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Reply | Music LP you bought and hated but grew to love.
at 22:07 17 Feb 2022
In A Broken Dream by Python Lee Jackson. Bought it for the title track, then was disappointed it was the only track Rod Stewart sang. Took me several plays to appreciate the other tracks, but now think it's a really good album with an exceptional title track.
Tim Nice But..... Dreamt I Was Broken |
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Reply | The dotorg
at 22:25 13 Feb 2022
I'm still around, more of a lurked these days.
I haven't even been that for the last 6 months or so.
But have checked in for the first time in ages today.
Ben's abode was always the first port of call for me.
When it got hijacked into dot.org it lost it's shine for me.
I now restrict myself to this site only.
I'm somewhat humbled to think my ramblings
on string theory, chaos theory and there effects on
tooth loss are still remembered.
I just wish I'd kept a copy. Hi hum.
Tim Nice But .... The Only Username I've Ever Used |
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Reply | Timeless Lyrics. Please no Youtube. Just the words. Go with it.
at 15:48 24 Mar 2021
Now when I was a young man, I carried me pack, and I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback, well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915, my country said son, It's time you stopped rambling, there's work to be done.
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun, and they marched me away to the war.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda, as the ship pulled away from the quay
And amidst all the cheers, the flag-waving and tears, we sailed off for Gallipoli
And how well I remember that terrible day, how our blood stained the sand and the water
And of how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay, we were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk he was waiting, he'd primed himself well. He shower'd us with bullets,
And he rained us with shell. And in five minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.
But the band played Waltzing Matilda, when we stopped to bury our slain.
We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs, then we started all over again.
And those that were left, well we tried to survive, in that mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive, though around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head, and when I woke up in my hospital bed,
And saw what it had done, well I wished I was dead. Never knew there was worse things than dyin'.
For I'll go no more waltzing Matilda, all around the green bush far and free
To hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs-no more waltzing Matilda for me.
So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed, and they shipped us back home to Australia.
The legless, the armless, the blind, the insane, those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay, I looked at the place where me legs used to be.
And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me, to grieve, to mourn, and to pity.
But the band played Waltzing Matilda, as they carried us down the gangway.
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared, then they turned all their faces away
And so now every April, I sit on me porch, and I watch the parades pass before me.
And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march, reviving old dreams of past glories
And the old men march slowly, old bones stiff and sore. They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, what are they marching for? And I ask myself the same question.
But the band plays Waltzing Matilda, and the old men still answer the call,
But as year follows year, more old men disappear. Someday no one will march there at all.
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by that billabong, who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me? |
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Reply | Timeless Lyrics. Please no Youtube. Just the words. Go with it.
at 13:43 24 Mar 2021
Steven's selling Marijuana
Uptown to the primadonnas
Medicate the counterculture
9/11 baby boom
Paulie's waiting to retire
Smoking like a forest fire
Putting on the panties and the lipstick
In his mother's room
Nothing to do, nothing to lose
And if you work your life away
We'll send you flowers every day
And you make your departure baby
And get high, high
Hanging with the local talent
Drinking like you're Shane McGowan
Going through your garbage
Try to turn into gold
Down on the dole, selling your soul
And if you work your life away
They'll keep your picture in a frame
And you make your departure baby
When you die, high
Bobbie joined the military
Jenny went and lost her cherry
Hanging at the commissary
Wants to see the Mona Lisa
If they ever do release her
I don't want to talk too soon
There's nothing to lose
Swimming in booze, selling your shoes
Nothing to lose, nothing to lose, nothing to lose
Tim Nice But...... Americana Baby |
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Reply | Just finished work and........
at 13:36 16 Sep 2020
I used to commute from near Bournemouth to Farnborough on a Yamaha FZR1000 (the last of the non exups) when I worked for Nokia. We had a security post with barrier, cctv, etc. You could only get in with the a pass or the correct paperwork. We had our own multistory car park with cctv. One day a bunch of toe rags came in in a transit. Went up the multi story to the bike level and nicked a load of bikes. Bastards damaged mine moving it out of the way to get to the brand new R1 parked next to it. Snapped the rear bodywork. It's hard to describe the anger at finding your bike wasn't worth nicking according to some low life scum bag. I'm still gutted to this day. Bar stewards. Obviously had no taste.
