"Sometimes, at the end of a sentence, I come out with completely the wrong fusebox. The problem with using the wrong words is a. that I don't always notice, and b. orange water gibbon bucket of plaster."
I think of this often and have to say we can all learn something from it.
[Note to add: it's a throwaway line from Monty Python sketch. Second note to add: TheWrongFusebox was my reddit username for 15 or so years.]
My great grandfather's body was recovered and is buried at the Fairview Lawn Cemetery in Halifax, Novia Scotia. His wife was never told his body had been recovered and my sister was the first member of the family to ever visit his grave.
Used to hitchhike all over south west Scotland when I was a kid in the early '80s.
No real drama or stories except the one time three of us were hitching and the car that pulled over was being driven by a guy who was locally known as a ‘kiddy fiddler’.
Two of us hopped over a dry stane dyke, leaving just one kid to get a lift with him. Nothing happened to him, but in retrospect it was a shitty move on our part.
Been there once that I recall - friends from university came from up that way. Surely if you're going for a takeaway in Middlesbrough you get a parmo?
I live in one of the places that frequently gets in the top ten best places in the country to live. Not sure I'd agree, but then I'm a country boy at heart.
Minor: on a rough Channel crossing, a friend stepped outside to throw up, but was facing into the wind. Face covered. He looked like the shittest panda ever when he took his specs off.
Medium: back in my university days I hung around with some 13th century reenactment types. One of them was walking up a grass bank and stabbing his broadsword into the ground to give himself something to hold on to as he went. Then he missed the ground and stabbed himself in the foot, right through his boot. He threw the boot away in anger, but one of my housemates rescued it and put it in pride of place on our mantlepiece. The best part was when the guy realised he didn't have any other boots to wear so had to come around, ask for the boot back so he could stitch it up and wear it again. AKA the medieval equivalent of shooting yourself in the foot.
Major: I once saw a car ignore the lights and sirens of a fire engine at a crossroads and drive into the side of it at about 40 mph / 65 kph. The fire engine was on its way to a fire so the water tanks would have been full. It barely rocked from the impact but the entire engine compartment of the car displaced into the passenger compartment.
My local pizza place has an off-menu pizza called the Hossenfeffer since it's what I order every time. Deep pan, spicy beef x 2, spicy pork x 2, lamb doner (gyro) meat x 2, pepperoni, jalapenos x 2, fresh green chilles.
This was just the quotidian breakfast at Hossenfeffer Court. I suppose they might serve much the same at whatever counts as a 'middle class hotel', surely anything less would be grounds for complaint?
I've just taken a peek at the Savoy's breakfast menu and it seems a bit spartan to me. No kidneys, no fried bread, no mushrooms, I'm troubled by their description of a 'choice of egg', and those modern, American, baked beans instead of traditional buttered beans. Is that the sort of thing you were thinking about?
Edit to add: crikey, just looked at the Ritz breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausage, mushroom and tomato. And that's it! The middle class do appear to have it somewhat rough. I blame the governement.
"Sometimes, at the end of a sentence, I come out with completely the wrong fusebox. The problem with using the wrong words is a. that I don't always notice, and b. orange water gibbon bucket of plaster."
I think of this often and have to say we can all learn something from it.
[Note to add: it's a throwaway line from Monty Python sketch. Second note to add: TheWrongFusebox was my reddit username for 15 or so years.]