No smilies, no avatars, no flashing gifs. Just discuss the issues of the day, from last night's telly via football to science or philosophy.
Started by Anchorman on 06-Sep-2017 20:39:51
Tell us a random story from your life.

Serious,silly,funny,sad or whatever

Previous
|
Next
|
Top
|
Bottom
Anchorman - 06 Sep 2017 20:43:14 (#1 of 103)

My grandmother on my father's side remembered Buffalo Bill Cody coming to tea circa 1908. He'd brought is travelling stage show to the UK and her father rented him the land to on which to site the show..

Anchorman - 06 Sep 2017 20:47:37 (#2 of 103)

Once,when drunk I climbed a railway signal tower

widenation - 06 Sep 2017 21:00:32 (#3 of 103)

My Grandmother on my father's side had a relative who rode in Bill's show I'm told.

SinnerBoy - 06 Sep 2017 21:11:05 (#4 of 103)

I took a mate, from Divis Flats to the Bobby Shafto pub, in Scotswood, for the purpose of buying a couple of ounces of Red Leb. This was in 1986. Anyway, we got off the 38 bus at the Mitre (where they later filmed "Byker Grove") and walked down to the Bobby Shaftoe.

As we walked down Haig Crescent, he remarked that he thought that Belfast was rough, but that Scotswood took the fucking biscuit. Probably 90% of the houses were boarded up and burned out, with plywood over the windows.

Gangs of urchins followed us, with several shinning drainpipes, to hurl rubble through the gaps in the plywood, so as to smash the remaining fragments of window. A number of them followed us, yelling,

"Fuckin' hippies" and throwing stones and offal. Dregs, somewhat nervous, opined that we should hurry, as I offered a few jovial,

"Fuck off, ye lirrel cunts!" and returned fire.

Finally, we stood before the Shafto, on the Walwick Fell side.

"So,where's this bar, then, " he asked.

"Well, fuckin' here, kidda."

"Where?!?"

"Right in front o' ye."

"Eh? It's all burned out, there's no glass and all the barbed wire..."

"It's the side door."

We entered and Dregs immediately asked for the bogs and crept out a few minutes later, as I was paying for two pints of MacCewans inaptly named Best Scotch.

"Did ye see that?" he enquired.

"What?"

"It looked like two fellas were snorting whizz off the bar!"

"Oh, Davey the landlord and Johnny Mad-Eyes? Davey's the landlord, don't worry about it."

"Fucking Hell, fucking Hell, where have ye brung us? I'd go anywhere in Belfast... Shit... Fuck, I didn't know anywhere was as bad as this..."

"Ah, don't worry about it, it's quiet today." So we sat at a table. After a bit, Eddie (the dealer) and his wife came in, with Diamond, their dog. Greetings were made and comments on how nervous my pal looked, were made. Explanations were made, detailing his gentility, coming from the lovely environs of 80s Belfast. Negotiations were entered into and Eddie phoned for his son to bring the stuff from the house.

Pints of MacEwans "Best" Scotch were bought for us. A guy came in with a Rottwieler, which pissed against the bar, incurring the wrath of Davey, the landlord. Not too high a level of wrath, I must add, as the dog owned one of the Aubadon brothers.

Anyway, the Rottweiler spotted Diamond (a bitch) and proceeded to have his wicked way with her back.

After the nuptials were complete, Eddie looked over and bawled,

"Ah Maureen! Hev ye gorra tissue? Wipe that spunk off the dog's back!"

Shortly afterwards, we left with 2 oz of the most pungent resin I've ever come across, with a very paranoid Belfast lad, pointing out that the old biddies on the bus either didn't know what the smell was, or else, were hoping for a freebie.

surferboogiewhatever - 06 Sep 2017 21:17:56 (#5 of 103)

Brilliant!

Agaliarept - 06 Sep 2017 21:23:58 (#6 of 103)

I was filmed skateboarding and turned into a video game charcter for the PS1 game Rollcage.

I appear at 45 seconds in in yellow.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=t4nvQiPemwY

Anchorman - 06 Sep 2017 22:11:57 (#7 of 103)

Apparently my grandfather was the train driver in Brief Encounters

bossab2 - 06 Sep 2017 22:14:16 (#8 of 103)

On a greyhound bus journey halfway down California, the bus driver used the bus's PA to tell us how Jesus was his saviour etc...

slicey - 06 Sep 2017 22:17:03 (#9 of 103)

My grandmother boo'd Ghandi when he came to visit Bolton.

bossab2 - 06 Sep 2017 22:21:03 (#10 of 103)

I shared a joint with Sir Jonathan Porritt CBE.

( before he reverted to type)

Flicker - 06 Sep 2017 22:23:54 (#11 of 103)

I knew James Bay before he was famous, and didn't think that much of him.

