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Mundane Regrets

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13 minutes ago, Remmie said:

Fucking hell mate, Claire was understandable at least but fucking Becky, what were you thinking??? 

Early twenties mate, what were we all thinking about at that age...

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I opened our wheelie bin the other day and a rat was scurrying at the bottom and let out a scream like I've never heard before. It was horrible. Thing is I'd pulled the bin away from the wall so I could balance the lid while I put a bin bag in it. In a state of panic I shut the lid door and it screamed again. A really horrible screech. I threw my bin bag in someone else's bin and ran back into ours. 

 

Sat there feeling guilty for 10 minutes and went back, pulled the bin over (It was empty other than splinter and some gunge) and legged it back in just so it could get out and wouldn't suffocate. Been out there today and someone has put my bin back up straight, lid closed. Like fuck I'm opening that again until the bin men have been, just in-case.  

 

So yeah my annual xmas kick off about people using other peoples bins is a bit mute for now. Actually I hope whoever the cunt who usually opens my bin to put their little snots boxes in opens ours and the rat's grown, big angry and hungry for someone's face. 

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8 minutes ago, Carvalho Diablo said:

Early twenties mate, what were we all thinking about at that age...

We've all had our Becky episodes in lean times but not when Claire and Allison are on the table. 

 

 

 

 

Not really sure where I am going with this 

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1 minute ago, Bjornebye said:

I opened our wheelie bin the other day and a rat was scurrying at the bottom and let out a scream like I've never heard before. It was horrible. Thing is I'd pulled the bin away from the wall so I could balance the lid while I put a bin bag in it. In a state of panic I shut the lid door and it screamed again. A really horrible screech. I threw my bin bag in someone else's bin and ran back into ours. 

 

Sat there feeling guilty for 10 minutes and went back, pulled the bin over (It was empty other than splinter and some gunge) and legged it back in just so it could get out and wouldn't suffocate. Been out there today and someone has put my bin back up straight, lid closed. Like fuck I'm opening that again until the bin men have been, just in-case.  

 

So yeah my annual xmas kick off about people using other peoples bins is a bit mute for now. Actually I hope whoever the cunt who usually opens my bin to put their little snots boxes in opens ours and the rat's grown, big angry and hungry for someone's face. 

I think I have heard one of those god awful rat screams before when one was fighting a cat. Fucking unbelievable how much noise can come out of something that size and how blood curdling is t is. 

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11 minutes ago, Remmie said:

I think I have heard one of those god awful rat screams before when one was fighting a cat. Fucking unbelievable how much noise can come out of something that size and how blood curdling is t is. 

Worse than foxes shagging. 10 times worse in-fact. 

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Went to St Petersburg a couple of years back and there were due to be demos the next day aboit the mayor, and I happened upon a group of Russian troops with ski masks on by the park who I'm fairly certain were Spetsnaz, I was going to get a selfie with them but the Mrs wouldn't let me. 

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21 minutes ago, Remmie said:

We've all had our Becky episodes in lean times but not when Claire and Allison are on the table. 

 

 

 

 

Not really sure where I am going with this 

Had three different Beckies/Becs/Beckys.  All fucking psycho, all fucking slags.

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4 minutes ago, Paulie Dangerously said:

Didn't go and see The Darkness live with @Chris as I had to do a shift in TK fucking Maxx 

 

Brilliant show that! Here's my embarrassingly fucking wordy review I wrote for a uni project. God it's fucking awful. 

 

The Darkness.

Liverpool University – Thursday 11th December 2003.

 

Carried through the crowd, effortlessly plucking a screeching guitar solo, the sweat drips from the body of the eccentric The Darkness frontman Justin Hawkins.

 2,000 people reach to cop a feel of the PVC trousers he so shamelessly dons. From the stage, his band looks on. Even they appear taken in by his showmanship.

As outlandish as their catsuited, wavy-haired demeanour appears, never has a supposed novelty act been embraced so warmly by the masses.

A last-second postponement in mid-October, served only to increase the feverish anticipation for the throwback rockers' sold-out concert at Liverpool University, the belated final date of their phenomenally successful UK tour.

Indeed, the disgruntled boos of seven weeks ago, as a throat infection struck down enigmatic frontman Justin Hawkins, were comprehensively substituted for a cheese-clad, signature thumbs-up from both crowd and chart-topping headbangers.

Hawkins' exposed and pierced chest coupled with duckwalk-laden guitar solos are as cliché-ridden as the legendary Spinal Tap, but the group have unearthed the niche of niches. The self-confessed seventies time-travellers have emerged from the novelty-act doldrums to dominate the mainstream rock scene.

But The Darkness isn't all about the PVC, glitz and hairdos. To take a passage from their encyclopaedic book of rock clichés, 'It's all about the music.'  They are very, very good. Had they surfaced alongside AC/DC and Thin Lizzy, their dress sense would never have been called into question. To question their authenticity is to question a plethora of rock legends. 

