HonaloochieB

Not a drop in Brixton.

...but I reckon it serves me right for falling in the urinal.

I often find myself simply shrouded in ennui...

They're as pickled as those who consume them RosieH.

Train In Vain - The Clash

Take A Chance On Me - ABBA

Chance Encounter - Roxy Music

Unit

TillieTrotter Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > I went to Charlotte Sharman but good mate (who now > lives on NC Road) went to St Georges. We used to > play against you at netball and football. Small > world hey! > > Where were Quinns buildings? Apologies to everyone else, while me TT reminisce. Charlotte 'Shite' Sharman eh? That's what certain elements in St George's used to call your school. How old is your mate? What sort of vintage are you yourself if that's not too personal? The buildings were opposite Webber Row I think without checking. They were demolished a long time ago, probably as some sort of slum clearance. George's is still there I think.

Was for a chunk of childhood TT. We resided in Quinn's Buildings on Waterloo Road. I went to St George's primary school.

Rest In Peace - Mott The Hoople

lang may your

mightyroar Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > Is anyone else reaching for the gin with the > breakfast cereal due to the joy and delight of > full time summer holiday parent duties? > who's turn is it to have a go with the blue water > pistol, pink bucket and yellow watering can? how > long will each turn be? will the world then be > fair? Can they have an ice lolly before > breakfast? > > then my neighbour complained about the noise of > the kids in the garden in the afternoon > > In their own garden? In the afternoon? in the > summer holidays? Just how sorry should I really > be? I suspect the answer was in the queation MR. I'm guessing your kids are pretty young, so don't see it as your problem. If there's not a some tolerance when it comes to the children playing in the garden during the summer hols then you're entitled to feel a mite put out. I don't know your neighbours, for that matter I don't know your good self, but unless they have particular reasons, such as infirmity, illness etc then the usual, reasonable (the easiest word to apply, often the most difficult to define. 'I'm being perfectly reasonable - the fact that you're not makes you a complete bastard') rules should apply i.e. your kids not shouting from dawn to dusk and insisting your neighbours arbitrate over the bucket and watering can debates and them allowing youngsters a bit of free rein. There may be a case for acknowledging their complaint however, and finding out why they're finding the disputes over water pistols etc not to their liking. Though I'm sure you've probably done this. The gin before breakfast? Of course with a good measure of tonic. Ice lollies before breakfast? Very long 'ice-pops' will keep the youngsters occupied for some time. Especially if you insist that they open them themselves. Better still if you can go back in time to 'George's Stores' on Waterloo Road circa 1963 and bring back a supply of 'Jubblies', those solid ice pyramidical style slightly flavoured slabs, you'd be doing yourself, the kids and the neighours a great service. At least half an hour to get the seal open, an hour to work the tip of the 'lolly' through the gap, two to three hours to consume the iceberg and a minimum of an hour and a half recovery time while your jaw thaws out. At least that's how I remember it.

When you say deliver, do you mean as in providing the best quality large chicken kebab, and possibly a cheeky beer or two on a late Friday/early Saturday return from on the lash? Or do you mean, are there any kebab shops that might deliver said comestible to your home? As John Cooper-Clarke once remarked 'suffering Jesus this aint my venue' And I reckon he knows a thing or two about kebabs. Unless you go to the kebab restaurant itself, see it being prepared before your drunk unfocussed eyes, vetoed the chilli sauce (or not, if that's your bag, man, live like you wanna live) and taken it home, having not had it wrapped in a plastic bag so that it gets all sweaty then you're not really a kebab person, and should stick to the safer forms of home delivery. You know the ones. In the time it has taken me to type this, there'll have been a half-dozen of those menus thrust through your letterbox. Jolly good many will be an' all. So the rules of kebab are: 1. I will always be outside my home, preferably on the way back there when I become involved with one. 2. Prior to this I will have taken, with friends, an immoderate amount of alcohol. 3. The effect said alcohol will have on me, will be to dull my senses to a degree that I think I can pull a 20 year old in the kebab house, but not to the extent that I'm prepared to fight her 18 year old boyfriend, who will tell me that if I'm prepared to 'diss' him he wil take me outside and 'f@ck me up'. He will also confidently inform me that if by some fluke I better him in combat, he has confederates who will trace me to my home address and seek retribution on his behalf. 4. Realise that though I have taken on board an injudicious amount of alcohol, I have no desire to become a crime statistic. 5. Raise my upturned palms and slightly bent elbows in the internationally recognised gesture for 'what a terrible misunderstanding, how could we two reasonable people have come to this?' 6. Watch couple snatch their food from friendly (but when it comes to siding with anyone is Swiss in his neutrality) proprieter, and leave, with some teeth-kissing that I imagine is directed at the amount of time they've been kept waiting. Possibly. 7. Order a large chicken kebab. And two/three/four beers. 8. Reject chilli sauce. 9. Accept plastic bag to carry home the polystyrene pod. 10.Do not allow it to be tied up. Let your kebab breathe. It was once a living thing you know. 11.Walk home. 12.Put oven on low heat. Place polysterene pod on tray in oven. 13.Turn on DVD and TV and insert series 9 of Seinfeld. Open first of beers. Laugh immoderately at series 9 of Seinfeld. Open second and third of beers. Fall asleep. 14.Awake at 8:15am on Saturday morning. 15.Get kebab from oven. Burn hands. 16.Eat kebab for breakfast with leftover beer. 17.Wish you'd had the chilli sauce after all. 18.Shrug philosophically, and watch the final episode of Seinfeld, knowing it's not that good, but knowing that you must. Know that no matter how poor the experience of buying a kebab form a shop might be, it can't possibly be as appalling as having one delivered.

The Hunter - Free

Henry Cooper

All The Way From Memphis - Mott The Hoople

Morris Minor

My Bonnie - The Beatles

Swings

games

Is you people Communis?

SimonM Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > >>Isn't this a bedrock of British justice - > "better that 10 guilty men should go free than one > innocent man be condemned" > Not an adage I have ever been terribly happy with, > given that each of the 10 guilty men set free > might then go on to murder, rape, burgle other > innocent victims....And of course in England & > Wales what we seem to get far too often is 10 > innocents condemned & 10 guilty set free. Time to > abolish the Jury System! Time to put a better argument than that.

This is no longer a builders caff. It's genrified by virtue of the current 'punters' and I reckon 'we' (and of course by that I mean everyone else in ED (East Dulwich)except me 'cause I rent) should just take it for what it is. It's a place that will take a while to serve you and may be a tiny bit 'homemade' about the whole thing. I think for me that's what I seek in a 'caff' It's 'culturally' a workmans Cafe, and that's OK by me. How best to stop it becoming more popular? Or do I mean exclusive? Well do I? I suppose a rumour that teams of tooled-up 'yoof' congregate there might be a start.

Life After Death - Ian Hunter So glad Giggirl saw the light. It's like the prodigal daughter's return. I know of what I speak. My calves are certainly fat. (And on that I collapse into helpless mirth in the style of Stewie Griffin.)