Why do the Round Table think they can go round knocking on doors begging for money? Street collections for charity should be passive.
They’re not allowed to shake the collection boxes, let alone go pestering passers by, so why should I be nice to some twat knocking on my door at teatime on a Saturday?
Before you go spending money you cannot afford, on presents that nobody wants, just listen to this.
I really cannot see any point to climbing into the attic and dragging the crimbo tree down, just to have to put it back again in a month’s time, so I have bought a new one for the princely sum of three pounds.
What’s more, it’s ecologically sound. I can plant it in the garden in spring.
After a period of utter apathy I’ve managed to get some housework done today. Bathroom and kitchen floors bleached and the hall floor swept. Psyching myself up for getting down on my hands and knees to attack the front room carpet with a stiff brush (to remove the dog hairs before vacuuming) when I’ve had my first coffee of the day.
I’ve not been going out very often for the last few of weeks, partly to save some money but also in an attempt to lose some weight. I did take Star for a walk into town last Saturday afternoon though, and enjoyed a few beers in the Military and the Chequer all the more for having been stopping in.
How rare is rare?
Even ignoring the “buy two, get one free” offer, the number sold would seem to indicate that the word means different things to different people.
How long before some politically correct twat decides that the Friday after Thanksgiving should be referred to as “Friday Of Colour?
When I was a relief clerk at Guide Bridge I quite often worked at New Mills Central. There was a long gap between trains on Sunday evenings and a Wilsons pub nearby.
Wilsons used to brew a very nice beer, sadly long departed in the world of business takeovers, and the pub used to be called The Railway.
It’s now known as The Pride Of The Peaks, but I’m a stick in the mud and it will always be The Railway to me.
Name change apart it is still an excellent pub with a warm welcome, an equally warm real fire, good food and well kept beer.
Salopian Oracle yesterday lunchtime. Gorgeous.
I have been drinking beer in pubs for about forty five years. I do not appreciate it when presented with a cloudy pint. If bar staff see that the beer is not as it should be they should offer to change it, without hesitation, not ask the customer if they’ve tried it yet.
I was presented with a cloudy pint on Tuesday afternoon. The barmaid went to check the barrel when I complained about it and returned from the cellar saying there were still three gallons left in the barrel. Maybe so, I was not concerned with how much was left, what I was concerned with was my pint. She changed the barrel, but obviously did not clear the line properly. On being presented with a second pint I could not see through I walked out.
If the staff think cloudy beer is drinkable let them drink it.
It might teach them something about real ale. I’m sure they’ll find something on their smart phones to keep them amused while sitting on the bog.
There’s more to working behind a bar than smarmy customer service. Knowing something about beer is not an option, it is a fundamental qualification for the job.
“One militia group, the Texas Minutemen, has 100 volunteers heading to the Rio Grande to block migrants now travelling through Mexico, leader Shannon McGauley told The Washington Post. The untrained volunteers plan to dig in along border spots with camouflage clothing, flak jackets, semiautomatic weapons, night-vision goggles and aerial drones with thermal sensing equipment to locate people in darkness, McGauley said. They’ll also come with camping gear and food supplies.
Militia leaders echo Trump’s pre-election, anti-migrant hyperbole that the migrants are ‘invaders’ and that the borders must be protected.”
– AOL news feed.
And so law and order breaks down as mentally unstable fuckwits with guns, inspired by an equally unstable fuckwit in The Whitehouse, decide they can take matters into their own hands.
The most powerful country in the world is going to allow its citizens to shoot unarmed people, probably while those unarmed men, women and children are still on foreign soil.
Highway – Hell on Wheels.
Byway – Much better.
My way – Way to go!
Less than a mile separates the three photos.