» Kids

How to shut up a small child

At the age of approximately 5, I was the typical rabbity kid, who would never shut up, which got on my dads nerves to some extent (he's a great dad really, always was and still is). So he told me that people were born with only a certain number of words to use, and that if I wasn't careful, I'd run out of them. I was somewhat sceptical until he mentioned that that was the reason why old people were so quiet.... the sod.

(He also tried to screw up my vocabulary when I was learning to talk by pointing at, say, a table, and saying 'that's a greenhouse' etc)
(Thu 17th Apr 2008, 22:52, More)

» DIY disasters

Perils of a single garage
Before I start.... my dad is a diy genius.... Everything he does is to the highest standard - he and my mum have been in the same house 40 years, and he has done absolutely everything himself, central heating, wiring, plumbing etc - he just seems to know how to do it (I, on the other hand, am a numpty, but enough of that)

The other thing he does is restore old racing cars (usually single seaters) which gives me some nice things to play and crash in....

As he spends approximately 99% of his time in the garage, inevitably the occasional accident happens. When such an occasion occurs, he is usually compos mentis enough to present himself before my mum, pouring with blood, before he faints (re: a famous screwdriver straight through hand occasion).

But to the QOTW! We used to have a single garage - it had 3 racing cars in it (2 hung from the ceiling) and a whole load of crap (sorry, tools and bits) in it. The result was there was about 1m squared of floor space. Now as I have mentioned, my dad restores old race cars, and he tends to wear old jeans. These get oily (important point).

One day, he's stood at his vice, angle grinding away at a bit of vitally important flange sprocket or suchlike, and as per the norm, the sparks are falling in the 'upper thigh' area. On this day, it appears that the jeans have reached their own critical mass of oil saturation - 'hmm' thinks dad - 'my leg is getting a bit warm' - and looks down to see his crotch massively alight, due to the accumulated mass of hydrocarbons. His angle grinder at the time didn't have a dead mans switch, so he is left holding it above his head, revolving at approx 1 million rpm, while he flaps around trying to put his 'leg' out, in the process of which he slams the side of his hand on a sheet of steel, impaling himself.

'Hmm' thinks he (OK, it might have been a bit more extreme than 'hmm'), I wonder what I should do now? Cue him pulling his hand off the steel, hurling the angle grinder off (straight through the closed garage door) before putting his 'upper thigh' (OK IT WAS HIS TACKLE) out frantically, then walking to the back door and promptly fainting in an orgy of smouldering jeans and singed pubic hair.

I would tell you about the fibreglass resin and closed atmosphere story, but I was only 3 and it burned all my neurons...

(apologies for length, but the cord to the angle grinder was about 20 feet)
(Sat 5th Apr 2008, 1:13, More)

» Terrible Parenting

Terrible parenting once removed
This has to be the singly most depressing QOTW to date, and happens to hit at the same time as me being affected by the indirect results of bad parenting, so bear with me.

I am seriously lucky compared to all the posters, with the slight exception that I, at 36, am still treated as a child because I'm unmarried with no kids.

However, not the story. My (newly) ex girlfriend. Abandoned by her mum at the age of 3 - didn't see her again until she was 21. Uncaring father, and a bitch of a stepmother who used to alternately ignore her, then beat her. Despite this, and leaving home at 16, she managed to get herself an education, before meeting 'seemingly nice guy' (actually Bastard No.1) at 19 and moving in with him and his 'rents. Along comes a baby, the a house. 'Seemingly nice guy' stays for 2 years, before saying he had to go and work in Spain for a week. Came back 14 years later, exactly on her daughter's 16th. Bastard number 1. They get on now, but only for her daughters sake (who, by the way, is a very nice girl, but quite obviously affected by what had happened).

Bastard number 2. Newly single parented, ex pulls herself together, and goes on to take a part time degree and various vocational quals and get quite a high powered job. Gets together with Bastard no. 1's best mate (Bastard No. 2). Bastard No. 2 gets her pregnant, beats the shit out of her regularly, grinds her down until she feels she's no better than menial work, and does exactly that. Things get so bad she eventually plucks up courage and leaves, literally with a suitcase and the kids, leaving the house she owns 50% of. Bastard No. 2 (I should mention at this point he is a FUCKING SOCIAL WORKER) then puts their child through a paternity test (quote - so everyone will think you're a slag) and in 4 years has refused to pay any child maintenance, despite earning more than 35K. And needless to say, the Child Support are worse than useless.

A year later, she and I (NotBastard) meet, and fall head over heels. Bastard No. 2 gets to hear, and isn't happy. Spends most of his time with his son and anyone else who'll listen telling them that she is a 'whore' who advertises sex on the internet (we met through a well known (clean) dating site). Does everything possible to ruin our relationship. Comes round one night when I'm not there and beats her up. We go away for the weekend, he reports us to the police for 'abducting his son'. As a social worker, he has mates in the police (sorry should mention I dont consider social workers or police as twunts, just him), so his mates treat it 'seriously' as a 'favour'. Cue the most upset person I have ever met in my life.

After a year of the happiest time in our lives (and it was both of us, there was no faking her feelings) she splits with me, saying that she thought it was a love of the 'want to be with you all the time and forever' but it was actually a love of the 'you're a lovely person and I love being with you'.

So because I'm not an utter wanker (or alternatively Bastard number 3), I'm left utterly, utterly desolate thanks to the efforts of three crap parents - her mother and her two ex's. Thanks a fucking bunch you wankers - because of your efforts she thinks she doesn't deserve to be with someone as nice as me, and you have condemned her to a life with twats like you. I don't blame her, I blame you 3.

Currently spending my days avoiding large drops etc and utterly, utterly confused.

Oh, and *pop* by the way... apologies for length etc, but it's good to vent.
(Tue 21st Aug 2007, 22:30, More)

» The Dirty Secrets of Your Trade

Old skool photos
Used to work in a branch of a large national chemists which may or may not have something to do with shoes.... on the photo counter

We looked at all your pics, and the amount of pron was incredible (esp to a 16 yr old naive little boy)

If some of the pron was a little 'out there' it would be designated as 'no supply' for the whole film - we had to give the negs back as they were the customers property. The prints went in the bosses desk, presumably for 'further use'

If you turned up for the prints and you were female (usually depserately sad, obviously abused unhappy wives) we'd get a female manager to take you to a private place and gently explain why (mind you I always worried what their 'man' would do to them when they came back) - if you were male we'd get the most attractive person to give you a dressing down about how we weren't a sex shop in front of as many people as possible...

I also got sexually harrassed by my manager, but as she was a 25 yr old uber babe I didn't mind whatsoever....
(Sun 30th Sep 2007, 22:06, More)

» I'm going to Hell...

You swines....
I'd blanked this out.... I must be because of this it's only now popped up again, and I blame you all...

Geography field trip. 14 years old (and looked like I was 8). I'm 37 now, and I still look like I'm 8 (no shorts anymore though)

i drank 4 pints of scrumpy and climbed out of the youth hostel window because i was drunk and my mind wasn't working no honest mister i missed the loos i didn't know they were there....

And then I threw up on the poet John Ruskin's grave.

Oops, my bad...
(Thu 11th Dec 2008, 23:57, More)