Scrapes Wot Us 'Orns Have Got Ourselves Into

jus woke up x

 

SEJ wrote Philadelphia Freedom for BJK.

Had you been whistling this at the check out?

 

Your plot is simple, almost classic.

But where is the tension, the poetry, the romance?

The public want Spielberg yet you have given them Huw Edwards.

 

Excellent IBB. Of course it qualifies. I woke up at 11.00 when my mother phoned. I've since eaten three chocolates.

 

I've started getting Dating.Com or something similar on mine.

Soon after I last posted about Vydra.

 

Indeed he did but I suspect not and that I was hoping the team hadn't put any extras on the bar bill!

I get adverts for 'Russian Women'.
I might apply for one.She may come in handy as a translator at the next coach workshop I attend as most other coaches now appear to be from the east.

 

I used the word 'distasteful'. I'm not in the slightest bit interested in the sex lives of anyone on this board and I suspect most others would agree. That you were apparently 'shagging' is of no relevance to your story and neither is the size of her breasts. That's where the sexism in the OP lies, because to include those sorts of details reduces the woman concerned to a sex object.

 

This one time, at band camp, a bear came.

 

Dear God, you are a 50something Brit who has been in America a little over 10 years. Stop fantasising about being a teen on the first American Pie from the previous century.

 

I hope you had your kagoule on

 

Cut a long story short. Two Bosnian cops with guns pulled me over for a non existent traffic offence in Sarajevo. My reasonable Serbo-Croat and having read the guidebook the night before enabled me to irritate them into submission as a thick tourist and drive the dodgy illegal fine down from 50 Euro to 10 Euro. In the end the just wanted me out of their car.

 

Same happened to me in Bratislava, except that I paid up to avoid being late for a meeting

 

Be careful if she sports an umbrella.

 

30 years ago she was very very desirable. In 2018 this just smacks of desperation.

 

In what way is this a scrape you got yourself into ? I was waiting for the "...so I had no choice but to climb out of the toilet window and leg it.." or similar but it never came ?

 

Patience.

 

More p.c. b.llocks then. To be fair though she did rather enjoy being viewed as a 'sex object'. Takes all sorts you see ... Which is again the point ...

 

I was once driving through Balikesir in western Turkey heading north. I got done for speeding heading into it and then again heading out. The second time I realised the barstewards had nicked two of my casettes. One was the Stones - Emotional Rescue and the other something more folksy that I forget.

I've got a collection of speeding tickets from around the world pinned to a board on my kitchen wall. My favourite is from the Navajo Indian Nation. Swaziland is quite a good one too.

 

It's interesting to see how many people justify their sexist / racist / homophobic etc behaviour by dismissing all criticism as 'p.c b.llocks' rather than accept they were wrong. I note that you've chosen to ignore my point that the sex-related details have nothing to do with the story. Now you appear to be proud of getting speeding tickets from around the world - let's show off about how often I've broken the law!

There is a theme developing here - fairly boring stories embellished by details intended to make the reader think 'What a lad'. 'Lad' is not the word I would choose, I'm afraid.

 

I would have got one on the way to Kruger in SA but was in a hurry so managed to convince the cop that I should just pay him directly and he could "pass it on for me". Was told to screw up c£20 in notes as small as possible and pass it to him only when he said. Happy ending, got to Kruger before the gates shut but nothing for the kitchen wall.

 

Still waiting to find out in which way that first story was a scrape you got out of. I know I'm inpatient.

 

There certainly is a theme developing here. The contest for forum bore has a winner. So if you've nothing amusing to contribute yourself, having led a life of treading ever so carefully so as to avoid the merest chance that you might be accused of an ism, then why not bore off and bore some other posters on another thread why don't ya?

And again I'll make the point. This woman postively promoted herself as a 'sex object'. Maybe you've not come across one of them before ...

 

OK. Well technically that one wasn't. If I get around to relating some others they will be. But I'm getting a bit fed up now in having to defend myself against the moralistic p.c. brigade so might not bother.

 

Would have been useful this past week,wetter than a haddock's bathing suit!
My brothers and I attended a SEJ gig at Hammersmith Odeon I think and went to Mansfield the next day.
Coming out of the ground some home fans spotted us and chased us hither and thither and into an auto repair shop.
One barbarian asked the nice owner,who had let us shelter behind the counter,if he 'had any Wrigleys?'
The owner told him to clear off and called the police.
We waited for ten minutes but none arrived so we ventured out.
I can still remember the fear of looking over my shoulder as we ran back to Laurence's car.
Not nice but not as bad as having stones and pieces of brick thrown at us at The Kennel.

 

One of the others on the wall is from S.A. From Sweelendam. If anybody else is interested (obviously 'charisma bypasses' won't be) the others are from Greece, Iceland, Canada and the U.S.

 

OK then. Here's my Edinburgh Fringe one.

This story won't involve any sexual exploits. It could have done but, seeing as it would have involved another woman with extremely large breasts, it won't seeing as I can't be arsed with the potential fallout. So there yer go ...

In 2013 I was at a bit of a loose end following a very busy season of breeding season bird survey work in the hills of the Borders. So I applied for an August job on the fringe. It was with a company called Gag Reflex from Manchester promoting twelve comedy acts. The job involved a bit of general office work, dealing with venues and flyering out on the street trying to get punters to buy tickets for their shows. For the month of August. That's the Fringe.

So I went for an interview in Manchester. Got the job. A very pleasant weekend. Went for a meal with a local Meetup group on the Saturday night after the interview (try them sometime). Visited the Football Museum and the ... gallery on the Sunday.

