cochyn

Ah, The King's Arms in York. Sam Smith's pub selling their plentiful cheap swill. The Ajungerbrau there has caught me off guard a few times. Though I only ended up puking in the river. Not battering divs.

Been rumbling on for years this. Russian backed separatists holding onto eastern Ukraine. Just happens to be parliamentary elections in October. Could just be an early hustings?

Ambulance chasers. Pure and simple.

It's the loyalists kicking off so I suppose gov.com doesn't see them striking on 'home soil', surely? They relied on the army and the police being on their side during he troubles and a domestic flare-up would only alienate them further. Last time I visited Norn Iron I go the feeling that the loyalists were an embattled group - all the signs were there: Union Jacks outside the houses and defiant slogans on their cars whilst everyone else (i.e the vast majority) just got on with their lives and enjoying post-GFA prosperity. A lot of people there seemed content to embrace their Irish-ness whereas the loyalists seemed like nasty neighbours. Tide is turning for them I think.

Bought The DLC's over Chrimbo - it's like a new game. Aye, Vault 88 needs a totally different mindset to all the other settlement builds. I started with a massive atrium pretty much the length of the first main space. Then bolted all the rooms off the side. Fiddly as fuck though like you say. Nuka World was boss as well. Crafted a MIRV two-shot fat man (effectively fires 12 nukes) and annihilated the gangs there. Which was fun.

Spec house developer logic for meeting energy efficiency standards: Glass lets out more heat than walls. so it's cheaper to fit small windows and install the minimum required wall insulation. They could put in bigger windows and bump up the wall insulation to compensate. But: ££. And they know the buy-to-let landlords who buy these Noddy-boxes won't give a shit that it'll be dark as hell in there and you'll need to keep the lights on in the day. These aren't homes anymore, they're 'investments'. And what the fuck is going on with that 'canopy' over the front door? Its a fucking abortion.

Ket Shorty Danny DeVito and John Travolta gurn their way around '90s Las Vegas in search of punters who owe their dealers.

Do you mean the same law, over and over and over again, but just with slightly different words?

Mad Men (like Entourage) was great recession TV: We went onto it after enduring Deadwood (who wants that grimness when you've had a shit day at work again and your job's on the line)? Mad Men by contrast was bright, beautiful caricatures drinking smoking and fornicating which was just the ticket to lift the recessionary gloom. Ironically I've rewatched both and put Deadwood streets ahead of Mad Men. Reckon it would have endured in brighter economic times when people can stomach some grit in their choice of entertainment.

That's a bloody long wall they'll have to build... Eeeyy lad, tha' can see it frum space, tha knows!

I'm contemplating replacing my waxed cotton autumnal jacketry with leathers. Anyone tried these?: https://www.aeroleatherclothing.com/index.php All hand-made in Scotland apparently and built to last. Some absolute horrors on there, but a few decent styles.

Salmond might not get elected at his first go, but Hinari-election he might well prevail. Now he may not think the second vote useful, but I think he might find it Tandy.

The original Winston's in Leeds circa 2001. It was a unashamedly a brothel. This was back in the day where clubs closing at 1:00 am wasn't quite good enough for those of us with birds and a thirsty nature. Anyway, we knew what we were getting into so we repaired to Winston's which was open all night under the guise of being a 'health spa with massage' With an open bar. Our intention was to pay the £10 in just to keep the ale flowing until we dropped. Anyway, one thing leads to another.. two of my mates tap off and I'm left playing winner stays on at the pool table with the under-employed ladies and chatting f**ty with the bouncers. Got talking to a lad who was an investment banker in the midst of a divorce. He'd worked out that it was cheaper for him to carry on his 18-hour days in the office and live out of Winston's every night (hey, it had a proper 'spa' with showers, beds and that) than set himself up with a flat and pay taxes, utilities etc. He'd been living there for six weeks. I was only a few weeks into my relationship with my new beau at the time, so being a gent I rebutted the advances of many a masseur that night (who were, objectively way out of my league - but money talks, right?). I still can't quite get my head around that night.

This is exactly what the illuminati want: limiting us strapping, sexy as fuck northern folk into bickering amongst ourselves as to the 'proper' nomenclature for a bread fucking roll. A. Bread. Fucking. Roll! I call upon you brothers and sisters in arms to rise up and fight the good fight: Sight your enemy, engage him on all possible battle grounds and die on the only hill that will define our legacy: Is your midday repast 'lunch' or dinner? If it's the former, you may as well hand in your man card and subjugate yourselves to the eternal damnation of 'ironically' naming your children after 1960's Coronation Street characters and making up wankily apologetic excuses for shopping at Aldi. Do the right thing.