Tonight I cooked..........

For the purposes of this thread... and any subsequent discussion on here...let it be known that you are in fact from ... Wigan...and dreamed of moving to 'Skem' one day.

So there.

I have it on very good authority that Mrs R'ster has been heartily reassurred: "This American thing is only a blip...luv. One day I'll show you the sodium lights of Skem, and the bingo".
Please tell me you were nowhere near the controls of anything naval.
 
Your sense of geography is absolutely shite. While actual Cheshire, in the form of Crewe, is just the other side of the weirdly named “D Road” (AKA A500), the specific bit of Cheshire where I grew up (later Merseyside) is fcuking miles away. Indeed Crewe is one of those places that while it exists, and belongs to the Three Wheatsheaves, one tries to forget that it exists, for it is only half a step above the likes of Burslem and Fenton.
For the purposes of this thread... and any subsequent discussion on here...let it be known that you are in fact from ... Wigan...and dreamed of moving to 'Skem' one day.

So there.

You sold her a dream...a dream of skylines visible from the M58 sliproad, the sound of burglar alarms activating...mopeds revving...thge distant sounds of an acid house party in a broken into B&Q...and what did you give her??!!

Acres of land next to a big feck off lake... a shed that would make an Amish blush...

And not a fecking bingo card in site.

You fecking fraudster. You ought to be ashamed!
 
Please tell me you were nowhere near the controls of anything naval.
As have most matelots... I've done the "lets see if I can get this thing to do a 360 before anyone notices" trick.

With a 4500 ton warship...
 
For what it’s worth, I’ve visited most of the shitholes in the UK. When I was about 19 or 20, I worked for my Dad. His business was a loan broker. He specialized in those high-interest secured loans for those with shit credit, and indeed were about to be repossessed. Those small ads in the back pages of the Sun & Mirror? Yup, that was my Dad. Or at least some of them. Mr & Mrs Desperado would call the day before their Court date for repossession and I’d get sent out to sign them up. Interest ratee twenty-three percentee. Sign here, shitlips. And they always did. The office would call the court and get an adjournment for a week or 10 days and the loan would pay out in that time.

So the Right-to-buy council houses in the ex-mining villages all over England and South Wales, whose occupants, despite being made redundant 10 years previously, had continued spunking their money in the colliery boozer were prime clients. As were the Smiths, where Mrs Smith just had to keep up with the Joneses, and Mr Smith was a bank employee or accountant, and absolutely *could not* have his financial plight come to light, either at work or at the golf club. Or Police officer, or MP in one case.

Tiger Bay, Cardiff, Jaywick Sands, various suburbs of Leeds, Bradford, Manchester, London, most of Essex, Durham and its surrounding shitholes, Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire coalfields, all very familiar to me. Or were.

I made a shit ton of commission at that young age, until the bubble burst and some of the lower end High St banks got in on the act. I should imagine most of them got repossessed eventually anyway, but I was in the Army by then.
 
For what it’s worth, I’ve visited most of the shitholes in the UK. When I was about 19 or 20, I worked for my Dad. His business was a loan broker. He specialized in those high-interest secured loans for those with shit credit, and indeed were about to be repossessed. Those small ads in the back pages of the Sun & Mirror? Yup, that was my Dad. Or at least some of them. Mr & Mrs Desperado would call the day before their Court date for repossession and I’d get sent out to sign them up. Interest ratee twenty-three percentee. Sign here, shitlips. And they always did. The office would call the court and get an adjournment for a week or 10 days and the loan would pay out in that time.

So the Right-to-buy council houses in the ex-mining villages all over England and South Wales, whose occupants, despite being made redundant 10 years previously, had continued spunking their money in the colliery boozer were prime clients. As were the Smiths, where Mrs Smith just had to keep up with the Joneses, and Mr Smith was a bank employee or accountant, and absolutely *could not* have his financial plight come to light, either at work or at the golf club. Or Police officer, or MP in one case.

Tiger Bay, Cardiff, Jaywick Sands, various suburbs of Leeds, Bradford, Manchester, London, most of Essex, Durham and its surrounding shitholes, Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire coalfields, all very familiar to me. Or were.

I made a shit ton of commission at that young age, until the bubble burst and some of the lower end High St banks got in on the act. I should imagine most of them got repossessed eventually anyway, but I was in the Army by then.
You stealer of school milk you!
Thatcher, by any other name. Good drills!
 

Grownup_Rafbrat

LE
Book Reviewer
Nothing with rhubarb tastes good.
The only reason anyone ever ate it was because of rationing.
I love you dearly but I disagree, as I love rhubarb too.
 

Grownup_Rafbrat

LE
Book Reviewer

Grownup_Rafbrat

LE
Book Reviewer
A simple pasta / tomato sauce with bacon and accompanying salad
59F6AE25-931C-4D81-8BF3-343D128317EB.jpeg
A00F0453-32EF-4F68-9D4D-7424F15CA727.jpeg
 

Grownup_Rafbrat

LE
Book Reviewer
Today's breakfast. Home made bread, gammon, scrambled eggs with parsley, sage and thyme from the garden.
20200529_074034_resized.jpg
 
Your sense of geography is absolutely shite. While actual Cheshire, in the form of Crewe, is just the other side of the weirdly named “D Road” (AKA A500), the specific bit of Cheshire where I grew up (later Merseyside) is fcuking miles away. Indeed Crewe is one of those places that while it exists, and belongs to the Three Wheatsheaves, one tries to forget that it exists, for it is only half a step above the likes of Burslem and Fenton.
Some people think that the A500 is called the D road as it looks like the letter D when viewed on a map. It's actually called the D road because it was named by the Romans.
 

Latest Threads

Top