down a motorway in a massive, slow-moving convoy, pouring out emissions, browsing the internet on a laptop, while also texting, eating, drinking questionable coffee and getting in everyone's way! For God's sake, don't draw attention to THOSE aspects of what you do. That's like protesting against the accidental shooting of a gangster by holding a massive riot in London, but leaving SportsDirect well alone.
Admittedly the problem of making stuff stop being in one place and start being in another place is an ancient one. But taking it in lorries, by road, is an inefficient, environmental disaster of a solution. It is slow. It is the cause of slowness in others. It's massively polluting. It does huge damage to the infrastructure it uses and, because it doesn't PAY for that damage, it is subsidised by the rest of us.
The only upside to anyone who isn't a blood relation of Eddie Stobart is fuel duty, which is at least a useful source of government revenue. Yet whenever the price of fuel goes up (for global economic reasons over which the government has no control), hauliers cut up rough and blockade the petrol stations. They want us to cut the fuel duty to compensate them; to subsidise them even more than we already do by building all the bloody motorways for them to break in the first place!
Hell, we invaded Iraq! How much more of a commitment to controlling the price of oil do they expect our government to demonstrate? I can understand high fuel costs annoying them, but where the feck do they get the nerve to be militant about it? Surely, what they ought to be doing is keeping theirs heads down and counting their blessings that the combination of our unthinking acceptance of the status quo (and their own massively powerful political lobby) is ensuring that their unsustainable business is kept alive?? They need to stop acting as if they are victimised crofters, who are being denied their age-old right to pump the skies full of CO2 and occasionally plough into a low-hanging railway bridge.
Fuel duty is an important source of revenue and environmental good news. It's really not up to the government to cut that duty to sustain a business that isn't supportable. The system is already massively in the road lobby's favour. Transport money is automatically poured into motorways, and so our Victorian railway network becomes more and more antiquated and further away from the faster, cheaper, more efficient and far less polluting haulage solution that it could be.
No, mass transportation goods by road is a TERRIBLE idea. And it's not anyone's noble heritage, tradition, way-of-life or raison d'etre (apart from the late Eddie Stobart). But even if you disagree, surely the very worst way for lorry drivers to protest against unfair treatment is to cruise down a motorway in a massive, slow-moving convoy, pouring out emissions, browsing the internet on a laptop, while also texting, eating, drinking questionable coffee and getting in everyone's way! For God's sake, don't draw attention to THOSE aspects of what you do. That's like protesting against the accidental shooting of a gangster by holding a massive riot in London, but leaving SportsDirect well alone.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
2012: Started with a bang!
Had a good time last night! Went out with RosieM and some of her mates. I was driving for the night so didn't have a drink, but it was good fun nonetheless :)
Until one of them decided to punch me square on the nose, daze me for a short moment and then piss off. I will not name names. Girl 'A' was trying to draw some money out of a hole in the wall, but the machine (quite sensibly imo) stole/ate her card. Girl 'H' was pulling a determined and pissed Girl 'A' away from the machine, got angry and it deteriorated into a pointless catfight.
With me being sober, and them being Rosie's friends, I figured I'd step in and just calm the situation. It worked for a split-second. Girl 'H' calmed down. I turned to Girl 'A' with a reassuring (yet 'oh ffs') glance. Little did I know, Girl 'H' wasn't actually finished. As my back was turned, she drew back a fist. And as I turned back towards her, I was caught square on the bridge of my nose.
As I say, I was slightly dazed, but more angry than anything. I spent the rest of the night frustrated that she was a girl (starting to doubt that now tbh), which meant that if I drove my fist into her neck (looking to stun and restrain) I would be a woman-batterer. Despite the fact she threw the first blow for no fucking reason whatsoever.
Until one of them decided to punch me square on the nose, daze me for a short moment and then piss off. I will not name names. Girl 'A' was trying to draw some money out of a hole in the wall, but the machine (quite sensibly imo) stole/ate her card. Girl 'H' was pulling a determined and pissed Girl 'A' away from the machine, got angry and it deteriorated into a pointless catfight.
With me being sober, and them being Rosie's friends, I figured I'd step in and just calm the situation. It worked for a split-second. Girl 'H' calmed down. I turned to Girl 'A' with a reassuring (yet 'oh ffs') glance. Little did I know, Girl 'H' wasn't actually finished. As my back was turned, she drew back a fist. And as I turned back towards her, I was caught square on the bridge of my nose.
