I love 2p machines, I always have. Nothing beats the thrill of seeing an almost worthless coin inching its way forward, before finally dropping down that hole that means you haven’t won it. The only thing that comes close to beating it is the thrill of winning something you have absolutely no use for after the first ten seconds of owning it.
Some absolute BASTARDS (I’m looking at you Butlins in Skegness) have done away with 2p machine prizes altogether, instead saving their cheap useless crap for the 10p machines. This, as you know, goes against the natural order of things. Expect Skegness to have a plague of locusts or something soon, thanks to those money grabbing, fun hating pricks.
As far as I know, no one else has gone along with this evil, so let’s get back to normal 2p machines, where it is entirely possible to spend a lucky 20p brightening up your day by winning a ‘fashion comb’ or an eraser that looks like a £50 note. Continue reading “The shit you can win on a 2p machine”
This episode is about tools, and using tools, and working hard with tools, and Bungle, who is a tool.
Let’s begin. Geoffrey is washing everyone’s bras:
“Oh dear, we do have a lot of washing considering three of us are nudists!”
Geoffrey goes to the kitchen to toil. Zippy shouts after him:
“Geoffrey, I can’t find my blue socks!”
“Zippy, how many times? You don’t own any socks, you don’t own any feet.” Continue reading “Rainbow episode review: Tool Time”
Sometimes it’s nice to just be a dick for no reason. If you do need a reason to be a dick, I suggest the following reasons:
– Someone’s being slow at a cashpoint
– That woman off that advert
– They’re riding those fucking quad bikes outside your flat again
– You’re awake
In this episode, the Rainbow gang have all decided to be dicks to each other for no real reason. They do that sometimes. That is the plot. Then they all make friends again.
Zippy’s building a house of cards (quite an achievement when you’ve only got one arm), when George rocks up and shows off his new hat:
“What do you think of my new hat Zippy? I made it myself!”
Pop quiz – will Zippy say:
a) “Yes it’s a beautiful hat and not at all shit.”
b) “It’s quite a nice hat, but I’m more interested in your opinion on Cartesian dualism.”
c) “Lol what a shit hat.” Continue reading “Rainbow episode review: House of Cards”
Did I ever tell you about the time I got ill on holiday, and ended up being sick all over the doctor’s office, including up his sleeves? That’s the kind of kid I was.
This tendency towards chicken pox, mysterious childhood snots, and trying to wangle time off school led me to be familiar with the toys in the doctor’s waiting room. These toys were invariably covered in germs and various bodily fluids, but this didn’t deter me.
These days, whenever I have to go to the doctor’s I am generally to be found scrolling through my phone with all the other anti-social automatons in there, but when I was a kid, a trip to the doctor’s was an excuse to go crazy with the communal bits of plastic and soiled books. Obviously I couldn’t go too crazy, as I was either ill or pretending to be ill.
Anyway, here are 10 toys that always made being violently ill fun…
1. Matchbox Activity Bear
This chap lived at the bottom of that plastic toybox that graced the corner of the waiting room. While it was really meant for babies who were too young and stupid to play with the cooler stuff, I did while away some pleasant minutes honking its nose, spinning the things on its foot, and trying to avoid the month-old Ribena stains on its general person. The babies would just have to find something else to do, like pooing. Continue reading “10 toys in every doctor’s waiting room”
These days, children go on four world cruises a year. When I was growing up, we didn’t have such luxuries, and had to make do with a more modest form of holiday.
Most people would trundle off to the seaside for a week or two every summer. Some families stayed in a hotel or a B & B, some families threw themselves on the mercy of Butlins, but the best families stayed in a metal shed on wheels, otherwise known as a caravan.
I have two main memories of caravans – one good, one bad. The bad memory is of being dragged round caravan showrooms on a weekend, endlessly crunching over gravel and staring at wheels and towing frames, since I was too small to actually see into any of the caravans (caraven?). I have no idea why we went to these places so much, and it seemed like we went every week. To my knowledge, we never bought a caravan.
Our modus operandi was to hire a big static caravan at one of the many parks scattered around the East coast, and this was always a cause for great excitement. What would our caravan be like? Where exactly would it be parked? Where would I be sleeping?
Well, the answers to these questions were always as follows –
1. Exactly like all the other hundreds of caravans on the park – sometimes with slightly darker wood panelling, or a different type of chintz on the cushions.
2. Next to a family with a barking dog.
3. On the brilliant double bed that was made out of a table and wizardry. Continue reading “A guide to 80s caravan holidays”
Somewhere along the line, I’ve become middle aged. I’ve suspected it for some time, what with me liking to wear slippers and making a noise when I get out of a chair. However, my rapid descent into old age was proved beyond any doubt the last time me and Alex went to the fair.
Expectation: eat candyfloss and hot dogs until sick, go on all life threatening rides, not really caring if the rides are held together with sellotape. A good time is had by all.
Reality: walk around a windy field for a bit, tutting at things. Shake head at the fact that the rides are held together with sellotape, exclaim that “you wouldn’t get me on that death trap”. Fail to even get excited at prospect of winning copyright infringing knock off toys. Go home for a nice cup of tea.
It never used to be like this. I used to love the fair with a passion bordering on wanting to marry it. It was up there with Christmas and trips to the seaside for excitement value. But somewhere down the line I got old and boring. Since you probably don’t want to read about me having a nice cup of tea and doing the large print puzzles in Chat magazine, instead I’m going to tell you about the best things at the fair.
1. Hook a Duck
Hook a Duck is brilliant because it’s impossible for me to lose at it. Even I can just about manage to hold a stick and point it at a plastic duck. Admittedly, this wasn’t always the case when I was a child. Sometimes the guy running the stall would get so fed up with my clumsy attempts to manipulate the Hook a Duck pole without taking his eye out that he would just grab the end of my pole and attach a duck to it. In my head this was perfectly valid, and in no way made me a loser who failed to even win at a ‘prize every time’ stall. Continue reading “Candyfloss and shat pants: a guide to the fair”