TRaney - 06 Sep 2017 22:26:50 (#12 of 103)

Who?

grenadiglia - 06 Sep 2017 22:34:22 (#13 of 103)

I danced with a man who later married a woman who is now married to the Prince of Wales.

lapsedcat - 06 Sep 2017 23:24:41 (#14 of 103)

My granddad had been a carpenter by trade, until rheumy eyes and stiffening fingers had finally forced him to hang up his musty sawdust-ridden overalls for the last time, on the rusty old nail his dad before him - himself a master carpenter - had knocked into the wall some eighty years earlier.

Granddad rarely picked up his tools after that; I think it was too painful for him. His fingers hurt a lot, after all.

But he found it difficult on an emotional level, as well. He'd owned many of those tools since he was a young man, back when he was full of moxie and sap and had a smart mouth which occasionally landed him in trouble (Oh he'd seen the inside of police cells a few times, he once told me, almost brimming with pride. Oh yeah, he'd had to do a job in a zinc bucket but that kind of thing develops a fellow's character, he'd said, sucking thoughtfully on his pipe.)

I decided one day, at the age of eight, a child still, a callow youth with golden curls and eyes the colour of Balinese pools, to make my granddad happy again. Not by getting him arrested and thrown in the slammer for old time's sake, but by asking him to show me his tools, the tools of his trade, the decades-old instruments of his craft, the only things in his life that had ever really mattered to him.

Apart from the family of course. And especially me.

I'd get him show me his chisels and saws, his hammers, his planes, the bevellers and borers, the collection of screwdrivers with deep cherry handles, and the lathe, that most bewitching of workshop appurtenances.

I packed a light lunch to eat on the way (with mother's assistance, cheese and ketchup sandwiches probably), and left the house, making my way on foot through the fields and paddocks and over Old Man Bruin's failed vineyard, scaling fences and negotiating streams with a forked stick, until, finally, I reached granddad's house.

He would be so surprised to see me. He would stoop down and tussock my hair and what a face would he make once he learned the meaning of my visit! What larks!

I knocked on the door. At length I heard him shuffling across the old uncarpeted living room floor and sliding back the locks.

"Oh! It's you!" Should any man claim that my grandfather had ever been more astonished in his life than at that precise moment then I would call that man a stinking liar.

"Granddad, will you show me your tools? In your workshop? I'd like you to show me your tools granddad."

"No. Go home."

Seems he was watching something on the telly. I can't remember what.

I walked home, my head bowed. Readers, I did not cry though the temptation was great! It took me hours. I think I was hoping that by dawdling perhaps some mishap might befall me, like a sheep attacking me, causing hospitalisation and granddad's eternal guilt and remorse.

He died the following April. I received the news of his passing philosophically.

kitty778 - 06 Sep 2017 23:29:57 (#15 of 103)

aw

lapsedcat - 06 Sep 2017 23:32:56 (#16 of 103)

This has been a cathartic exercise and now I'm off to bed. Cheerio.

Eligelis - 06 Sep 2017 23:42:02 (#17 of 103)

for fucks sake Lapsed. I want to believe that that story is true, yet at the same time am desperately hoping that it isn't.

Eligelis - 07 Sep 2017 00:38:24 (#18 of 103)

I moved into my flat in late august 1992. I've live here almost half my life.

For half my life I've lived here, alone; and I'm feeling it tonight.

Too many times in the last 5 years I've woken in the night, unable to breathe, chocking, gasping for breath, afraid deep down that it might not happen. Terrified afterwards of going back to sleep, in case I don't wake in time when it happens again.

I don't want to die alone.

Random enough for you?

Flicker - 07 Sep 2017 00:40:31 (#19 of 103)

I can't breathe either, right now, Eli. (((Hug???)))

ishyomah - 07 Sep 2017 01:07:12 (#20 of 103)

It was a typically busy Sunday afternoon in the old people's home and my collegue and I were settling the old biddies down for their tea.

Gladys had been tired that day and had needed some persuasion to eventually join her fellow residents for some uplifting afternoon telly in the lounge. Rather than put her through the effort of transfering her from wheelchair to dining chair we wheeled her up to the table for her tea. How forward thinking we were!

I turned my back (I swear) for just a monment to answer the phone and when I looked back into the dining room, oh horror! There was Gladys face down in her scrambled egg.

We sidled over to her, not wishing to cause a panic you understand, only to discover she was dead!

"Oh, Gladys!" My resourceful collegue declaimed, "you really are tired today!" And tipped the wheelchair back as we speedily removed the corpse, her head lolling back convincingly knackered as we did so. Diving into the lift, we made fatal eye contact and hysterically collapsed.

I called the undertaker.

Previous
|
Next
|
Top
|
Bottom
Check Subscriptions
|
Home » The Haven