I'm down my garage working on the Cortina (what's new), making new mounts for the XR2 front seats. This involves welding strong brackets on the transmission tunnel, as this is where the seat belt mounting is. I've already done the passenger side, but the drivers side has the brake and fuel lines running along the inside of the tunnel, so I've unclipped them and moved them over to the other side of the tunnel.
I tack everything in place and check the seat fits, all looks OK. I start welding the mount in properly, I do a weld run and then check underneath as the underseal has a habit of melting and dripping on the floor. So I go for it, welding away after a while I think, "I'd better check underneath".
Sure enough the underseal has caught alight, no panic I'll pat it out as usual, (I've got welding gauntlets on), but this makes it worse? By now its dripping flames on to the garage carpet, so I'm laying next to the car trying to get this fire out when a fire ball (well it was just like in the movies) trundles up the transmission tunnel towards the rear and the petrol tank!
Now PANIC! Being a sensible sort of chap I've got a fire extinguisher in the back of the car, but there is a fire underneath it! Being a really sensible sort of chap I also have two more on the garage walls, so I grab one, stuff it under the car and press the lever, .... Nothing, OK pull the pin out and try again, this time it works, within seconds the fire's out, so now there is just petrol dripping onto the floor, stick a tray underneath, give it a couple more squirts to make sure its out! So I'm laying next to the car thinking what a sensible chap I am having so many fire extinguishers (all right 'what a lucky bastard I am') why am I having trouble breathing? Must be shock? Shit! I've just let off a Haylon fire extinguisher in my garage which has robbed all the oxygen, so I stagger to open the doors, get outside and breath deeply.
Enough welding for one day, checked everything was definitely out, clamped the melted fuel line and went up to the house, I was shaking so much I had trouble pouring myself a very large whisky!
I stopped a football match (Man City v Pompey) at Main Road in the 80's. Seriously drunk, I had been giving the Linesman some lip for most of the match. Suddenly , the Ref blew his whistle and walked towards the Linesman (Who was waving his flag). The whole crowd (some 28,000 if I can remember correctly) had gone quiet. They had a quick chat, and the result was the ref called a Rosser over. Blow me he only came over and gave me and a few others round me a telling off. Embarrassing or what?
Approximately 12 years ago, a mate of mine bought a house in the West end of Fareham. Not to put too fine a point on it, it needed a lot of work to bring it up to scratch. He decided to have a house warming almost from day one, since there was not a lot anyone could do to a place that needed everything doing anyway.
It was a 1930's house, so it only had one toilet at the top of the stairs. Only a short way into the party the usual girlie queue built up for the loo, snaking its way down the stairs. Well, no bloke who has an alternative option is going to waste valuable drinking time queuing up for a pee. So the word got around that there was a sort of 'Gents' out in the garden behind the apple tree. No-one needed telling twice, and it rapidly became the norm since the garden was going to be rearranged anyway. What few people knew was that there was also the ancient remains of a fish pond exactly where everyone was peeing. Now this was no ordinary ancient pond, but a festering green mouldy frog hideout that hadn't seen the light of day for years. It was full of drowned hedgehogs, and various other unidentifiable corpses, all topped off with several layers of gunge, slime, and brackish rainwater. Now to finish the job off everyone was peeing in it. Have I conjured up the picture in your mind? It was disgusting!!!
Well...my pal --- who shall remain nameless, but everyone who was at the party knows who I'm talking about, arrived looking very smart in a brand new pair of white chino's that he had only bought that afternoon. Bearing in mind the state of the house, this was most surprising, since everyone else was in scruffy jeans. He was so chuffed that he was smart, and we were scruffs, and obviously thought this would increase his 'pulling' power over all us peasants. After several beers, --- asked us where the loo was. 'Out in the garden behind the apple tree' we told him. Now, it was pitch black out there and you could not see a hand in front of your face.
