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Subject: Holidays!
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Imran [del] to
All
I have just come back from my holidays.
I went on a tour of a great nation.
I started off in Londoon. It was soggy and busy. I should have chosen not to get there at 0900 Monday morning, but there you go. The station (A Pancreas apparently) was bumbally. That is the work I would use. Very bumbally. I promptly left and found an eaterie. I ordered a bacon cob. It was nice. The lady who served me spoke adequate english, and had a rather fetching tattoo of a skull on her neck.
I stayed in Londoon for the night and promtly made my way by smelly crowded train to a place called Bristool. Bristool was plain. Upon arriving at Bristool Temple of Maids, I looked for a maid, and could only find fat chicks. I searched the area immediately around the Temple and found an eaterie. I ordered Sausage, Egg, and Chips. I got 2 eggs, and THREE sausages. Bristool was an amazing place.
At midday, around 1400, I got bored, and so boarded a long car, known as a BUS, which took me over a totally KOOL bridge to a land known as COORDIFF.
Coordiff depressed me slightly. I could not understand the language very well. Upon disembarking the elongated transport vehicle, I looked for a place for my afternoon meal. As I was searching, a woman offered me the chance to have some kind of pleasuring circumstance with her for a small fee. I declined the offer as she did not seem to relish the prospect.
After walking for 45 or so minutes, I happened upon an area with several eateries. There was a choice of a Burger King, or 'Gwynn's Fish Bar'. By this time it was dark. and raining. I opted for a battered sausage with chipped potatoes from Gwynn's. Gwynn seemed more of a Sanjeev than a Gwynn, but who am I to judge.
I called a taxi and was transported to my pre booked bed and breakfast accomodation. The bed was lumpy. As was the breakfast. I was offered a 'fool Engrish' or a bowl of Shreddies. Many of you may already know I work in a factory in Scarborough that makes various supermarket own brand shreddies. These were the real deal shreddies, but I did not have the stomach for them.
My pre booked taxi arrived and ferried me to Coordiff Central Station, where I was free to browse and choose my next destination. This was the start of my ‘unplanned holiday, as the previous locations were both booked. I would have to find myself accommodation in the next town/city. I needed to choose wisely.
The board in the station listed several soon to be leaving options. NOTTINGHAM. NEWCASTLE. PORTSMOUTH. SWANSEA. MANCHESTER, plus several trains with destinations I could not pronounce, never mind spell. Londoon was also an option, but my journey had begun there. I chose the one that was leaving in 35 minutes, to give me chance to purchase my ticket, have an over-priced cup of tea and a soggy Cornish pasty. Then boarded the Train. It was not very busy. It was as if no one wanted to go to this particular destination. The man who was collecting ticketas wore a salvation army hat and had a note of song in his voice. He was in is late 50’s maybe early 60’s and seemed nice. Perhaps too nice. He reminded me why I had embarked on this journey. To see the human soul in its element. To endeavour to help people. To leap from life to life, putting things right, that once went wrong, hoping each time, that my next leap, will be the leap home.
The train stopped at ‘Cheltenham’ and the friendly man said , just as the train pulled off that the next stop will be Birmingham New Street followed by Derby and terminating at Nottingham. I looked at my ticket and decided I had made an error. I did not want to be terminated in Nottingham, and the Derby prospect was certainly not enthralling my imagination. I have been to Nottingham many times my number 1 footballing side hailing from the county of Notts. And Derby just once. Nottingham, was boring, a mere husk of a proper city. My one visit to Derby came in 1999, for a football related visit. I say football related, neither team on show actually played football. It was bland. Bland and dull. With a hint of retarsion.
I decided to jump ship early, waste my train fare and arrived at Birmingham. A fabulous city I found out. This was my first time there. Many races, many nationalities, and many religions all together in a casserole of smells, colours and language.
I wandered the city. Lost in its charm, until I happened upon a large statue of a queen long since passed. She was as beautiful as my hometown of Scarborough. Insult to Scarborough though it was I decided my journey should end here at the foot of this great leader. I missed the sandy beaches and fish and chip eateries of home. I missed my brother. I missed my workmates. I missed my life-partner.
I stopped the night in a ‘Travelodge. The best accommodation in my short journey, and the next morning went to a coach firm. They had a coach leaving that morning to Mablethorpe. The Shelbyville to the Springfield of Scarborough. It was my way home. a long detour, but a way nontheless. i could find my way back reletively easily from there.
Several LOOOOONG hours later I was home. In my bed. Mrs Imran welcomed me back with a cup of tea, and a hug. And I began writing. A week later and I am posting this for your pleasure.
I thank you dear reader and hope that one day, you will have your own IMRAN ADVENTURE!
(edited)
(edited)
I went on a tour of a great nation.
I started off in Londoon. It was soggy and busy. I should have chosen not to get there at 0900 Monday morning, but there you go. The station (A Pancreas apparently) was bumbally. That is the work I would use. Very bumbally. I promptly left and found an eaterie. I ordered a bacon cob. It was nice. The lady who served me spoke adequate english, and had a rather fetching tattoo of a skull on her neck.
