» Shoplifting

Swedish Furniture Superstore, Staff Fail Significantly
Recently bought a house worth of furniture from a famous scandinavian flatpack uberstore (waxed about a grand), got the lot delivered (£30, not bad). When the items arrive, the delivery manifest reveals that they appear to have delivered one extra item.

"To be honest, I'm not checking this lot to find what it is" says the world's-strongest-man-alike doing the delivery. "Let us know if you find it". "I certainly shall, my good man" says I.

After building it all, I realise their mistake: they've delivered an extra sofa, which at first glance appears a large error, but is an easily not-cared about single integer on their delivery clipboard.

Haven't really told them their misjudgement, but if they're going to do my shoplifting for me by giving me the extra goods while I rest on my fundament, then meh. This happens quite regularly, by all accounts, but rarely on such a £300 given-away-free scale

First-time post, be gentle
(Tue 15th Jan 2008, 10:34, More)

» I'm going to Hell...

Not sure what standards Satan has these days, but...
Does having unwholesome thoughts about the wee girl from Harry Potter (she only turned 16 for the fifth one) qualify you for an eternity of torment?
(Thu 11th Dec 2008, 19:38, More)

» Pubs

Victor - Pub Mentalist
Don't know why this story occurs to me, maybe I like to relive the bad times. It's less of an anecdote than a ramble. Apologies for length/unfunny/cringiness in advance, but I'm guilty of at least two of these issues on a daily basis. Apologies also for excessive use of Parentheses as an attempted comic vehicle ayeeeeeee

I'm sure everyone is familiar with the Pub Mentalist - usually a random old bloke smelling of musty-something-or-other with a big poacher's coat on, looking for a wee bit of company while on his way to pissed up oblivion. Victor was one such, in a public house in my locality (Edinburgh town). I appear to be a magnet for such people, perhaps due to the fact that I have no qualms about standing in pubs on my own, either waiting for folk, or in Victor's case, watching some football after work.

It all starts fine, old Vic shuffles up and gives me a bit of chat about his family (the wife has left, and though it goes unsaid, probably due to drinking habits) and then an inevitable tirade of advice about how to live life to the full ensues (he was more of a preacher than a practicer it must be said) - see the world, keep in touch with old friends etc.

Now, it's an odd mix of students looking for cheap beer and weird old guys in this pub (as it's near the Uni), but they usually keep nicely separate. Apart from at the bar, where I was standing. One student (a very handsome young lady, it did not escape my notice) comes up to order her Malibu and pineapple* and is forced to squeeze past Victor. His eyes narrow to focus through his besozzlement, and he whispers** sweetly in her ear.

"I'd love to be with you"

Now, maybe this would sound good from Brad Pitt to a groupie? But from Victor, I died a little inside. She gave a perfunctory "ehhhh, no thanks" and ran away, and I was forced to pick up the pieces as Victor tried to rally himself.

Personally, I wrote down his words of love to use at a future time. They've never worked. Could be me? Doubt very much that it's the diamond banter.




*note: may not have been malibu and pineapple, my misogny takes over sometimes
** note: bellows
(Fri 6th Feb 2009, 13:20, More)

» Pointless Experiments

Pyromaniagain
Some of my erstwhile University friends and I decided it would be a fantabulous idea to fill a split tennis ball to the brim with matchheads, then burn it to see what happened.

It took a long time to snap off them matchheads, but the development of our hypothesis was sketchy, if I'm brutally honest.

"I think it'll burn for a really long time? Maybe there will be sparks/excitement/ball jumping around action!"

The result?-It did burn for AGES (maybe an hour) and released some really foul brown smoke. Not much else. The neighbours told us to stop burning things in the back yard.

We didn't. We found that the best things for burning were empty pizza boxes - they went up like a light.
(Fri 25th Jul 2008, 9:51, More)

» Eccentrics

News Reporting Magician
I used to know this guy, quite an eccentric. Used to work on the Cambridge Evening News (CEN - this should be jarringly important). He also worked part time as a conjuror: wore the sparkly waistcoats and all that, and insisted everyone called him the "Great Mysterio". His party piece was making a copy of the newspaper he worked for disappear in a colossal hail of smoke.

That was his ex-CEN-trick




I feel hollow inside
(Thu 30th Oct 2008, 19:38, More)