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT... Yep, you've guessed it, we heard a turgid splash... followed by a desperate wail. He had taken one step too far, and waded straight into the middle of the prehistoric swamp up to his waist in putrid effluent. Talk about gross. He staggered back into the house, stinking to high heaven. Laugh...there was not a person in the house who didn't come out into the kitchen to see 'The Creature from the Black Lagoon' and wet themselves at this hysterical sight. He was gutted, since he couldn't have worn those posh trousers for more than an hour. They were totally trashed. He had the last laugh on us all though. Despite everyone imploring him to take them off, or go home and change, he insisted on wearing them for a considerable time after his mishap which rapidly turned the kitchen into a no/go area due to the stink.
Some friends and I used to cycle around the local area many moons ago (More moons than a coach stag night!) and one of our favourite haunts was down Hamble (Bucklers Hard).
We couldn't have been more than 14/15 at the time, and we all 'smoked'. Now when I say smoked, I mean the sort of serious, hard smoking of one pack of 10 No.10's (Who remember's them?) that lasted you a least two weeks! They had to, because they were 13p a packet and that was a lot of money to a lad on 25p a week pocket money!
Anyhow, we parked up the bikes on the front and headed for the waters edge where the slipways and boat jetties were. Now anyone who owns a boat will tell you, that a slipway is not named a 'slip' way for nothing, because they are covered with the slimiest, greenest, muck that a kid would be proud to pull out of his nose! And slippery? ha! Walking on ice would be like walking on superglued sandpaper in comparison to the frictionlessness of the slipway gunge! They use this stuff to lubricate the perpetual motion machine!! Anyway you get the general idea that these slipways are very slippery!
Well, as we frolicked about like young innocent lads do, throwing stones, trying to sink a couple of the local boats etc. I stepped onto the aforementioned slipway to gain better position with which to launch my skimmers!
Mistake! On my ass I went and painful it was too. But, to my horror, this wasn't the end of the matter, because as I lay there unable to get a purchase, I slowly started to slide toward the water! Now most people would worry about getting their clothing soaked, drowning, anything but the reaction I gave. I turned on my front (Still sliding mind you) pulled my no.10's (remember them?) and held them towards my mate shouting "Take my fags, quick! They'll be ruined" And my so called 'mates', when they got their breath back after laughing so much at watching me slip into the water, said it was like a scene from King Arthur's Excaliper as the last thing to go down was my arm at full stretch carrying a pack of 10 smokes into a watery grave!
Imagine....
Getting to Reading station at 18:34, seeing a train on the London bound platform, looking at the 'on-line' information indicator on the platform which says 1st train - 18:33 Paddington, seeing an open door...
Well you'd just jump on smartly wouldn't you? Only to find that Railtrack have at the last minute parked a fast train to Penzance on the London bound platform, non stop Reading to Taunton and not updated their 'on-line' information system.
The trick also fooled several others and it wasn't even April fools day. Did I swear, I got home at 1:00 am!!
Everyone knows that farting is funny, right?
There’s nothing better than to catch your partner with a good Dutch oven, pinning her under the sheets whilst she’s kicking and screaming and thrashing about.
Well. Many years ago my wife made a habit of having a go at me every Sunday morning, only minutes after I’d woke, about all the jobs that needed doing around the house, when I was only interested in having my once weekly lay in.
I’d just about had enough of this regular nagging, so instead of resorting to the usual argument, I responded in the way I knew best. I just rolled over, pointed my arsehole towards her face, and let off a real rip-snorter of a fart. Only one snag, I’d been on the real ale and curry the previous night. SPLAT, a wet one right in her kisser.
She was not impressed with that, I can tell you. You would not believe the amount of flowers, chocolates, and D.I.Y. required to extricate myself from the shit I’d showered over her.
Us girlies at work were planning a girls night out for the weekend. Realising it would be our friend Barry's birthday, we invited him out with us. He didn't want to go to town because he said "All you get is a load of Pratts who drink too much and puke up everywhere." "Why don't we go to the Country Club, where I'm a member?" he cheerfully suggests, "Its night-club stays open until 1am, and you get a better class of people in there" "Ok, but what shall we all do before then, as there's no decent pubs nearby?" "Let's go for a meal at TGI's" "Great idea" I said, "I'll ring 'em now" So I phone to book "Can I have a table for 6, please?" "Sorry madam, we don't do bookings on Saturdays, just roll up around 8ish to ensure you get a table."
