Your quickest opinion U turn

[DickyC]

Sitting in traffic one morning and for a change I was moaning to myself about the lack of characters you see these days. When I was growing up there was Camberley Kate who had all the stray dogs and ponged a bit, there was Walking Peter who, well, walked everywhere and there was Spangle the farm labourer who had only left the village once in his life and hadn't enjoyed the experience.

All these thoughts were going through my head when a tall bloke with a stoop and really long greasy hair marched past the car wearing a ground length black leather coat and a wide brimmed brown hat with an ex-army haversack over his shoulder and I thought, "Jeez, I'm glad I don't live anywhere near you."

[DrTre]

WTF?

Did you grow up in some sort of David Lynch vision of Trumpton or something?!?

[davidspooner]

<serious hat on>

Before: thought Breast cancer campaigns were out of proportion to it as a disease (compared to the attention of male cancers), wouldn't give to them.

Then: little sis had breast cancer scare

After: given how young people can be, and how utterly frightening cancer or a scare is (of any kind), how can I be negative in any way to any such campaign. I gave heavily this year to breast cancer care.

</serious>

Sorry to be heavy but this is what I thought when I saw the thread title!

[DickyC]

DrTre said:

WTF?

Did you grow up in some sort of David Lynch vision of Trumpton or something?!?

When Spangle drove the cows across the main road, the traffic jam might comprise three vehicles. If it happened now the queue would stretch to Tower Bridge.

Policeman Potter would have a terrible time.

[DrTre]

I genuinely want the number of your dealer.

[DickyC]

DrTre said:

I genuinely want the number of your dealer.

The guy with the leather coat?

[M400 NBL]

I always vow not to eat meat in foreign countries, but change my mind after my 10th pint.

[Justayellowbadge]

M400 NBL said:

I always vow not to eat meat in foreign countries, but change my mind after my 10th pint.

Spartacus tours?

[Google [bot]]

I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first--" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with the drugs, I like to tell them this story.

[Merp]

My favourite bit was when he tapped the fence a couple of times at arms length, did make me chuckle. The commitment

[thehappyotter]

davidspooner said:

<serious hat on>

Before: thought Breast cancer campaigns were out of proportion to it as a disease (compared to the attention of male cancers), wouldn't give to them.

Then: little sis had breast cancer scare

After: given how young people can be, and how utterly frightening cancer or a scare is (of any kind), how can I be negative in any way to any such campaign. I gave heavily this year to breast cancer care.

</serious>

Sorry to be heavy but this is what I thought when I saw the thread title!

I can relate to this. One of my closest friends was 23 when she nearly died from it. We never paid it a second thought before..

[M3CHA-MONK3Y]

Google [bot] said:

I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first--" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with the drugs, I like to tell them this story.

That makes sense...

but somehow, I wish it didn't.