Tim Nice But.... 'Twas A Nice Bike, I Liked It |
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Reply | Car dented by third party in car park and refused to give insurance details help
at 08:45 29 Apr 2020
Many years ago we came back to my wife's car to the front bumper in pieces and a note on the windscreen with the details of who had done it. When I phoned them it was a distraught, very apologetic little old lady. She didn't want to go through the insurance and offered to pay for the repairs. It was an old Renault 5 and the front bumper was huge, and hugely expensive. I found one in a scrappers and fitted it myself to save the old dear some money. She was more than happy with that and then asked if I could fix her fiesta bumper. Cheeky mare.
Tim Nice But ... Ever Helpful |
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Reply | Amazon Prime
at 11:16 5 Dec 2019
I tried watching Manure and then later The Toffees, both were a waste of time. It just kept buffering for ages, when you did get a bit of action it kept going from reasonable definition to a pixellated mess. Gave up in the end. Don't have that issue with Prime Video normally, NetFlix or any other streaming service.
Tim Nice But .... Less Than Impressed |
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Reply | Memories Of Luton.
at 13:36 13 Sep 2019
Long time no post, life has had a habit of getting in the way for the last few years. However; getting back on the Lootown track. I was born and raised in Bletchley and my old man, being a Latimer Road lad, saw nothing wrong with getting tickets for me and my mates to go to see the RRRRR's at Lootown each season in the mid 70's. He saw nothing wrong with us rocking up to the coach with our silk scarves (remember those) tied round our wrists and blue and white ones round our necks. Nope, nowt wrong with that, so what if it was the local Lootown supporters coach? It was going to the same game wasn't it? Can't see an issue there at all. My how we laughed as we stepped up on to a silent coach with an atmosphere so frosty my nipples fairly burst through my QPR top. Halcyon days. I remember one trip where they had only given us one half of the away end and there was a line of copperse separating the two rival factions. Lot's of "bantz" and threats being slung across from each side. Then at half time the line of coppers marched off for a cuppa. There was a stunned silence and then absolute effin' pandemonium. We got pushed back by a surge of MiGs and my mate got his foot caught behind one of the terracing uprights; which meant he couldn't go back. We stood our ground for a bit before the thirst quenched Old Bill returned in a fit of pique and started lashing out right, left and centre. After the game one of my mates and me, in our youthfull infinite wisdom, thought we'd go for fish and chips before catching the Lootown supporter's club coach back to Bletchley. This meant making our way down an alley by the side of the stadium. As we strolled down a Lootown upstart was giving it large and we were just squaring up when a copper on a horse came down the alley, picked the upstart up by his hair and pushed past us with said yoof in tow. More laughing, and fish and chips and a frosty trip home. I have no idea what the score was, it's lost in the mists of time. But the experience is a lasting memory and a good reason to dislike the lot of 'em.
Tim Nice But .... Rose Tinted Spec's Are Great, Aren't They? |
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Reply | Football
at 12:25 20 Jun 2017
Football eh? Who'd've thought it? There was a time; quarter past twelve it was. Remember it like it was only yesterday. In fact, it might've been yesterday. Who knows? It's all changed now. Nothing stays the same; not even Marathon's. Cheese you say? Not heard from him for eons. Nurse! Where's my med's? What do you mean I'll be charged for 'em? You can't charge me. Look at me Ma, top of the world. You'll never take me alive copper! Don't see much copper now, used to be loads of the shiny stuff everywhere. Someone probably stole it all. Can't wear stoles now, made from fur aint they? Some say Fur's bad. Not as good as his dad but still pretty good in my book. Colouring book it is. Mustn't go over the edges. Got rules for everything they have now. Metric rules, preferred imperial meself, they made better mints. Football eh?
Tim Nice But ... All Misty Eyed |
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Reply | Anyone Ever Had A Fright
at 17:08 18 Jun 2017
They denied liability and I ended up with nowt but a mangled bike. So I guess you could say they charged me for the ride. The bus company did phone me a few days later to see how I was. I replied by asking how their bus was. The only consolation I had was knowing it had to be towed away.