Saturday arrives, and we're all dressed up to the nines. We roll up at TGI's at 8pm sharp, order a round of extortionate drinks (ouch) and ask for a table for 6. Here it comes, "Have you booked, madam?" asks the waiter. "No, I was told you couldn't book" I replied, somewhat impatiently. "I'm afraid if you didn't book, there won't be a table available until 10.30pm" I start to see red. "That's no bloody good" everyone screams "we have to be in the club by ten." Desperately trying to salvage the situation, I ask the waiter if he knows anywhere else we can eat. He smirked, and in his best sarcastic voice suggested we all buy a pastie down the garage. He's lucky we never shoved one up his ar##. So we all rack our brains to think of a nosh house, when we remember the Pub down the road does food. Any port in a storm. Disaster!!! Limited choice or what? Four of us had burgers, they were burnt, with hard rolls, and no butter. Mine and Teresa's sounded better, Thai green curry. It was green alright, extremely mild, and VERY sickly. We are all now seeing redder, things aren't exactly going to plan.
Arriving at the club just before 10pm, we're in trouble straight away. It appears we sat at the regulars table. Tough!!! Alcohol starts to flow, and now things seem to be getting better, as they do. We're really getting into the swing of things now, and my friend suggests a round of Tequila Slammers. Never having had one before, I reluctantly join in with the others. Wallop! "Yuk" Only a few of us actually admitted to enjoying them, and went for a second. A few minutes later, the birthday boy begs me to join him for yet another. After fruitlessly refusing, I traipse up to the bar, where the barman mis-hears, and gives us 3 instead of 2. Not to worry, he drinks the 2. Time passes, us girlies are all dancing around our handbags when the DJ announces the last record. At this point we realise no-one has seen Barry for at least half an hour.
Our enquiries lead us to the manager, who informs us that he's to be found in the loo where he has puked everywhere. He also informs us his membership has now been withdrawn, and you'd better get him out quick before the bouncers withdraw his entrails. One of our friends boyfriend turns up, and has the extremely unpleasant task of scraping Barry out of his personal vomit volcano. Me and my friend make a sharp exit in a taxi at this point. Phew!!! I don't do sick, one whiff and I join in.
Arriving home, I stagger to the front
door, pull my key out of my bag and attempt to locate it in the lock.
After numerous misses, I home it in only to find it's the WRONG KEY! My
Mother is deaf in one ear, and for some obscure reason always sleeps on
the good'un, so she's incapable of hearing the door bell. Never mind, her
other half will be back soon, he'll let me in. (It turned out he'd gone
to a beer festival, drunk himself into a stupor, and never came home) So
I'm sitting there in the garden thinking 'Mum always gets up for a pee
about 2am, I'll wait for her light to go on, ring the bell, sorted' Hours
later, I'm awakened by the glint of the morning sunlight on my cherub
face, and the clink of milk-bottles on the door step' Having slightly
sobered up, I find the right key lurking in my bag all along. Sneaking up
the stairs, I congratulate myself on getting in un-noticed. Yes, got away
with my night in the garden. Lying in bed hours later with the hangover
from hell, my mums voice booms up the stairs "Get your arse down here now,
and clear all this green puke off my tulips"
The Car Lot
As late teenagers, my brother and myself thought we could save some money buying damaged repairable cars, instead of shelling out more for a 'complete' car.
So this Sunday we went looking at cars in a pound near Basildon - deepest Essex.
We walked into this pound, and wandered around, like you do if you are a prospecive purchaser. Well we were only in there for about 10 minutes, when I look up and notice a German Shepard walking about.
I looked over to my brother, casually said "Oh look, there's a dog over there" and within seconds, my brother is three cars up in the air.
My family had always kept German Shepards, and my Mum is into dog psychology. She always told us that the dogs respond to fear, and that we should not play with the dogs front paws, because they have a fault across the chest, and a sharp yank of the front paws in opposite directions could be fatal.
