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Yoghurt on a Stick

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Yoghurt on a Stick last won the day on June 25 2018

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About Yoghurt on a Stick

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    lives in a field
  • Birthday 06/05/1965

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  1. Just wondering - do you still travel by air, despite the fear? That must be Scary Mary territory, if you do. Strangely enough, I never used to have a fear of flying - as in, at all. However, the last few times flying, I've felt a little nervous. That's odd really, because my worst fear is for me to die before my wife, or my wife to die before me. Given that we always fly together, a bit of a plane crash would, technically, be a bit of a result!
  2. I'm with you all the way, so far. However, I really can understand why some people would be frightened to have a fire near their tent. I have a friend who worked with someone whose son died in a tent fire. He was a broken man after that, apparently. Not sure how that fire started though, but that kind of thing has got to be at the back of your mind when you are next to strangers having a fire near the tent area. You will know that you have no knowledge of the kind of people that they are, or their sense of responsibility.
  3. I can't give a real world example of an outside fire starting a tent fire, but have seen one tent go up in flames very rapidly at Glastonbury. Fortunately the owners of the tent were outside the tent. The cause was the, presumably under the influence, owners using a gas stove. I don't know, but suspect that they managed to knock it over against the tent (old school tent) and the burner was right against the material of the tent and it went up. So, not quite on subject, but does raise the question as to why people feel safe without an outside fire next to them, when their neighbours could be pissed up and using a gas burner, which they could knock against one's tent etc
  4. Fuck me, I am stupid - make that 54 years.
  5. Thanks Mr.Tease - appreciated. However, after writing the post, I realised that I forgot about the time when a load of skin heads got on the bus. We (me and my mates) were on the top deck of the bus. These skinheads came upstairs and just started to kick the shit out of us. I say us, but it was actually everybody around me that was getting done in, and nobody was doing anything to me. I remonstrated with one skin head who was kicking one of my mates heads around like a football (blood squirting up the bus windows, the lot!). The skinhead just turned to look at me, and the next thing I know is that he's kicked me right in my privates. I'm not ashamed to say it was at that point that the piss I'd been holding on to, decided not to stay inside me anymore ie - yes, i wet myself - again!! Anyway, by this time somebody had informed the driver. He did a very brave act. He parked the bus next to a parked car right outside Acocks Green police station (in Birmingham). He then continually honked his horn to attract the police. Then the skinheads forced the doors open, and clambered out by climbing on top of the parked car. The police did hurry out, but were too late to stop them. They were savage bastards, and I mean savage. Now, that really is it on the getting throttled / being beaten up front. Or, at least i think it is! I certainly can't recall any other incidences. So, twice in all my 53 years. Not a bad hit ratio, I guess.
  6. No worries - I guess it was a little like that. It was all very odd really. Fortunately nothing like that has ever happened to me again.
  7. Good morning HeyPorter, I'm afraid the connection is lost on me. That said, I have looked at the words that you have quoted and now realise that it could be understood that there was some bravado to them. If this is the case (and if it's not, please tell me what is the case) then please be rest assured that I am a devout pacifist and coward, to boot. I wrote those words, like the words above them, because they represented the most accurate words to describe the situation, that I could come up with at that moment in time. I feel a bit shitty now, because I think that I should have used some other words. That said, there is another part to that story that happened about a week after that event. As I say, I'm not in to violence, but I am in to telling shit about my life (as if anybody hadn't noticed!). Anyway, to cut a long story short (and to finish this story off in it's entirety ie not censored by myself), this lad mentioned to somebody that he was going to get his mates (from one of the roughest areas in Birmingham) to sort me out. The person who he told this to advised him that it was in his very best interests not to do this, as he would have the whole of the Irish population of Birmingham after him. Seemed to do the trick! Anyway, please forgive my talk of violence on such a peaceful site. Thoroughly unwarranted, but i started talking about toilets, and I kind of just went off on one. Oh my God, I've just remembered another toilet story. This one's a peaceful one, so should be OK. Anyway, I was at a works Christmas party once in a hotel in Birmingham city centre. My boss came up to me and asked me if I wanted some coke. i said 'Yes, ivery much want some coke', or some such. So we ended up in a cubicle in the bogs, and he racked up two, very generous, lines. So, I snorted the one line first. then a group of blokes came in to the toilet. Not wanting our combined four legs to be seen under the trap door, my boss decided to stand on the toilet seat, until they had gone away. Now, I'll never know why I did this, but it was then that I decided to open the door, exit the trap, turn around and exclaim 'Fuck off you dirty toilet trader'. I then left the toilet area, laughing my bollocks off. I was met a while later by my boss who laughingly called me a c**t. He'd had to sheepishly exit from the trap in front of all these other blokes. lol