I stayed in Londoon for the night and promtly made my way by smelly crowded train to a place called Bristool. Bristool was plain. Upon arriving at Bristool Temple of Maids, I looked for a maid, and could only find fat chicks. I searched the area immediately around the Temple and found an eaterie. I ordered Sausage, Egg, and Chips. I got 2 eggs, and THREE sausages. Bristool was an amazing place.
At midday, around 1400, I got bored, and so boarded a long car, known as a BUS, which took me over a totally KOOL bridge to a land known as COORDIFF.
Coordiff depressed me slightly. I could not understand the language very well. Upon disembarking the elongated transport vehicle, I looked for a place for my afternoon meal. As I was searching, a woman offered me the chance to have some kind of pleasuring circumstance with her for a small fee. I declined the offer as she did not seem to relish the prospect.
After walking for 45 or so minutes, I happened upon an area with several eateries. There was a choice of a Burger King, or 'Gwynn's Fish Bar'. By this time it was dark. and raining. I opted for a battered sausage with chipped potatoes from Gwynn's. Gwynn seemed more of a Sanjeev than a Gwynn, but who am I to judge.
I called a taxi and was transported to my pre booked bed and breakfast accomodation. The bed was lumpy. As was the breakfast. I was offered a 'fool Engrish' or a bowl of Shreddies. Many of you may already know I work in a factory in Scarborough that makes various supermarket own brand shreddies. These were the real deal shreddies, but I did not have the stomach for them.
My pre booked taxi arrived and ferried me to Coordiff Central Station, where I was free to browse and choose my next destination. This was the start of my ‘unplanned holiday, as the previous locations were both booked. I would have to find myself accommodation in the next town/city. I needed to choose wisely.
The board in the station listed several soon to be leaving options. NOTTINGHAM. NEWCASTLE. PORTSMOUTH. SWANSEA. MANCHESTER, plus several trains with destinations I could not pronounce, never mind spell. Londoon was also an option, but my journey had begun there. I chose the one that was leaving in 35 minutes, to give me chance to purchase my ticket, have an over-priced cup of tea and a soggy Cornish pasty. Then boarded the Train. It was not very busy. It was as if no one wanted to go to this particular destination. The man who was collecting ticketas wore a salvation army hat and had a note of song in his voice. He was in is late 50’s maybe early 60’s and seemed nice. Perhaps too nice. He reminded me why I had embarked on this journey. To see the human soul in its element. To endeavour to help people. To leap from life to life, putting things right, that once went wrong, hoping each time, that my next leap, will be the leap home.
The train stopped at ‘Cheltenham’ and the friendly man said , just as the train pulled off that the next stop will be Birmingham New Street followed by Derby and terminating at Nottingham. I looked at my ticket and decided I had made an error. I did not want to be terminated in Nottingham, and the Derby prospect was certainly not enthralling my imagination. I have been to Nottingham many times my number 1 footballing side hailing from the county of Notts. And Derby just once. Nottingham, was boring, a mere husk of a proper city. My one visit to Derby came in 1999, for a football related visit. I say football related, neither team on show actually played football. It was bland. Bland and dull. With a hint of retarsion.
I decided to jump ship early, waste my train fare and arrived at Birmingham. A fabulous city I found out. This was my first time there. Many races, many nationalities, and many religions all together in a casserole of smells, colours and language.
I wandered the city. Lost in its charm, until I happened upon a large statue of a queen long since passed. She was as beautiful as my hometown of Scarborough. Insult to Scarborough though it was I decided my journey should end here at the foot of this great leader. I missed the sandy beaches and fish and chip eateries of home. I missed my brother. I missed my workmates. I missed my life-partner.
I stopped the night in a ‘Travelodge. The best accommodation in my short journey, and the next morning went to a coach firm. They had a coach leaving that morning to Mablethorpe. The Shelbyville to the Springfield of Scarborough. It was my way home. a long detour, but a way nontheless. i could find my way back reletively easily from there.
Several LOOOOONG hours later I was home. In my bed. Mrs Imran welcomed me back with a cup of tea, and a hug. And I began writing. A week later and I am posting this for your pleasure.
I thank you dear reader and hope that one day, you will have your own IMRAN ADVENTURE!
(edited)
(edited)
I have never been to Bristol or Birmingham, but reading this makes me feel as if I have.
Thank you.
Thank you.
I am planning a trip to Scotchland in the new year. Shall I purvey my adventure again?
Yes, please do.
And when you're done, I'll reciprocate and rip the pish out of your country. :)
And when you're done, I'll reciprocate and rip the pish out of your country. :)
Too late, he has already done it. And anyway, Scorchland rocks, what's there to rip pish about?
Yes! There are plenty of kebab vans around Oxford, I'm sure they'd be happy to oblige.
What is pish?
Will there be much pish in the streets in Scotchland?
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Will there be much pish in the streets in Scotchland?
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It "pishes" down quite a lot there. It is a Scotch word for rain as in,
"It's fair pishing doon the noo and you'll ken to be gleekit to nae be drookit!"
possibly.
"It's fair pishing doon the noo and you'll ken to be gleekit to nae be drookit!"
possibly.
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