Well in an instant I considered my fitness level, and did I really want to spend the next night sleeping in a car which was swinging on top of two others. No the prospect of climbing up and joining my brother was not appealing.
So without thinking about it, I put my hands in my pockets, spoke to the dog calmly, and walked over to the gates, which were strangely now closed.
Just over the road were the nice men that had just let the guard dog out, and locked the gates.
They let us out - I am pleased to say.
About two days later it dawned on me that the dog could have tried to rip me to pieces, and I might have had to try yanking it's front paws apart, as it took lumps out of my arms.How hard can it be to book a taxi ? After an afternoons drinking it's far more difficault than it sounds.
The party was coming to a close, so with about 45 minutes to go it was about time to book a taxi, because I was in the middle of a conversation with an old friend who was up for the evening, I thought "I know, John will want a lift with us, I'll get him to book it." big mistake. As John wanders past, I grab him and try to sort things out, "There's five of us plus you, can you book up a six seater, to get us all home ? Gray's got a number for that company with the mini-busses. Can you get the number from him, and book one up ?" John wanders off and I carry on with my conversation. Now I know he's not the most reliable of people, expecially after a few beers, so a few minutes later as he wanders past again, I ask him "Have you booked the taxi yet ?" No of course he hasn't, so I remind him of the previous conversation, and left him to it again. Again a few minutes later as he walk past I check again, no he's not booked it... Again a few minutes later as he walk past I check again, yipee !! He's finally booked it.
The time comes, we get kicked out of the hall, of course all of the taxis are late, so we wait in the front bar, eventally after 30 minutes we get kicked out into the cold. About 15 minutes later, I overhear John, mention to some other people about their taxi. It sounded like John was going with them. So I asked him about our taxi. Well, it turns out that after he booked the taxi he forgot who was going to be in it, and voluntered the empty spaces to various other people. Leaving us without a taxi. Thanks John ! When I asked him, "Have you booked the taxi yet" I should have asked "Have you booked our taxi yet". Don't worry I've now learnt my lesson.
Having not learnt from our previous tale, recenty John managed to get the taxis wrong again, this time is was less his fault, but.... I'd organised my own way home, but my brother's hadn't. One booked up with John and the other booked up a 7 seater taxi, for him and a few friends. The evening ended, and John is outside, waiting a taxi arrives, booked for our surname. Well John booked the taxi, in his name, but didn't think about it, so the two of them went off in the 7 seater. No problem, until the 4 seater that John had booked arrived to collect 7 people !
Early Monday morning...
06:30 I'm sat in a pub next to a hotel at Luton having breakfast (food not booze!), mailed Mark to say where I was for a 06:50 pickup.
06:55 Start looking for Mark, he's looking for me outside the hotel trying to phone me... I had mistyped his phone number & he had mistyped mine!
07:10 Arrived at Luton Airport just on time for check in.. Phew.
07:40 Still in security queuing for a 07:40 flight
07:50 Get to the plane.... Sit on plane, wait for it to refuel, what???
08:00 Lift off !!
09:00 Circling Edinburgh, can't land, too much SNOW... We circle & circle..... & we circle & circle.... Unable to land, we're diverted to Glasgow
10:20 We land at Glasgow
11:00 Sat on the runaway ready for takeoff again, but we're not allowed to go, the plane before us has broken down & is blocking the runaway. Oh great... Wait for de-ice, wait for a tractor to push us to the right place... It breaks down!! wait for another one...
12:15 Get to Edinburgh, start work...
18:00 Finish work... Phone Airport, our 19:10 fight has been cancelled & 00:15 is the next one... Did I say it was snowing? IT WAS SNOWING... We are miles from anywhere. Tried for taxis, did I say it was snowing? The WHOLE place is snowbound, and we're at the top of one of the steepest hills, so the best advice was to WALK!!
18:30 Two very wet & cold people find a pub to dry off in. Just having a pint to warm up! Start phoning taxis & wait and WAIT.
