One for the fantasies threadHave found myself in traffic mulling over kicking their front doors in, old man’s gleaming shotgun and pockets full of shells, boom, boom. That creepy half a pedo Derby cunt pleading for his life, on his knees, shaking, daring to appease his cowboy bs with a jar of jam. Fuck off. Boom. What’s that, it’s going to take 12 months instead of 6? Boom, boom
Miserable cunts, if they had half a heart between them there’d be a community but they opted out years ago
I remember one time that I spent ages helping him to write a letter.... then I finished it and I wanted to buy some stuff, just a few little random things such as some sweets and so on. I put all put my coins on the counter and realised that I was 1p short. I suggested that, maybe, seeing as I had just given up my afternoon to helping him, he could in turn let me off the one penny shortfall - he stared at me as though I had just asked to bum his mother and then told me no fucking way in hell. Miserable git.I used to know one of the guys in the shop on Dalston Lane, helped him out writing letters a couple of times cos his English was not that good.
They moved from the tiny village of Uffington (pop approx 800 or so I guess) to the town of Wantage (20k maybe).is your family still living there? and when you visit them, do people look funny at you?
oh man it sounds like hell on earth. there was a time where i thought having my own bar would be the coolest job there is. i could decorate it the way i want, put on the music i like, organize events. but it's terrible isn't it? i mean, even if it would be a nice bar and not the bar in uffington, still you would have to serve assholes and hear all the melodramatic drunk stories.They moved from the tiny village of Uffington (pop approx 800 or so I guess) to the town of Wantage (20k maybe).
Before that though there were incidents such as the following which I think I described before; I was in the pub and I went to the toilet and when I came back someone had left a note on my chair saying "shit staber". Another time I remember some kind of altercation in the boozer and the landlord basically said "Yeah I know he was totally out of order and he shouldn't have tried to start a fight with you etc etc but you will go back to university in September and he drinks in here every single day of his miserable bitter existence, or in other words, ultimately it's him and others like him who pay my wages so I'm gonna be on his side and if anyone has to be banned, it will be you".
In fact now I remember it properly, although I was there, it was actually my friend he said that to, he was another "university weirdo" who fell on the wrong side of the able-to-escape-to-freedom/trapped-in-Uffington-forever divide as far as certain people were concerned.They moved from the tiny village of Uffington (pop approx 800 or so I guess) to the town of Wantage (20k maybe).
Before that though there were incidents such as the following which I think I described before; I was in the pub and I went to the toilet and when I came back someone had left a note on my chair saying "shit staber". Another time I remember some kind of altercation in the boozer and the landlord basically said "Yeah I know he was totally out of order and he shouldn't have tried to start a fight with you etc etc but you will go back to university in September and he drinks in here every single day of his miserable bitter existence, or in other words, ultimately it's him and others like him who pay my wages so I'm gonna be on his side and if anyone has to be banned, it will be you".
I probably am being too down it. I mean, I did choose to go there and it wasn't as though those sorts of incidents happened all the time... but they are what stick in my mind, and, more than that, there was always this feeling that something like that could happen. Or just that I wasn't a proper local, even though I was born about 10 miles away and moved to the village when I was six months old.oh man it sounds like hell on earth. there was a time where i thought having my own bar would be the coolest job there is. i could decorate it the way i want, put on the music i like, organize events. but it's terrible isn't it? i mean, even if it would be a nice bar and not the bar in uffington, still you would have to serve assholes and hear all the melodramatic drunk stories.
Ha ha, maybe not quite, but that guy Fred is a good friend of mine. But usually that whole bit of the street is filled with the overspill of that and the places opposite and next door with the customers and staff of all three mingling as one and seemingly becoming interchangeable. It feels as though you could order in one and somehow ended up seated in another, served by the owner of yet another.I do remember that Rich, you were quite popular with the locals; they ushered us in plied us with wine and seafood.
You know how people sometimes say that in France, you can pretty much get away with murdering your spouse if they were shagging someone else? Well it's obviously bollocks, but whatever. There should, in any case, be an equivalent law about murdering your neighbours if they have construction work done that goes on longer than a week.2 of our neighbours have ongoing work with their roofs, I want them all dead
I was in the pub and I went to the toilet and when I came back someone had left a note on my chair saying "shit staber".