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Friday, last week, mid-evening
Do you do the aerials for the council? [slight Scottish accent] Err . . .which council? [Impatiently identifies the town, as if speaking to an idiot] Yes. How did you get this number? I got it off the warden [OK, she's dead]. You need to come and bend the aerial so it stands up. Where do you live? It isn't me it's my mother. Fair enough. Where does she live? I don't want to give you her address. She's had harrassment like . . . Can you tell me the street? Err well . . .[finally discloses the street] Is she in the flats or the bungalows? What's that got to do with it? Well, the flats are on a different TV system to the bungalows. So is she in the flats or the bungalows? Err well . . .like I said . . .Look, all you need to do is come and bend the aerial over. If you don't give me the address I won't know which aerial she is using. Can't you just come and do all of them like? They all share one aerial. It's stupid. When they all pull off it it weakens it. It stands to . . . [Bill rings off] Dring dring, dring dring . . . [the phone is not answered. It goes to ansaphone but no message is left] [Saturday morning] Hello, is that Bill? It is indeed. Out of hours here. Got a call for you. [gives address] The son rung up, very aggressive, says the aerial needs bending over or something. OK. We'll see to it. While you're on, what's all this about retuning the telly? [long and irrelevant exchange follows] One hour later Do you do the aerials for the council? Err . . .which council? [Impatiently identifies the town, as if speaking to an idiot] Yes. How did you get this number? [Ignores question] Look, you need to come and bend the aerial so it stands up. Where do you live? It isn't me it's my mother. Ahh, did you ring up yesterday? You got cut off I think? Yes, look, she's gone digital and the aerial is standing up. It needs to be flatways on for digital. I didn't know that. Yeah, look, I went digital and the bloke twisted the aerial so it was flatways on and that worked great. He put a booster on it as well. Can you put a booster on it? Err, yes, I suppose we could. Where do you live? In Scotland. It's different in England. Why? How's that then? It can't be. Oh, it's a long story. What's your mother's address? I don't want to give you her address. She's had harrassment like . . . Well, I want to harrass her good and proper by calling round and making her TV reception work properly, and forcing her to make me a cup of tea. So what's the address? Could it be xx xxxxxxx, xxxxx, S64 xx? How did you know that? I got it off the warden. I'll kill her. Bill |
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Brian Gaff wrote:
The age of communication, what is the age of communication? Probably older than we think. The age of communication started when the language was developed sufficient enough to say "that thing there is poisonous, don't eat that." I hate to think how many perished before the message was understood. -- Adrian C |
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Adrian C said the following on 04/10/2009 09:34:
Brian Gaff wrote: The age of communication, what is the age of communication? Probably older than we think. The age of communication started when the language was developed sufficient enough to say "that thing there is poisonous, don't eat that." I hate to think how many perished before the message was understood. Didn't need verbal language for that one, it's an old lead-follower reflex which still buried deep within the cerebral cortex and still gets us going...[Derren Brown mode]...when you turn a corner and you've just realised you've almost slipped over in what you realise is a slippery pool of gloop with carrots or chunks of apple and there's a decidedly strong acidy smell of bile. You can imagine that out-pouring from the victim as that stuffed splashed and bounced off the floor. Some of the bits of apple or carrots are over your shoe and you feel your stomach is feeling a bit sensitive. As that acrid stench goes through your nostrils you realise that you are salivating. ;-) |
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"Richard Brooks" wrote in message ... Adrian C said the following on 04/10/2009 09:34: Brian Gaff wrote: The age of communication, what is the age of communication? Probably older than we think. The age of communication started when the language was developed sufficient enough to say "that thing there is poisonous, don't eat that." I hate to think how many perished before the message was understood. Didn't need verbal language for that one, it's an old lead-follower reflex which still buried deep within the cerebral cortex and still gets us going...[Derren Brown mode]...when you turn a corner and you've just realised you've almost slipped over in what you realise is a slippery pool of gloop with carrots or chunks of apple and there's a decidedly strong acidy smell of bile. You can imagine that out-pouring from the victim as that stuffed splashed and bounced off the floor. Some of the bits of apple or carrots are over your shoe and you feel your stomach is feeling a bit sensitive. As that acrid stench goes through your nostrils you realise that you are salivating. ;-) Thanks. I *was* enjoying a chicken sandwich :-) |
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Doctor D said the following on 04/10/2009 20:34:
"Richard Brooks" wrote in message ... Adrian C said the following on 04/10/2009 09:34: Brian Gaff wrote: The age of communication, what is the age of communication? Probably older than we think. The age of communication started when the language was developed sufficient enough to say "that thing there is poisonous, don't eat that." I hate to think how many perished before the message was understood. Didn't need verbal language for that one, it's an old lead-follower reflex which still buried deep within the cerebral cortex and still gets us going...[Derren Brown mode]...when you turn a corner and you've just realised you've almost slipped over in what you realise is a slippery pool of gloop with carrots or chunks of apple and there's a decidedly strong acidy smell of bile. You can imagine that out-pouring from the victim as that stuffed splashed and bounced off the floor. Some of the bits of apple or carrots are over your shoe and you feel your stomach is feeling a bit sensitive. As that acrid stench goes through your nostrils you realise that you are salivating. ;-) Thanks. I *was* enjoying a chicken sandwich :-) It's okay, you can get your own back on me with the 'sudden noises' reflex which became outdated with the arrival of the gun! |
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"Doctor D" wrote in message o.uk... "Richard Brooks" wrote in message ... Adrian C said the following on 04/10/2009 09:34: Brian Gaff wrote: The age of communication, what is the age of communication? Probably older than we think. The age of communication started when the language was developed sufficient enough to say "that thing there is poisonous, don't eat that." I hate to think how many perished before the message was understood. Didn't need verbal language for that one, it's an old lead-follower reflex which still buried deep within the cerebral cortex and still gets us going...[Derren Brown mode]...when you turn a corner and you've just realised you've almost slipped over in what you realise is a slippery pool of gloop with carrots or chunks of apple and there's a decidedly strong acidy smell of bile. You can imagine that out-pouring from the victim as that stuffed splashed and bounced off the floor. Some of the bits of apple or carrots are over your shoe and you feel your stomach is feeling a bit sensitive. As that acrid stench goes through your nostrils you realise that you are salivating. ;-) You are being serious in spite of the smiley? The sight of a gory scene like a road kill animal makes my teeth tingle in a special way, I am sure my distant ancestors would interpret that as dinner time. You should hear me howl at midnight too. -- Graham. %Profound_observation% |
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Graham. said the following on 05/10/2009 11:00:
You are being serious in spite of the smiley? The sight of a gory scene like a road kill animal makes my teeth tingle in a special way, I am sure my distant ancestors would interpret that as dinner time. You should hear me howl at midnight too. Ahhhh! Sorry, drifted off there when you reminded me of an ex. Bless the pride of the British workman, my father could bring on a sickie just to get off work so that he had enough time to get to the pub. |
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