As I say, I was slightly dazed, but more angry than anything. I spent the rest of the night frustrated that she was a girl (starting to doubt that now tbh), which meant that if I drove my fist into her neck (looking to stun and restrain) I would be a woman-batterer. Despite the fact she threw the first blow for no fucking reason whatsoever.
Lesson learned: Some posh-accented girls are just thugs and probably would've been arrested if not for the fact they have boobs rather than bollocks.
Anyway, after a pizza, a coke and a calm-down from RosieM (bless her cotton socks), I set off home. Thought I'd take my time. Late at night, not in a rush and no traffic. A delightful drive, I must say. Then comes a couple of coppers in a van (Phil Mitchell and David Mitchell by the looks of it). After half-a-mile, they flash me their lights and sirens (honestly, you filthy lot) so I pull onto the hard shoulder (I'm fairly certain they aren't allowed to just stop you on a motorway, but it was empty so no harm done).
Phil Mitchell lookalike gits aaaht of 'is vaaaaaan (I can't keep that up) and comes over to my car (passenger side). He says 'I have reason to believe you've been drinking, mate.'
'I'm sorry, sir, but I haven't touched a drop all night. I was DD, but my mates went AWOL'.
'You're only doin 60 on a motorway, son. That could be considered dangerous and I think you've been drinking.'
'I'm not in a hurry, the roads are empty and I am just driving carefully.'
He grunted at my retort and pulled out his breathalyser. He instructed me to seal my lips around his tube and blow. Don't blow my lungs out, but just steadily for a sustained period. Morecambe-and-Wise-style double entendre's aside (There's no answer to that!), I did as he said. 'If it's below 35 (that's the legal limit) you 'll be on your merry way'.
I blew for about 7 or 8 seconds and the reading came up with a nought. Nothing. A big fat ZERO. Rather like his head. He then simply said 'Right piss off you little shit.' As he walked back to his van, I was hitting various instruments in the car in a silent rage, mouthing the air blue! My God, was I pissed off at this point. Fuming all the way home with a slight tingling sensation behind my left eye (I assume because of Girl H's impersonation of Muhammad Ali). I trudged into the house (after battling with my wallet when it decided to play hide and seek with my front door key), shoved my stuff on my bed, cleared up the dog mess in the kitchen and settled down for some Shaun of the Dead. Then I typed this up.
Happy fucking New Year, eh?
Anyway, after a pizza, a coke and a calm-down from RosieM (bless her cotton socks), I set off home. Thought I'd take my time. Late at night, not in a rush and no traffic. A delightful drive, I must say. Then comes a couple of coppers in a van (Phil Mitchell and David Mitchell by the looks of it). After half-a-mile, they flash me their lights and sirens (honestly, you filthy lot) so I pull onto the hard shoulder (I'm fairly certain they aren't allowed to just stop you on a motorway, but it was empty so no harm done).
Phil Mitchell lookalike gits aaaht of 'is vaaaaaan (I can't keep that up) and comes over to my car (passenger side). He says 'I have reason to believe you've been drinking, mate.'
'I'm sorry, sir, but I haven't touched a drop all night. I was DD, but my mates went AWOL'.
'You're only doin 60 on a motorway, son. That could be considered dangerous and I think you've been drinking.'
'I'm not in a hurry, the roads are empty and I am just driving carefully.'
He grunted at my retort and pulled out his breathalyser. He instructed me to seal my lips around his tube and blow. Don't blow my lungs out, but just steadily for a sustained period. Morecambe-and-Wise-style double entendre's aside (There's no answer to that!), I did as he said. 'If it's below 35 (that's the legal limit) you 'll be on your merry way'.
I blew for about 7 or 8 seconds and the reading came up with a nought. Nothing. A big fat ZERO. Rather like his head. He then simply said 'Right piss off you little shit.' As he walked back to his van, I was hitting various instruments in the car in a silent rage, mouthing the air blue! My God, was I pissed off at this point. Fuming all the way home with a slight tingling sensation behind my left eye (I assume because of Girl H's impersonation of Muhammad Ali). I trudged into the house (after battling with my wallet when it decided to play hide and seek with my front door key), shoved my stuff on my bed, cleared up the dog mess in the kitchen and settled down for some Shaun of the Dead. Then I typed this up.
Happy fucking New Year, eh?
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