Tim Nice But.... Bitter? Moi? |
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Reply | Anyone Ever Had A Fright
at 14:15 16 Jun 2017
My major off was back in ’94. I was heading off to work on my Yamaha XV750, the proper one that looked like a motorbike not the tart’s handbag that it has now morphed into. I’d gone maybe 5 miles down the local country lanes that I knew particularly well. As I approached a left hand bend, which half way round I would have to fork off on to a slip road for the A31, I drifted to the right hand side of my lane, as you do in such situations. I was doing around 50 mph when ……. Coming the other way was a bloomin’ great, bright red, double decker bus on my side of the road. I’d say he was doing over 30 mph. It’s at this point that time seems to slow right down. I knew if I hit the brakes the bike would want to stand up and go straight — and I would hit the bus head on. I knew if I continued with my current trajectory I would hit the bus head on. I thought if I accelerated and got my knee down I might just be able to tighten up my corner and slip down the inside of the bus.
I almost made it, my bike hit the front corner of the bus. I was thrown over the handlebars and smeared down the side of the bus. I could see the look on the drivers face as I slid along the side of the bus before hitting the road hard. The bus then ran over my foot. I lay in the middle of the road, half way round a country bend, and I hurt — lots. Adrenaline was still coursing through my veins and I knew I needed to get out of the road before anything else came around the corner. So I managed to crawl to the grass verge.
This is where it all got a bit surreal. I lay in the grass and my knee hurt like a b’stard, blood oozing through my jeans. My wrists hurt where I’d been flipped over the handlebars and for some reason so did my thumbs. My foot was throbbing like Mr Throbby McThrobby Face on a particularly throbby day where the bus had run over it, not across the top but across the width. In doing so it had turned my boot into a mean impression of an ice skate, the sole had been folded in half and stayed in that shape. The bus driver stayed firmly ensconced in the bus. I lay there and could see my bike laying on it’s side in the gutter. From my position I saw it front on and remember thinking it didn’t look too badly damaged and I should be able to get it back together for my trip to a bike demo in Paris on that weekend.
Eventually a couple of cars arrived and two women tentatively approached my supine body. One decided to remove my helmet (ooer mrs), a text book mistake. I knew this was a bad thing to do and tried to tell her so, but my murmurings were clearly not registering. So, as she wrestled with my helmet strap I heard a new arrival shouting “Dave, Dave, that’s Dave”. She shoved her way through the growing crowd and arrived at my side just as the first ‘good’ Samaritan wrenched my helmet off. “Oh, you’re not Dave” she said, giving me a look of total and utter disdain before turning tail and disappearing.
Just then a passing ambulance arrived, they were on their way back to base and just happened to stumble across the melee. ‘Good’ Samaritan was admonished and left glaring. My boots were cut off with what looked too much like a blood stained machete for comfort, as was the leg of my jeans. My leg was then put in a giant balloon thing. Once they’d done their initial bit I was given gas and air. Good old gas and air, when mixed with adrenaline and endorphins make the world a much more pleasant place. They got me in the back of the ambulance just as the first policeman arrived. He made sure I was ok, went off to talk to the bus driver, came back and told me the bus driver was in shock, and said I would have to make a statement later when I was feeling better. He was good cop. However, a few minutes later bad cop arrives. He tells me that unless I admit liability there and now he would not give the ambulance permission to leave and take me to A&E. Did I mention the gas and air? Wonderful stuff, numbs the pain and makes you all light headed and loose tongued. I listened to the paramedics telling Mr Policeman that his approach was somewhat suspect. I beckoned him over, he leant forward to take my statement. I smiled at him, licked my dry lips and muttered these immortal words “Go stick your head up a dead man’s bum” and then I beamed at him while requesting more gas and air. He got his own back by refusing to allow me to call a recovery chap I knew to get my bike taken away and got his own ‘mate’ in who charged me for recovery and storage. He was also not interested that someone had stolen my padlock and chain that I carried over my shoulder in them days. The bus was also towed away, which made me feel a bit better.
I was eventually allowed to leave for the hospital, but not before good cop came and removed bad cop. Turns out I had various cuts and bruises, sprains and strains, and a broken big toe.
