By continuing to use the site, you agree to our use of cookies and to abide by our Terms and Conditions. We in turn value your personal details in accordance with our Privacy Policy.
Please log in or register. Registered visitors get fewer ads.
i just know when i come around tomorrow morning after my smoked kippers and deviled kidneys im going to cringe like f uck when i see this thread which i will have no knowledge of starting. love, eh?
thank you scottie. we have spoke many times on dm...
i dont know, i love jo and for all the bravado im nervous about doing it all again, but you have to take the plunge. im hopeless on my own. Women are by far the stronger sex.
we only get one shot at life, i might as well ride the painted pony and let the spinning wheel turn again for the 3rd time!
Been posting jolly green giant sweetcorn shit on here since 2014.
80% of the time i like this forum. 10% of the time i hate it to its bone marrow the other 10% its fuc king beautiful. When i think of all the NA meetings i went to in the city years ago sitting there mute.. for some reason talking to fellow QPR fans fon here feels like some kind of secret club, a birthmark on our collective souls.. this kinship for this infuriating blue and white hoop addiction. QPR in a class by it's self. this football club. this beautiful beast of burden.
This famous linguist once said that of all the phrases in the English language, of all the endless combinations of words in all of history, that "Loft for words " is the most beautiful.
i agree, most of the time.
yes, i've polished off a 6 litre keg of perfect draft san miguel .
ahh bri, i'd leave you my long john baldry harmonica . he played it on ronnie lanes 'how come' at the marquee, east ham lad like me. and my old man east ham dave.
do you remember that time i rang you up and left you a 3 hour answer phone message after 18 pints of pilsner urquell in leadenhall market and i wanted to renounce all my wordly goods and chattles in a fit of materialistic guilt . You were the most honest decent person i could think of.
3rd time lucky for me lads, 7th of june. The richard burton and liz taylor of leigh on sea.
Had to go to the registrar in southend today in this concrete sobibor 1970's abomination flat pack council bunker straight out of some strontium dog wasteland to be interviewed by some stasi functionary in a demis roussos kaftan who water boarded me with questions about jo to make sure it wasn't a sham marriage.
I got a bit nervous at one point and launched into my mick jagger stella street impersonation . It felt like a Special branch interrogtion at some south armagh bog to release names of the local IRA nutting squad. I only want to make an honest woman of jo after 14 years, not expose her craft hobby of making pipe bombs out of baby bio and doctor white jam wrags at leigh on sea constitutional club of a sunday morning.
what a palarver, i dont recall all this agg for my for my first two marriages. admittedly for the first two nuptials i was out of my skate on happy pills, booze and bugle so i dont remember in bone white clarity the minutiae of those cermonies in 1990 and 1999.
My second wife joined a christian commune in the forest of dean after being married to me for 7 years so i hold my hands up to that one.
the sawtooth waves of life and the knuckle duster of getting through the next 24 hours every time we get up off the edierdown and go to work to provide as best we can got the best of me in that case, sorry about that michelle.
after given the east german high gauleiter every scrap of information i had stored in my snaypse including jo's blood group, i was asked what music we would like for our ceremony..
i was stumped .. so thought of the first track that meant something to us when our eyes locked over the juke box in the essex arms in brentwood.. luckily jo agreed.
No doubt to impress the new manager, the Derby players will now rise from the salted earth like those Skeletons begat of Hydras teeth scattered by that geezer in the tea cosy hat in Jason and the argonauts.
I may be mistaken but i think it may have been jean paul sartre or perhaps Percy Bysshe Shelley who first coined the phrase, 'I'm not going away for some dirty northern ponce to spit all over me, i'll put a pint glass in his fackin' head',