life in newcastle
It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.
When you're finished, post this little paragraph in your LJblog and see what your friends come up with.
(go on. i DARES ya!)
I remember one night being in a pub, just stopped by for a quiet couple of pints on my own: there had been a lady who kept putting loads of money in the jukebox and selecting all this horrible folk music which I hated, and it was really starting to wind me up. So after an hour or so of this interminable drone of hey-nonny-nony and mandolins which made the Corrs sound like Motorhead, I got up and made it to the jukebox before she could put any more money in. Hoping it would piss her off in return, I put 5 Chas 'n' Dave songs on. The odd thing was there was some sort of fault with the jukebox and it played Chas 'n' Dave at double the speed (not a bad thing in itself). Next thing I knew, there was you, manically pogo-ing up and down the length of the bar room, shouting "RABBIT RABBIT RABBIT" at the top of your voice. I think you might have been a bit drunk, so just to try and freak you out a bit, I started doing the pogo as well, staring at you wild-eyed and shouting "BARRY SHEEN! BARRY SHEEN!" just to see how you would respond. I'm sorry, I never thought shouting "BARRY SHEEN" at someone would make them cry.
So. I'm sat on the train, bloke opposite and to the left it a bit too obvious, is blatantly staring at my tits. (Yes, that's right. In this fictional meeting I'm a woman.)Anyway, one minute we're talking, next minute you're making weird gorilla type arm movements and silently laughing."For why do you silently laugh?" I ask and you grin."I'm silently chuckling, not laughing.""?" I say."Like bears do." You say. Bloke opposite and to the left shift focus away from my tits, shuffles toward the aisle.You silently chuckle, bear style.Mentalist.
I couldn't think of anything fictional and so I just thought I would write about the time you and I found that wallet containing such an incredibly large amount of cash in it and instead of handing it back to the police you insisted that we blew the lot on peas.I still don't understand.Why, oh why, did we have to have peas? Why not chicken dippers?
That must have been my wallet, not long after we were sitting on a bench outside La Tasca and deciding to walk up Gibson and Argyle Street to the multistory car park. I remember that we found a depth gauge left there by a construction worker, and that we used it as a prop in several photographs as we continued our walk.
Trousers, I read that before and I couldn't stop laughing. Funniest thing I've heard in weeks. Somewhere there is a vid of me pogo-ing manically, but to a slightly different song (errrm, Faith No More, I believe). Next time we meet up we should go pogo-ing in a pub again. I promise not to cry this time.Nik, I was already giggling from the trousers effort, so it was a mere tiny step to start doing the arm movements to myself. Luckily D is occupied watching Breaking Bad, so he didn't see.Mentalist is right :)I do think you are cheating slightly and taking inspiration from real events. Am I right? I think I am.Jon that is even more hilarious as I don't think I've ever mentioned online the fact that D thinks I'm addicted to peas. And veggie, which should explain why I didn't want chicken dippers. I can't believe I didn't tell you at the time. Were we on crack? that might explain a lot :)liquidid_213jxts (is there something I can call you for short?), sorry, I just didn't realise it was your wallet. I checked through it for ID and just didn't recognise you in the photo. That depth gauge was amusing though. I wish I hadn't lost those photos!
People always say my photos don't look like me. Or is it that I don't look like my photos? But yeah, it was me, in a photo that's at least ten years old. I'm not sure how this OpenID works. One moment I'm dp, the next I'm a semirandom alphanumeric string. You remember that too, by chance?
It's a right bugger of a problem dp. I've only once changed into a semirandom alphanumeric string, but changing back blooody hurt.I'm terrible at recognising people I haven't seen in a while. Once made a right arse of myself in a pub, thinking that a lad sitting opposite was an ex boyfriend. Got drunk and kept pointing and laughing. It wasn't him. Felt quite daft. So yeah, a ten year old photo would completely confuse me.
We walked down the hill, don't you remember? You kicking leaves, me moaning about the puddles and the rain, until we hit the main road. We hugged then, under drizzle and moonlight. I kissed your cheek, wished you well, and then I turned and I was gone.Nik
Man, remember that night in Newcastle and you forced me to go to that gig by that band you were so into... Editors? Yeah. Best night of my life. We had pints and the music was alive and afterwards we played hopscotch on rainy streets and we thanked the powers that be that finally I was in England again.x(it's not as creative as i had hoped but it's 7am and i haven't had my proper cup of coffee yet!)
That was a great evening, Nik. Thanks for popping by! Loria, I want to keep that memory as true. It sounds even better than the great night it was.... *hugs*
We met one fateful day in a shoeshop a mile and a half out of town. Both reaching for the same pair of scarlet stilettos... our fingertips touched... we were wearing the same nailvarnish."MINE" you growled.I arched an eyebrow and in a tone dripping with scorn replied "I think not missy."A bloody battle with shoehorns ensued, sales assistants staring open mouthed in horror, even the hoodies ran screaming from the store. Only one could survive. Standing triumphant on a mountian of mangled limbs and slingbacks, stilettos held high, smiling as I turn to the cowering store manager..."Do you have these in a 6?"
Ha vix I wanted the 6 too. If only we'd thought to ask... (and i can't walk in stilettos anyway!)
me neither. can you even imagine how fallen over i would be?
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