The audience variety in Liverpool, served only to showcase their massive appeal. They have been embraced. From the stereos of 'bemulletted' bikers to the headphones of teenage girls.

Each generation packed into the Academy and each bore a smile as broad as Hawkins' for the entire 90-minute set.

'I Believe in a Thing Called Love,' inspired a mass, screeching sing-a-long, and the "Dirty version" of 'Get Your Hands Off My Woman' saw the audience embrace a bout of "Gratuitous swearing." 

Years of struggling away in tiny venues has allowed Hawkins to develop a lightning-fast Mercury-esque catsuit switch and his band, a perfect stage show, graced with groin-punishing high-kicks and perfectly-timed pouts.

The flawless guitar solos and effortless reaching of the highest notes, would have conspiracy theorists screaming 'mime.' The only factor which was distinguishable from their million-selling album 'Permission to Land' was the riotous Liverpool crowd.

Ending a second encore with 'Christmas Time,' one of the favourites to steal the Christmas No.1 slot, The Darkness are revelling in their snowball fight within rock music's most over-excessive avalanche. 

The post-grunge self-indulgent angst of Nirvana seems long forgotten as Hawkins tirelessly struts carefree across a stage he owns. As the glitter and snow rained down upon Liverpool, Kurt Cobain may have been rolling in his grave, but tapping his feet simultaneously.

 

 

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33 minutes ago, JohnnyH said:

No small ones. All my regrets are huge. 

 

24 minutes ago, stringvest said:

haha!  Same - if you're gonna have them, go large.

pR2OJRFTr4Bevycser8udgOOIJUKzUnCx9hefwUn

 

 

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57 minutes ago, stringvest said:

haha!  Same - if you're gonna have them, go large.

 

One of my regrets is that my ex was very much of the same opinion. 

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1 hour ago, Chris said:

 

Brilliant show that! Here's my embarrassingly fucking wordy review I wrote for a uni project. God it's fucking awful. 

 

The Darkness.

Liverpool University – Thursday 11th December 2003.

 

Carried through the crowd, effortlessly plucking a screeching guitar solo, the sweat drips from the body of the eccentric The Darkness frontman Justin Hawkins.

 2,000 people reach to cop a feel of the PVC trousers he so shamelessly dons. From the stage, his band looks on. Even they appear taken in by his showmanship.

As outlandish as their catsuited, wavy-haired demeanour appears, never has a supposed novelty act been embraced so warmly by the masses.

A last-second postponement in mid-October, served only to increase the feverish anticipation for the throwback rockers' sold-out concert at Liverpool University, the belated final date of their phenomenally successful UK tour.

Indeed, the disgruntled boos of seven weeks ago, as a throat infection struck down enigmatic frontman Justin Hawkins, were comprehensively substituted for a cheese-clad, signature thumbs-up from both crowd and chart-topping headbangers.

Hawkins' exposed and pierced chest coupled with duckwalk-laden guitar solos are as cliché-ridden as the legendary Spinal Tap, but the group have unearthed the niche of niches. The self-confessed seventies time-travellers have emerged from the novelty-act doldrums to dominate the mainstream rock scene.

But The Darkness isn't all about the PVC, glitz and hairdos. To take a passage from their encyclopaedic book of rock clichés, 'It's all about the music.'  They are very, very good. Had they surfaced alongside AC/DC and Thin Lizzy, their dress sense would never have been called into question. To question their authenticity is to question a plethora of rock legends. 

The audience variety in Liverpool, served only to showcase their massive appeal. They have been embraced. From the stereos of 'bemulletted' bikers to the headphones of teenage girls.

Each generation packed into the Academy and each bore a smile as broad as Hawkins' for the entire 90-minute set.

'I Believe in a Thing Called Love,' inspired a mass, screeching sing-a-long, and the "Dirty version" of 'Get Your Hands Off My Woman' saw the audience embrace a bout of "Gratuitous swearing." 

Years of struggling away in tiny venues has allowed Hawkins to develop a lightning-fast Mercury-esque catsuit switch and his band, a perfect stage show, graced with groin-punishing high-kicks and perfectly-timed pouts.

The flawless guitar solos and effortless reaching of the highest notes, would have conspiracy theorists screaming 'mime.' The only factor which was distinguishable from their million-selling album 'Permission to Land' was the riotous Liverpool crowd.

Ending a second encore with 'Christmas Time,' one of the favourites to steal the Christmas No.1 slot, The Darkness are revelling in their snowball fight within rock music's most over-excessive avalanche. 

The post-grunge self-indulgent angst of Nirvana seems long forgotten as Hawkins tirelessly struts carefree across a stage he owns. As the glitter and snow rained down upon Liverpool, Kurt Cobain may have been rolling in his grave, but tapping his feet simultaneously.

 

 

Don't let the bells end fellas.

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