The Stile of Truth

While walking this morning I paused to let a group of elderly ladies climb a stile and continue on their ramble.
They apologised for holding me up and for their slowness.

Me: That’s fine, you’re doing so well I was going to ask you to assist me over.
Lady: (With a lascivious smile) Oooh, a few years ago I’d have jumped at the chance of helping you over a stile.

Is this what it’s come to, suggestive comments from grandmothers?
My salad days appear to now be named so because they’re the days on which I eat salad. (That’s every day if you’re interested)

The stile in question:



I may bring my stick to Glasgow this year to ward off all the “Art Gallery Ponce Bashers” the King assures me will be hanging around the Pacific Quay Premiere Inn of an evening if I don’t renew my visa.

Upskirting old ladies is against the law nowadays, Licker.

Just thought you should know as I jalouse your post is some kind of obscure confession.

You shouldn’t judge others by your standards, sweetheart.

A day of two halves.

While walking this morning a young lady stopped to talk to me and ask my name. Ha! I’ve still got it, it’s not just old ladies climbing stiles whose eye I catch.
The lady was in her early thirties, so too old for me, “women go bad at thirty.” Mardy.

In the afternoon I went for an eye test and was prescribed reading glasses. It’s a conspiracy.
A young lady helping me to choose some glasses was in the correct age demographic but was a tattooed oik and pie devotee. Pleasant lady, mind.

She handed me some glasses to try.

Me: I look like Steve Austin. You don’t know who Steve Austin is do you?
Lady: No. Ahhhh yes, is he a wrestler?
Me: No, he was the Six Million Dollar Man.
Lady: Never heard of him.

Fucking youngsters, they shouldn’t be allowed to flaunt their cultural ignorance and make me feel old.

crownliquor wrote:Me: I look like Steve Austin. You don’t know who Steve Austin is do you?
Lady: No. Ahhhh yes, is he a wrestler?
Me: No, he was the Six Million Dollar Man.
Lady: Never heard of him.

Fucking youngsters, they shouldn’t be allowed to flaunt their cultural ignorance and make me feel old.

Fucking hell, that was on the go in the mid 70's

crownliquor wrote:The stile in question:



I may bring my stick to Glasgow this year to ward off all the “Art Gallery Ponce Bashers” the King assures me will be hanging around the Pacific Quay Premiere Inn of an evening if I don’t renew my visa.

Looks like a poorly constructed sheep dip crown, not that I'm an expert on matters ovine

JimmyMcGrory wrote:

crownliquor wrote:The stile in question:



I may bring my stick to Glasgow this year to ward off all the “Art Gallery Ponce Bashers” the King assures me will be hanging around the Pacific Quay Premiere Inn of an evening if I don’t renew my visa.

Looks like a poorly constructed sheep dip crown, not that I'm an expert on matters ovine

Hmmmm.

JimmyMcGrory wrote:

Fucking hell, that was on the go in the mid 70's

My older brother told me about The Six Million Dollar Man, James. I’m young, smooth of skin and boyish of face. When immo and I lunched at The 13th Note the other month, the barman thought I was his grandson.

How did you know your grandad worked at the 13th Note?

Now then, you know fine well I meant the barman thought I was immo’s grandson. You’re so obtuse……..and a twat.

Walking through town this morning a lady beckoned me from her front door and asked if I could come in for a minute.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and I had clean socks on (as always).

It was an elderly lady whose eyesight was so poor she couldn’t read the phone number of the person she was trying to contact. I dialled the number and waited for the ringing tone, handed her the receiver, bid her a cheery farewell and went on my way.
It’s nice to be nice.

supermo wrote:How did you know your grandad worked at the 13th Note?