They used to have it at my school when i was younger, back in the early 60’s…
Then again there was no roof on the boys urinal as well (It was purposely built like that)......I can remember pissing when it was raining, snowing, fog…etc..
They used to have it at my school when i was younger, back in the early 60’s…
Then again there was no roof on the boys urinal as well (It was purposely built like that)......I can remember pissing when it was raining, snowing, fog…etc..
Gotta love those Victorian built schools…
DB
Ah, perhaps the Izal was supposed to be waterproof… As it happens, my school bog, did have a roof though it was unheated and not the sort of place to linger unless one enjoyed the sensation of one’s genitals crawling back into the body cavity as far as the upper intestine. Perhaps that was the point. All of the windows above the urinals were rusted to hell from generations of schoolboys attempting to piss out of them. Successfully, in my case.
London cab drivers who won’t go south of the river. Or get funny about anywhere else you want to go. The only reason you can pick up on the street and minicabs can’t is because your license says you have to go where the fare wants. Keep playing silly buggers and the bloke in the rusty Datsun will be pulling up next to you, you miserable, overpriced bastards.
People who ride their bikes on the pavement. People who walk in the road. People who double park in narrow streets. Taxi drivers who hoot their horns at midnight because they’re too lazy to knock on the door and too bloody tight to call their fare. In fact, everybody. I’m feeling hungover and crap today, so I don’t see why anyone except Missus Ming (largely because she knows about a million martial arts and is half-ninja) should get an easy ride.
I can see you’re finding this thread very therapeutic Ming
Cheers,
SD
It’s got to be cheaper than therapy, right? And less soul-destroying than writing for the Daily Mail.
Ah, yes, therapists, the phoney new-age-feel-your-inner-pixie frauds. If you need to spill your guts, that’s what pubs and good mates are for. Or suicide notes.
Buskers on the tube using amplifiers. Isn’t it noisy enough already, you knobsters? Why do you expect us to pay for your rehearsal time? Piss off and come back when you’ve got a record deal. At which time we shall moan about how derivative you are and how your second album wasn’t half as good as your first.