As far as getting my bike fixed within the week, well on closer inspection there was a bit of superficial damage: The front wheel was snapped in half, both fork legs were snapped in half, the headstock was torn out of the frame, half of the front wheel had embedded itself into the engine ripping the exhaust out complete with various bits of engine barrel. The seat had a rip in it and one of the tank badges was smashed but the tank had no dents or scratches — weird. So it didn’t make it to Paris, but I did. It was a mighty fine demonstration that grid locked Paris. I went on the back of another bike, on crutches wearing baseball boots with the toe section removed on one foot. My knee absolutely caned during the entire time I was away. The guy who gave me the lift was as good as gold and heled me on and off the bike etc. Couldn’t fault him until we got back to dear old blighty when he got off the bike and stood on my exposed broken toe. When I got home there was a note from the doctor saying to call immediately as they had found traces of the flesh eating bug in the swap from my knee. Which explained the extreme pain and heat in my knee. It didn’t half hurt. Eventually they decided my broken toe didn’t need a nail so they called me in to have it removed. Local anaesthetic applied the doctor asked if I’d like to “have a go” with the pliers to pull it out. Unsurprisingly I declined.
All things considered I was a tad lucky.
I can now tell the weather is changing by the ache in my knee, my toe, my wrists and my elbows.
Tim Nice But …. Who Needs Michael Fish? |
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Reply | I’m Not A Man Of Wealth Or Taste……..
at 20:54 14 Jun 2017
Indeed, my ride outs take to Fontmell Magna for a pit stop. I seem to recall that's your stamping ground? Zig zag hill is a "challenge" but the view at the top is stunning. Always up for grabbing a pitchfork and having a burning. It's like Hammer House of Horror: Landlord and part time policeman, locals with a penchant for running around with flaming torches, and as ever "don't go out on the moors".
Tim Nice But...... Dorset Domiciled |
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Reply | I’m Not A Man Of Wealth Or Taste……..
at 19:59 14 Jun 2017
Still on two wheels. The Genesis got sold last year after 15 years of abuse by me. Clip on and rear sets were getting too uncomfortable. Now piling up the miles on a Super Tenere. Still got the Triumph (as per the avatar) and got a Victory Hammer for looking cool and sounding mean on, well if I'm coming at you with the sun behind me and you squint a lot.
Tim Nice But.... Born To Be Wild |
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Reply | I’m Not A Man Of Wealth Or Taste……..
at 16:25 14 Jun 2017
I daren't tell Dorse I'm in his back garden.... I cannot tell a lie, I chopped down the hawthorn tree
Tim Nice But .... Abe Who? |
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Thread | I’m Not A Man Of Wealth Or Taste……..
at 16:12 14 Jun 2017
…….But I have been around for a long, long year — yeah I know, I’ve breached Hubble’s LFW Intro copyright, but all property is theft and all that.
It would seem it’s time for me to join the throng, so, by way of introduction let me say I was an occasional contributor to the one and only original .org back in the mists of time, before the squatters moved in whilst BT was off colour and refused to hand back the keys. I refused to re-join after the coup and would pop in here to read Clive’s match reports and peruse the message board instead. I should have put my head above the parapet before but don’t have a PC at home and am way too busy at work (this small epistle has taken days to put together).
My QPR credentials: My dad and his dad before him lived in Latimer Road and QPR regulars. Dad moved out to Bletchley (before there was a Milton Keynes) as part of the great London overspill of the 50’s. It being a bit of a football wilderness our allegiance to HQ remain firm. My first match was the ’67 cup final when I was but a nipper, too young to take it all in really but I do have an endearing memory of the blonde in the sheepskin coat who stood next to me. She had an enigmatic smile and her perfume smelt lovely, if I close my eyes I can transport myself back to that fateful day……. I was a regular from ’72 ish onwards. At some point in the late 70’s early 80’s sex and drugs and rock and roll dragged me away to the fleshpots of a utopian dream — ok I may have overplayed my hand there, but QPR took a back seat for a while as I went to endless gigs, parties, festivals, etc.
I’ve moved around a bit, I’m of the Norman Tebbit “get on your bike and get a job” generation, so I’ve had to move where the work took me. I’m currently in Dorse’s backyard. It was a temporary move I made over 25 years ago and been there ever since.
As to the most eagerly awaited piece of information……….. Dorset Blue Vinny, a fine local cheese with a nice crisp blue bite. I’m also partial to Tesco’s finest Cambazola, it may be a soft cheese but I like it.
Tim Nice But …. Looking Over The Parapet
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Site Scores| Forum Votes: | 33 | | Comment Votes: | 0 | | Prediction League: | 0 | | TOTAL: | 33 |
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