Jah Lush

Get a grip Shaila. Just because you're a member of one establishment doesn't automatically mean you can just waltz into another.

A few contributors no longer contribute. One did a flounce and the others have gone cold turkey. Though like methadone prescribed addicts still lurk with the temptation to have their say running through their veins.

Aha! I'm still in with two bites of the cherry.

Good advice from a local species.

That's probably where he got it from. I think they call it artistic license.

I thought these two little gems from the pen of the late Jeffrey Bernard are worthy of this thread. The first one concerns the ski slopes of Switzerland and the other a train journey to Sevenoaks. It seems that a few years ago a group of English people went on a skiing holiday somewhere in Switzlerland. One day they were at the top of a long run preparing to descend when their instructor warned them to go to the lavatory first, as it was going to be quite a trip down and back to the hotel. Those who wanted to did so. One young woman decided not to bother and then, as the group set off downhill, she changed her mind, detached herself from the others and went behind a tree for a pee. As she squatted down to do the business, her skis began slowly to move, as she was on a slope. In no time at all she had gathered momentum and was soon careering down the hill, her ski-pants around her ankles and peeing all the while. The next day she returned to England, and in the back of the aeroplane where she sat the crew had accommodated a man on a stretcher. Both his legs were in plaster and he had a bandage around his head. They started talking and she asked him how he had had such an appalling accident. He said, "Well, it is quite ridiculous really, and you probably won't believe it. I was out skiing yesterday morning when to my utter amazement a woman came whizzing past me with her pants around her ankles and peeing as she sped along. I was mesmerised and tears of laughter were running down my face, and I crashed straight into a tree." End of story. Or is it? When I reflect on it, I like to think that they are now happily married and settled down and will be on the slopes together this coming season. Here's the other if even more bizarre tale concerning a young man, the son of an affluent bookmaker who had offices near Simpson's in Piccadilly. His father gave an office party one day and the son duly attended. He was green and inexperienced, ignorant of drink and its attendant dangers. For an hour he mixed champagne with whisky - disastrous. He lost control and inadvertently - how can I put it politely? - evacuated his bowels. With a mixture of panic and embarrassment he staggered into Simpson's and asked an assistant for a pair of trousers. "What sort of trousers?" he was asked "Any," he said, "any at all. The first pair that comes to hand." He left the shop with his purchase and hailed a taxi to take him to Charing Cross to get the train home. Once the train was moving, he went to the lavatory to clean himself up as best he could. Having done that, and as the train was speeding through the suburbs, he threw his dirty pants and trousers out of the window. And then, with what one can only imagine to have been a long sigh of relief, he put his hand in the Simpson's carrier bag to pull out his new trousers. The only thing in the bag was a V-neck pullover. He had been given the wrong bag. That is all we know. Since I read this story I have laid awake at night trying to picture the scene. I presume he put his legs through the sleeves of the jersey, but what I want to know is where did he put the exposed V of the jersey. To the front or his rear? I wonder, too, what the ticket collector thought, let alone the other passengers alighting at Sevenoaks. He is probably a broken man now and gets out of the train either at the stop before Sevenoaks or the stop after in order to go home by taxi. He is now almost certainly a teetotaller. There are holes in this story, but apparently it is true. I am afraid I rather hope so. Poor man.

phobic3000 Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > I was a drummer in a band at college and for our > big end of college celebration we hired a hall in > Fairfield halls. I got hammered, stomped on the > bass drum pedal so hard that it split the skin. > That meant nobody else could play. Whilst I was > "performing" I felt nobody was listening. Probably > because they were happily spending time with their > mates. Anyway after the song I walked up to the > mic, said "f*ck all you lot" and walked off. > > Felt like a complete knob and still feel bad about > it now. In fact I declined the reunion as I'm so > embarrassed about it. Why? That is so punk rock.

When cooked fresh the Two Brothers chippie opposite the Grove Tavern is well worth a visit. Nice fish too.

I was 16 and hadn't been working long for what was then IPC Newspapers. One of the papers I worked for was a down market Sunday rag and I'd gone to their office Christmas dinner and dance up town. I got incredibly drunk on the free booze and was barely conscious by the end of the evening. A colleague suggested I could stay in the spare room at his mother's house, who lived nearby rather than make the long and expensive trek home in a taxi so I took him up on his offer So we get back and I crash out instantly. In the morning with a hangover from hell his lovely old mum makes us breakfast and it's hi ho hi ho it's off to work we go. Later on during the day my colleague gets a phone call from his mum. In the room I'd stayed in was temporarily housed all the Christmas presents neatly piled and wrapped for all her family and friends before they were put under the tree. Apparently, I'd got up in the middle of the night and pissed all over them.

It was on Forest Hill Road.

It's Eton not Eaton, JohnL.

JohnL Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > BrandNewGuy Wrote: > -------------------------------------------------- > ----- > > Plato also believed in slavery and rule by an > > elite of philosopher kings. I'm choosing not to > > follow his political beliefs. > > > The "Go back to Eton" guy maybe thinks the Tories > do too :) He himself looked a right posh bastard. I reckon he went to Harrow.

Indeed. "Beware of false prophets who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravaging wolves." Matthew 7.15. I'm bloody rent a quote this morning.

"The price noble men pay for their indifference to social affairs is to be ruled by evil men." - Plato

Pm'd you.

Indeed. Often see Sami sitting outside the French Caf? or eating at Si Mangia, where he is a regular. I think he still lives along that strip. I remember when he had Thistles (now Le Chardon) as I had a girlfriend who waitressed there for a while. Would often enjoy after hours drinks there. Very glad this place is finally getting sorted out. The bookies and the Laundromat next then.

Yeah, reminds of the intros to Waiting for the Man and also Sister Ray. But the connection I was thinking of is Wooden Shjips, I believe the guitarist is still in them and this is a side project. I'd forgotten about this track too.

My Left Foot.

Cheers, Hawley. I like that. Haven't pinpointed what it reminds me of though. There's something familiar there but I like it.

Heard this for the first time today. Had me almost weeping by the end of it. How does Dylan do this? He's written so many great songs that have been unreleased for decades and when they finally are you're baffled as to why they weren't. This is up there with any of his great love songs. Just gorgeous.

BFS... Deluded knob jockey. http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/football/32240394

So technically not sacked by the BBC at all. Just from Top Gear.

I'm sure the old dear is loving all the attention. http://i1369.photobucket.com/albums/ag237/jahlushhead/11021265_1010769222269785_1415691314661683001_n_zpsblf3esq5.jpg

It's better than EastEnders.

Rik from the Young Ones ^^^^^