Anyway, back in Edinburgh, at the very end of July, we all had a pre-festival meeting in the back-garden of the flat/office that Gag Reflex had hired for the duration. All 25 of the staff for the next month (three permanents and 22 temps) turned up. And 24 of their ages started with a 2. And mine had, very recently then, just started with a 6. So there was a bit of surprise. All the others initially thought that I was some sort of grandad type bloke there to chaperone one of the young ladies. When they realised I was simply 'one of the team' though there was no judgement. As it should be but thanks for that guys. '60 y.o. descends from the hills and mixes it with a bunch of 20 something drama students, acting wannabees and comedy buffs'. Big deal. And when they realised I was just as up for it as them in maximising the perks of the job (attending all our own acts, attending the other shows at our own venues that weren't sold out already (off shift), partying and dancing until 3 a.m. and gate-crashing posh, late-night parties, that we weren't invited to (my forte and what's the worst than happen?) then it got even better. I never once felt that I was just 'tolerated'. Rather accepted.

Anyway again. The Edinburgh Fringe has five principal venues. Or it did then. I doubt that it's changed a whole lot since. They are the Assembly Rooms on George St. Traditional and a bit posh. The Assembly Gardens south of Bristo Square. Used to be conspecific but not anymore. More about them later. The Pleasance, a traditional venue on a street named, surprisingly, the Pleasance. Plus a satellite in the new student's building on Bristo Square. The Gilded Balloon in the old student's union on Bristo Square. And the Udderbelly, an upside-down purple marquee resembling a cow's udder upside-down and also on Bristo Square.

We had acts performing in the Pleasance, the Gilded Balloon and the Udderbelly. None at all in either of the Assemblys. So the limited training we received on flyering was to try and get punters on their way 'between venues'. What a pile of tosh. We weren't supposed to go into the venues where we didn't have acts.

I quickly sussed out the complete b.lloks of this advice. Get in there mate. Bend the rules. Stand on the tables where you're allowed to and also on the ones where you're supposedly not allowed to. In the places where people have arrived at and aren't in transit Bend the rules. Sell the tickets.

My patter for each act (which I had off pat for each) was maybe about 15 secs. each. No point in engaging with a couple on the street, who'd rather be somewhere else, asking about their life-history on the off-chance that they might by a coupla tickets. Get involved with a bunch of twenty on the Assembly Lawn p.ssed up with their mates.

There was a competition around who had worked on the most sold-out shows. I won it easily. 60-30 or something like that. Because I broke the rules. So therin lies the story. My record was getting chucked out of the Assembly Gardens six times on the same day. Sold a shed-load of tickets though!

Maninblack?

 

I think Kelso is the genetic common ancestor of Godfather and 'Orny 'Arry.

 

All true mate.

 

Was your interest fueled by this headline by any chance?

​

 

It seems a bit sad to me that all other posters seem to be able to come up with is a sideswipe at a side comment of my own as opposed to a genuine bit of racconteurship of their own.

Dear, dear. Sheltered lives?

 

Was 'Orny 'Arry that geezer that had a thing for Rachel Riley?

 

Kelso, your mention of the Edinburgh Fringe brought to mind a small incident I was witness to on a friends stag weekend one August in Edinburgh. Real names have been changed even though I’m pretty certain that, other than me, none of those involved frequent this message board.


Caution:


I feel a duty to let readers know, in advance, that this tale contains female entertainers mixed with young, stupid, drunken men behaving in a mildly laddish manner. All of whom have likely grown up and I’m sure wouldn’t think of behaving in such a way now.




Early evening, and as occasionally happens after an afternoon of moderate drinking at such gatherings, the best man decided that the stag needed a visit to a male entertainment establishment. We had a drink at the bar whilst acclimatising to our new surroundings, which for the first time that day included women. The best man went off to organise some dancers and a room large enough to accommodate the entire party.


We all sat in this large curtained off area clutching our drinks tightly for comfort. The music pulsed and pumped away as the girls did their bit, dancing their way around the group, paying particular attention to the stag and one or two others. Of course the promise of this type of entertainment is always far more exciting than the actual event itself and paying for such things has never really done it for me anyway. Our allotted time passed swiftly and we thanked the girls for their performance. As drunk blokes often do, a couple of the group chatted to the girls for a while (as if they would be even remotely interested). The rest of us finished our drinks in the bar, leaving soon afterwards.


As we walked along to our next venue, one of the bouncers came running up accusing us of stealing the girls underwear. Of course all pleaded innocence and the stag’s father very firmly told the bouncer that we did not have them, we’re a fairly sensible group and none of us would do such a thing. As the words came out of his mouth only one thing was ever going to happen. One of our group, Rupert, came running along the street looking very pleased with himself, ‘whey-heying’ as he whirled the tiniest of sparkly thongs around his head. It was unlikely to have been his as he didn’t seem the type which could mean only one thing - He was the knicker thief. The face of the stag’s father was a picture as the rest of the group laughed and luckily even the bouncer saw the funny side. The item of clothing was duly returned, nobody was hurt, the stag’s father didn’t speak to Rupert for a while and we continued to enjoy the weekend in a way that only immature men can. We never saw the lap-dancers or the knickers again.

 

That Rupert. He's a one eh? What a lad ...

 

He was certainly the unruly one of the bunch but rest assured that the rest of us admonished him for his high jinks. The best man was stripped of his position as for taking us to such a place and we spent the rest of the weekend visiting art galleries, museums and attending various protest marches. I for one am still coming to terms with what happened that evening and posting my story is part of my rehabilitation.