  8. I meant - if point (1) had been mentioned. I doubt very much if point (2) has! PS - I once walked in on a fully nude man in a toilet. I apologised to him. Fuck knows why. I guess I was kind of in shock. At the time I didn't know what to think, but it soon kind of dawned on me that he was a 'toilet trader'. Actually, I've got loads of toilet stories. I might write a book on them and call it 'The Toilet Trader' - a title which I hereby copyright.
  9. I've only read this thread up to this point, so am unsure if this has already been mentioned. I nearly always go to a long drop or portaloo at festivals because; (1) I have a cock that has a complete mind all of it's very own. It tells me that it's stopped pissing, so I put it away. However, 'it' lies. There's nothing my pecker enjoys more than to start squirting piss all over again, once it's back in my pants. Now the way to deal with this at a urinal is to wait, shake it, grab me bollocks and lift them up, repeat,repeat, and repeat again the whole process. Only there's a downside to this. The downside is that you know that the bloke next to you (trying not to observe this almost demented behaviour) is thinking that you're a weirdo sex pest. Once this thought hits your brain, like a ton of shite, you lose your nerve and put the bastard away, and pretend that your done and dusted. However, despite walking out of the urinal like John Wayne, acting all big (not like The Incontinence Kid), you know full well that you are just about to wee in to your own pants. (2) I feel safer in a proper kind of toilet. I once went out with a lady whose ex partner (unbeknown to me) had been stalking her for six months. Anyway, one night we went to a kind of late night drinking club (there were different licencing laws in those days) and I needed to go to the toilet - so went there ( I'm crazy, me!). Anyway, I'm on my own at the urinal when a bloke comes in through the bog door, puts his hands around my throat and starts to strangle me. I honestly thought to myself that I'd just try to finish off my piss, and then i'd deal with the situation at hand. However, I soon felt myself fading from lack of oxygen, so knew that I had to act , right there, right then. So, I did. I very carefully and skilfully showed him the error of his ways. Then I left him lying there on the floor moaning, and walked out of the bog, through a hall, and in to the bar. I went up to my new lady friend, and told her the story. It was then that she told me who he was etc. I don't know who was the barmiest bastard - him or her. I mean, she'd known he was there, and didn't tell me. Anyway, since that time too (and in addition to point 1) I have always sought the refuge of some sort of shelter while having a wee, if possible. Unfortunately it's not always possible.
  10. I'm sorry to hear about the loss of your dear and long term friend, Helen, mate. Sometimes the line ' It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all' is a hard one to swallow. However, over time it's meaning and depth become clearer. Just about to raise a glass to your friend, Helen.
  11. I wasn't really in to playing conkers as a kid either. I'm not sure what age I was but at one point in my life as a kid I got an erection for the first time, climbing up the support pole for some swings in the park. I couldn't stop playing with me conkers after that!
  12. Oh bollocks. Please God, don't let me make this a 'thing'. Let this be just a kind of one off, but with the occasional others to follow. Anyway, here it is;
  13. I've had to think a bit about posting this (see below). I'm not sure about it at all. Over to you, I guess. I've set fire to one of them 100 cigarette a day smoking beagles,. and am smoking that. Does that make me a bad person? If so, Ill switch to smoking straight dope. The future is yours, the future is...................................... - to be determined.
  14. I'm not sure how to take this thread. On the one hand it's as comforting as knowing how privileged it is to know a life long friend. However, on the other, this springs to mind (see below), in terms of just how much one can, or even should, venture in to the realms of bending one's own sanity.
  15. I recall meeting someone I knew from Birmingham at his very first Glastonbury, many years ago. I'd walked down the hill from what was then called Top Webbs Ash, and he'd just turned a corner and met my eye. We then had a good old chat, as I hadn't seen him in a few years. As we talked, I noticed him look up, and his eyes just lit up. I turned around and saw what he had seen for the first time ever. It was that of a bank of camp fire smoke, lying low on the hillside, across the whole of the camping area, at sunset. With all the tents (A frame, at that time), it made the whole place look like a refugee camp. And indeed it was - lots and lots of refugees together, all sheltering from the outside world. Fucking magic.
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