The Hidden Glasgow Forums

Heh, Brigitdoon, Remember me?
I've just been reading some of your stuff here in your bomb shelter and had to stop....
....for no other reason than that my (much) better half is screaming at me for the umpteenth time to get my arse into gear and get the shopping done -
She does the weekend shopping I do the Thursday bit - So I'm off.
But I'll be back.
Great site.
Got you wrong before but you know I'm sorry about that...for fuck sakes don't ream MY ears.

TeeHeeHee wrote:...for fuck sakes don't ream MY ears

No, you don't need to worry...

..unless you work for Weatherseal.

Monkeyfuckers.

Phone rung... 0845 2639001

"Good evening, Brigit Doon..."

"Can I speak to the homeowner, please?"

"That'll be South Lanarkshire Council."

"Oh, sorry sir..." *hangs up*

Brigit? Sir? Dickhead

I have TPS and a private number. I've had them phone me before and they've even got a number to call to remove one's phone number from their database. It doesn't work, evidently. What's the fucking point in having TPS if these wankers ignore it.

There will be outpourings of wrath. Stand well back.

Apparently if a company has a qualified lead (i.e. you ask them to call) they can contact you if you are registered with TPS. Thing is sometimes companies are sold information as 'qualified' when it's total bullshit, the rest of the time it's scammer who have found old phone directories.

As for verifying if the caller has a qualified lead or not they should be willing to provide the full registered name of the company they are employed by as well as the company number and some kind of ID number to identify them to the company but keep their details private from the public (for official enquiries)

Bomb the fuckers Brigit!!

dave3009 wrote:Bomb the fuckers

Aw naw, wait a minnit, fucking ain't illegal, man.

Evidence? You want evidence?

Cue Onyirtodd.

Hi Brigit,
Me again.
When I clocked off earlier to perform one of my duties... which include cleaning out the cats' toilets and taking over the kitchen after my (much) better half has dirtied up the cooker which I'd brought to a shine after she'd got it all dirty the night before -she calls that "load sharing",.....you were just about to show your dad the benefit of using a piece of scaffolding over a six foot length of low quality 4x2; which appealed to me if just for the sound FX alone: A good Doi-oi-oi-ing is always better than a dull thud.
Then I came back, as promised, and read on.
Well, fuck me...gently.
I actually felt bad that the people you'd known all your life were the people that you'd not really known all your life.
Someone here said he'd got big shooders that you could lean on. I'd offer you mine too...but you'd have to pick me up to get your head on my shoulders, which I'm used to; all my friends are six footers, including my son, and when my girlfriend has her high heels on..
I'm trying to find the appropriate line " she was only the carpenters daughter but..she was the right grain" is about the best I can come up with.
I went back to England a long time ago to walk down the aisle with my daughter.I was sitting out side the church in my car with my, then, girlfriend when she said that the long bean-pole of a lad, with the green and blue and red hair, who had walked past my car was my son. The last time I'd seen my son before that time he was a short arse like his dad, poor kid. This guy was over six foot. But it was my son. And he wasn't exactly happy to see me.
He told me years later that when I was standing before the vicar with his sister, and he immediately behind me, the only thing that would have made him happy that day would have been for him to drive a carving knife between my shoulder blades.
It turns out he was gay.
His mother had always told him that I hated "Queers and Poofters" and that I would therefore hate him too if I ever found out.
That day at the wedding was the first day that he'd coloured his hair.
I hated it when "Queers" tried to get away with me. I used to think "Am I a fuckin' magnet for these bastards."
Honest, if I went for a piss in a pub I nearly had to get some fucker to guard the shithouse door for me just in case. I was little, baby faced...wish now I still was...blonde, etc. and never got a minutes peace. the word Gay was not in vogue back then.
Bent a pole or two myself.
To top it all I was stupid enough that day to take his mother to the side and ask her if John was homosexual, my choice of wording.
She had gone to him and said " Your Dad asked me if your a fuckin' poofter."
It took years before we could trust each other in the same room. Catastrophic. It was his older sister who over years of hard effort brought us together, but the trust was never there.
Today it's different of course.
He eventually got married, had three kids and his wife fucked off when the third kid was months old...realised she didn't want to play wife and mother any more. So John brought two boys and a beautiful girl up on his own.
He used to ring me, well still does, at one in the morning and pour it all out on the phone for hours. The problems of bringing up three kids. I always thought I had three daughters, though I never told him that.
Brigit If he phoned me up tomorrow and said I should call him Irene, then that would be OK by me. Seriously.
I have three kids now at 35,39 (John)and 43. I have 10 grandkids and one great grand kid and I don't give a monkeys what gender they are or choose. There mine.
I lost a few "Mates" in England because my son was gay. Good fuckin riddance.
Heh, Let me tell you about cats. I'm a dyed in the wool expert there.
Cats are reputed to have three names.
The name you give to them, the name the other cats give them and...the name they give themselves.
You've found yourself and you've found your name.
And you've found a good few friends here (in Scotland) and I'd like to be the one over in Germany.
End of June I'm going to have a metal plate and 10 screws removed from my right wrist.
I'll be thinking of you especially at that time and wishing you all the best.
You really are True Grit..."Well fill your hands, you son-of-a-bitch" (John Wayne as Rooster Coburn.)

Nil illegitimus Carborundum
Don't let the bastards grind you down.

And keep yer powder dry,

Tomi.

Instructions for Hetty Hoover...

Caution
This machine is not suitable for picking up hazardous or explosive dust. You should contact your local distributor if you require a machine capable of performing these tasks.

Oh. There was I thinking she was made of nondestructium.

How the four-and-a-half can it cost £1362 to take a shower out of a council flat and install a modest tub?



It's a quote, thankfully.

I'm sure I can do better than this.

Bloody hell BrigitDoon, did you buy gold taps or something.

Measured my height this morning. 5' 11" 1/4, so with my 2 inch heels, that makes me 6' 1" and a quarter, just a quarter of an inch taller than I claimed yesterday.

My bath tub is installed and ready to be christened.

Also, my surgery date is all but confirmed. Just waiting for the surgeon's say-so.

BrigitDoon wrote:My bath tub is installed and ready to be christened.

Carefull, that might start the tub feeling guilty ....

BrigitDoon wrote:Just waiting for the surgeon's say-so.

Should that not be the surgeon's heave-ho?

Well, it's like rearranging the furniture. Some stuff will go in the skip, but we're keeping the curtains.

Our 'Crossed-legs-and-slightly-squeamish' correspondent writes : I'll thank you both to discontinue this line of conversation.

Do you get to take anything home?