21:00 Get to the Dome (restaurant), nice laser show outside! Snooker hall bogs, food pub, yumm...
22:30 Tried to phone a taxi, but, no luck, start walking to a taxi rank.. STILL SNOWING. On the way, hail a cab down, it's the same taxi driver! (must be the only one who can drive in snow?)
23:00 Arrive at Airport, flights delayed till 01:00 balls...... More de-icing, but, the rig runs out half way through!! (don't they have gauge??)
04:00 Finally get to Marks home
SO I HAD JETLAG ON A DAYTRIP TO SCOTLAND!!!
Dave, one for you from lockheed martin in California who make satellites like
us, only they had 2 in a clean room.
One was to be moved, so some bright spark took all 24 bolts out of the holding
ring of 1 satellite to bolt down the other to move it, so moved it was.
Next shift came in and work requires them to move the satellite to a horizontal position. A common occurrence which had been done frequently for the last six months (yes you can see it coming)
Someone presses the button to set the motors running to rotate the satellite. It gets to about 20 degrees from the vertical and See Photo
Value of satellite, $267million, and was only 7 days from delivery)
For the full official write up and more full size photos, CLICK HERE
My Holiday from Hell
Lets have a proper family holiday' says the old man. 'Ok' says I, so the twins,
then aged 16, the son and his girlfriend, myself and the husband booked up for
Grand Canaria, 2 adjoining apartments, private pool etc. When we went to book,
our friendly travel agent says, 'for an extra £10 you could take somebody
else' something to do with supplements, so we decided to ask my mother to come
along too. She was delighted and readily accepted.
Now we lived in Scotland at the time and were due to fly from Glasgow Airport
on the Sunday evening. So my mother arrived at our house on the Saturday before
departure.
All the cases were packed, tickets safely stored, time for bed before a hectic
Sunday.
Disaster number: 1
I was just going to retire when my mum told me abut some friends of hers who
had a disaster at Manchester Airport some weeks before, seemingly there son
was refused a seat on the plane because he didn't have his own passport, as
he had turned 16 years of age. He had to go back home after waving off his family
on a flight to America. I didn't really think anything of this at the time until
I climbed into bed beside the now sleeping old man, he woke up when I let out
a muffled scream. I dashed to my bag containing the passports and tickets, turning
on the light, frantically reading the small print. You guessed it, my twins
had turned 16 the previous March, and we were now in June.
Bear in mind that we were fast approaching a Sunday morning, we were due to
fly Sunday evening, and they didn't have passports!!
The old man leapt out of bed as if it was on fire. We were on the phone till
3a.m talking to everyone we could think of, airport staff, security personnel,
embassies, you name it we tried it.
We finally went to bed, very distressed. The next morning we rang all the Post
Offices within a 50-mile radius to see if they were open on a Sunday morning.
Result we found one open, so we all piled into the car, off we went.
Disaster number: 2.
No photographs.
Travelled a further 25 miles to a supermarket that had a photo booth. Shoved
the twins in one at a time, got the photos, back to the Post Office. Could have
kissed the counter assistant when she handed them over.
Back home to relax.
Disaster no: 3.
Got to Glasgow airport, handed the tickets and passports over at check in. The
clerk says loudly, 'I have tickets for (names have been changed to protect the
innocent) Smith and Jones, but I have passports for Smith Jones and Davies'
Oh Shit, forgot that because of my second marriage, the twins surname was different
to mine and we had booked the tickets under my new married name.
So what to do, only one thing for it, leave the swelling queue behind us and
pay a fortune to have the names on the tickets changed. Done deal. We made it
on the plane. (After almost carrying my sons girlfriend up the stairs of the
plane, as she had never flown before and screamed the place down).
We actually got to our destination in one piece,
Until:-
Disaster no: 4.
All the twins travellers cheques were in a different name than on their passports,
so they couldn't exchange there spending money. Panic again, until along came
a very friendly resort rep, who spoke to the apartment management and they agreed
that they could change the cheques with them. Sorted.
