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Helen Bristol 11 September 2004 13:20 Re: Critique
Of all the excuses in the world.............that's the most plausible -
VJphobia. Ages since we slooped at the Slurp
Lucy had returned safe but she's not saying much about the ordeal, certainly
doesn't like being in enclosed spaces and completely freaks when she sees the
log basket.
Re Gill's emus: I remember the video where they walked through a
"mirror" does that mean my pricetag is showing as well?
Vile Jelly 12 September 2004 10:39
I think it's just an excuse. I also suffer from VJphobia and don't spend all
my time in pubs .....
Anyway. Good to see that Lu made it back from wherever she went. Can
understand the claustrophobia bit (I'm the same with heights) but what's all
this about log baskets? Does she fear the baskets or the logs that lurk
within. And, in either case, why? I would have thought that down in the bayou
she'd be more concerned about the East Angularian Cajun fishermen on the
look-out for volunteers for their jambalaya, crawfish pie, etc.
Not necessarily. Now, thanks to the advent of satellite TV you can claim that
you only know that because you saw the video on VH2 the other week. On the
udder hand if your price tag says 7/- 6d ...
Helen Bristol 12 September 2004 15:37
I assume any baskety thing reminds her of (sssssh only whipser the
words) lobster pots
EA hasn't got that cosmopolitan yet though I'm sure the incomers who are
downsizing from the metrolops will soon change all that. I did hear we
now have a wine bar or two somewhere in Norfolk.
Is that 7/- or a poor attempt at 7/6d.........didn't they teach you nuffin at
skool? Did once but tyhe value of newly new goods has dropped - have to
wait a bit longer 'til I'm an antique!
Of course, I only know about "old" money (doubloons, groats,
guineas, half a crowns) from watching olds films on the digi channels.
Vile Jelly 13 September 2004 10:01
I would have thought baskets going ssssssssh would remind her more of Orm.
Nothing he likes better than lurking in laundry baskets and doing tricks with
Indian fakirs. "Don't worry, I'm not poisonous," he cheerfully
announces as he wraps himself around the spoiled brat who has to rush up and
try to poke everything!
Ooh er. Does that mean that your Thresher now has competition for your custom?
It's alright for Le Grand Ecosse, he's got Mr. Chimbley (and, no doubt, many
other hedge wizards brewing potions). I don't remember seeing much about the
vineyards of East Angular. Hell, even Cornshire has it's own vineyards
(whereas St. Ives has its Vile-yards) these days.
I don't know. I can remember Decimation coming in (they beat it into us at
skool) but don't really recall the previous currantsy. I suppose at the age of
6 it was more of a behind the bikesheds barter economy than cash in hand.
Helen Bristol 13 September 2004 18:55
Best thing that could happen, put it out of its misery if it's already past
its sell-by date.
What! Not heard of East Angularian vineyards? Where have you been?
There's Chilford Hall (personal friend of the vintner), Shawsgate Vineyard,
Gifford Hall, Wyken Vineyard, Tas Valley Vineyard, Ickworth Vineyard to name
but a few. No, that was unfair. Of course you haven't heard of
them. We keep the best things for ourselves. No onelse would
appreciate them.
Even my sprogs, much your juniors, do simultanious translation when they are
talking to me. They know there's not much point in telling me something is 2
cm too big. I have, however, just about got the hang of the Euro.
Vile Jelly 14 September 2004 09:56
Eh quoi? Are you referring to Orm? He's not past his sell-by date (he's
swedish and their stuff lasts forever - abba, volvos, winter, etc) and I would
never put a cuddly peep down, no matter how badly injured it is. Fortunately
most of the RT are tuff enuff to take care of themselves. Have you seen Flat
Eric's new ad for Auto Trader where he duffs up that bloke trying to get into
his car? He says no flat people were injured in the making of that commercial
..... several humans were though. Bwahahahaha!
How can you grow grapes in the bayous? I'd have thought with all that water
sloshing around they'd just turn straight into prunes. Or do you have some
secret East Anglican hydroponics technique. Anyway, I suppose this must
explain all your days off from the Elf Service ..... so many vineyards, so
many wine-tastings, so little time off!
I can do the little distances OK but can never get my head round things like
KPH or litres. (Although I suspect that my failing to grasp the concept of the
latter is entirely due to the goverment and the oil companies using
mind-control techniques to prevent me working out the real cost of petrol).
Have no problems with the Euro down here as the indigenous Cornese have to
operate a pure barter economy.
Helen Bristol 14 September 2004 18:14
No, no, no, not Orm ( I wouldn't risk offending him with his penchant for big
hugs) I was talking about the spoiled brat.
The vineyard-y bits are in the desert EA. The bayous are further west.
So science wasn't a strong subject either? I was under the impression
9Correct me if I'm wrong) that prunification happened because of too little
water/too much sunshine. Don't explain a thing. Do it all in one
fell (fallen) swoop at the agricultural expos.
Vile Jelly 16 September 2004 10:42 Hell, I don't know. I'm not a whoreticulcherist. All I know is that when I spend too much time in water I start going prune-like (well, OK, more prune-like). The wine-tasting frenzies at the agricultural expeditions probably explains your annoyance with the air force. If you weren't lying on your back staring up at the sky all the time you wouldn't notice them so much! Helen Bristol 16 September 2004 17:59 Cast ye not nasty-turliums. I have NEVER ended up on my back, at least not the worse for drink. More along the lines of a waste of money and too noisy. Vile Jelly 17 September 2004 10:01
How about on your face? I managed that a few times, especially in my wild
student youth.
Couldn't you persuade the local council or Tony's lackeys to build a load of
motorways near you to drown out the noise from the hairyplanes? Or you could
buy our windmills off us; excellent obstacles to low-flying aircraft, handy
markers for people lost at sea, just bugger all use for generating leccy!
Helen Bristol 17 September 2004 10:57
Nope.
What's the point? It wouldn't go anywhere. Ennyway, it's noisy
enough some nights with the local yoof using the main road through town and
the bypass as a racetrack. One boy-racer managed to flip "his"
(the jury's still out on the ownership of sed vehicle) car onto its roof a few
yards ( sorry, metres) up t'road. We got our own wind turbines 'though
not as many as you have. Give 'em a chance. B all leccy must be
preferable to the risk of the nooclear powerstation getting flooded 'cos of
coastal erosion.
Off now on a skool re-union - not as awful as it sounds. Just my gang from
skool and their significant others having a gourmet ( or possibly gourmand)
weekend. No doubt we'll be regaled about the rectitude of the unspeakable
chasing the uneatable, and how "my lot" (??) are against it.
Amazing how interesting the autumn fashions can become.
Vile Jelly 17 September 2004 11:54
Lawks! Have you got hollow legs or have you somehow managed to restrain your
consumption below the point where it makes much more sense to rotate your
body/ground interface through 90 degrees?
Since when have major civil engineering projects needed a point? Perhaps the
local yoof was trying to tilt at the windmills! There's nowt wrong with
radioactive power stations, they just keep building them in the wrong places.
If, as they say, they are perfectly safe then it would make sense to put them
where the demand and the skill-sets are ..... middle of every major
conurbation. I don't have a problem with that. We can have 100ft tall
windmills outside our back doors and the city slickers can have 100ft mushroom
clouds!
Will the old skool reunion feature an old skool dinner? Yummy! Actually,
banning fox-hunting with hounds already seems to be having a positive effect.
I can think of at least two cases in the news of persons who have been shot
dead by their fellow fox-hunters while 'lamping'.
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