No:-
Disaster no: 5.
My mother loves a natter. So she starts a lengthy conversation with another
holiday maker in the shallow end of the swimming pool. Result - 2nd degree burns
on her back. She didn't come out of the apartment for 3 days. We just followed
her about with the dustpan and brush as all of her skin fell off in clumps.
We also cleared out the local supermarket of natural yoghurt (it takes the sting
out of sunburn).
She didn't half smell though.
Suffice to say that I was truly glad to get back to Great Britain.
Moral of the story - check your passports, and NEVER TAKE YOUR FAMILY
ON HOLIDAY - GO ALONE.
Last Monday I went to Spec savers and had my eyes tested, I needed a new
prescription so I chose a frame from the £99 range with varifocal lenses
and
an offer of buy one pair and get a second pair as sun glasses with the same
frames and lenses free.
I chose the frames, paid my money just under £240, the assistant then
told
me that she would have to order the second pair of frames as they didn't
have it in stock but I should have them within a week. The first pair
arrived within three days and I would have expected to pick sunglasses up by
yesterday.
Wrong, I get a phone call to tell me that they couldn't get these frames
anymore. I ask why it has taken a week for them to let me know. "I only
put
the order in today" Pardon me, but I was expecting to collect them today.
I go into the shop to chose some new frames but as usual sods law kicks in,
I can't see any frame I like in my price range. But I can in the £129
price
range which has an offer, one pair of sunglasses with single vision lenses
for £99, so I ask the assistant if I can have these frame for no extra
charge, after all it wasn't going to cost them anything, if they sold them
as sun glasses they would get £99, they had already agreed to supply my
free
glasses with varifocal lenses; NO can do Sir, this is a different offer, Yes
But it's not going to cost you anything extra to supply as you are selling
them at £99 anyway. Nope, she wouldn't budge, nor would the Manageress
even
after I had pointed out to her that it was there fault they couldn't supply
my glasses as agreed and paid for; "OK I'll have a refund then as you can't
supply what I had ordered" Yes, we can do that for you sir. You are kidding
me, you are prepared to take back a pair of glasses which are of no use to
you as you cannot re use the lenses and not re sell the frame as new, so in
fact you are prepared to lose £237 for not letting me have frames that
wouldn't have cost you anymore. FINE, but it seems daft to me
The manageress refunds the cost of my glasses to my card and asks me to sign
the slip. "May I borrow the glasses so I can sign for you?" "Yes
sure" I sign
the slip and leave the shop a bit irritated to say the least as I am now
going to have to get some more new glasses won't I? Na, I get home, what
have I stuck on my face; yes the glasses she lent me to sign the slip
glasses, so now I have become a THIEF as I've stolen the glasses, albeit
accidentally
I decide that as I'm a bit cheesed off by the whole affair that I would
complain to their head office, well I explain the saga to their area
manageress who couldn't believe what I was telling her and when I mention
that I still had the glasses after the refund she just burst out laughing.
Well to every SAD story there has to be a happy ending, this morning first
post I get a letter from the Spec Saver's Gosport branch apologising for the
inconvenience they had caused me and telling me to keep the glasses as way
of compensation (do I go in and ask about the sun glasses?)
Dave laughed his socks off when I told him about this...so here goes!
A while ago my husband was working away and I was getting more than a little
frustrated! I had been to an Ann Summers party that week & won a mini vibrator,
which I had just chucked in a drawer. Suddenly remembering said plaything ,
I dug it out, fitted some batteries & away we noisily went...me & my
plastic chum! A little while later, somewhat satisfied (well sort of) I turned
it off & hid it from prying eyes in the top of my wardrobe!
A couple of days later, when my man was home for a visit, something must have
dislodged the toy from its position on top of my clothes and made it fall against
the side of the wardrobe, switching on as it went!
We were woken by this terrible vibrating buzz! Couldn't make out where it was
coming from but imagine the scene...both starkers searching for an electrical
fault & also wondering if we had termites or a woodpecker in the attic!
I always remove the batteries now! Don't want to have explain to the kids!
