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Wanderers Ways. Neil Thompson 1961-2021

Not Attention-Seeking But I Might As Well 'come Out '


Youri McAnespie

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I've taken the trouble of giving all the off licenses in great lever a picture of you with a warning not to serve you any booze.

 

Trouble is, I don't know what you look like but for some reason I imagine you favver Richard E Grant when he was in Withnail & I, so you'll need to wear a big overcoat and effect a very posh accent for it to work.

 

You're welcome.

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I've taken the trouble of giving all the off licenses in great lever a picture of you with a warning not to serve you any booze.

 

Trouble is, I don't know what you look like but for some reason I imagine you favver Richard E Grant when he was in Withnail & I, so you'll need to wear a big overcoat and effect a very posh accent for it to work.

 

You're welcome.

 

Spider, you terrible cunt!

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Spider, you terrible cunt!

In great adversity, the human spirit can be lifted with jocularity and mirth.

 

Youri will know full well that my post was a tongue in cheek piece of nonsense to try and raise a smile.

 

You, sir, ought to be practising fruit based anal insertions.

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In great adversity, the human spirit can be lifted with jocularity and mirth.

 

Youri will know full well that my post was a tongue in cheek piece of nonsense to try and raise a smile.

 

You, sir, ought to be practising fruit based anal insertions.

 

I was quoting a famous line from Withnail and I. Never mind.

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First time i've had to defend you. But perhaps Spider hasn't watched that epic.

 

He obviously has as he brought it up, but he's obviously not as sad as me as I've watched it dozens of times and know the script like the back of my hand. A simple misunderstanding.

Edited by Cheese
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He obviously has as he brought it up, but he's obviously not as sad as me as I've watched it dozens of times and know the script like the back of my hand. A simple misunderstanding.

This

 

I wasn't paying attention to be honest and your track record for being a bit of a tool worked against you.

 

Apologies nonetheless.

 

Now, if you'd said "we've come on holiday by mistake" I'd have been tight on the wavelength

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This

 

I wasn't paying attention to be honest and your track record for being a bit of a tool worked against you.

 

Apologies nonetheless.

 

Now, if you'd said "we've come on holiday by mistake" I'd have been tight on the wavelength

 

No need to apologise Spider. Perfectly understandable.

 

To get back on topic - I hope Youri's doing ok since he got back.

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Cheers all again, don't want to dwell on it all too much atm, but you're all crazy diamonds though, heartfelt thanks to each of you.

 

Sober now. Planning on staying so too.

 

I will say I had an 'interesting' flight home though ;)

 

Re: Spider. I'd love to look like old Withnail, pulling scrubbers everywhere...Been told I favver Bez (a youngish Bez) but on steroids (or just Bez when Ive been getting up to Bez like antics and lost weight) it's him folk have compared mer Worzel Gummidge's lad, forget his name, but I think he shagged Catherine Zeta Jones, then again who hasn't?

 

Some cheeky cunt asked me for an autograph thinking I was Damon Gough once, I reckon the sole reason for his mistake was I had a fucking beanie hat on and a bit of growth/stubble and my hair was a bit long - but what could I do? I just scrawled 'BADLY DRAWN BOY' in massive letters and a stick man for him. I wouldn't have minded but I'd worked with the daft twat autograph hunter in the same office block only a few years previous (and look fuck all like Gough :))

 

And cornershopkeepers do not give one solitary fuck, I went in a shop once alongside a relative (who suffers the same condition) she was in a 'George Best two seconds before he pegged it' state looks wise, still hospital wrist tagged even, she'd marched to this shop direct from detox at the Royal...Anyhow I begged, pleaded, reasoned with and, finally and desperately, threatened extreme violence (upon the shopkeep) so they wouldn't serve them and explained why they shouldn't serve them, but they didn't give one fuck, the relative had cash and they had the Smirnoff - so deal done.

 

As soon as we left I wrenched the bottle out of their (the relative's) hands and fucking hoyed it over the road onto the kerbside and into a thousand pieces, so they'd been stopped from drinking it, but that wasn't the point. The greedy cunt shouldn't have served them.

 

Had stern words in that shop next day, then never went in again, not for so much as a tin of beans...

Edited by Youri McAnespie
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The flight home....?

Well I'd gone from, on Saturday, supping about five litres of 'Beeno Teento', a good half litre of Ron Arehucas Oro (nice chap) and about twenty odd cans or bottles and a few shots of Olmeca Tequila (all day mind)...

 

Then on the Sunday, I had a bit of a wake up call after venturing out at dawn in search of bar or failing that an open shop and carton or two of tramp juice (Don Simon) - drew a blank, felt shame and decided to taper it off, no barhopping and limited mesen to about 4 cans of each of Tropical Limon (2%) and some othe catpiss lagers...Too soon imo.

 

Felt ropey as fuck on the drive to the flight but sailed through onto the plane gangway wherein I began sweating and shaking like an Ebola victim, I lied to a woman I've met on a few flights there and back and kind of know to make smalltalk with that I had Epilepsy (I don't) and Diabetes (I don't) and I was just desperate to board, she didn't believe a word but helped in the subterfuge, told the same pile of shite to the all male cabin crew (none of whom touched my front bottom :)) and they kind of bought it. Anyhow we get airborne and they're plying me with sugary water for my diabetes whilst I'm re-enacting the scene in the flat in An American Werewolf in London...I go for a piss and genuinely think as a cruel twist to my lies I genuinely had very low blood sugar, so I keel over head into the pan in the bog...Then, now I dunno if this was method acting, but I had a bit of a seizure. All the trolley dollies came running like staff in resus and applied hot compresses with bog roll and one kind of tenderly patted my head (not one touched my front bottom though)...Flight was quiet so I spent the next four hours trying to sleep along three seats or stalking up and down the aisle like Jack Torrance, for pisses and to douse my t-shirt (I was dangerously overheating) after a landing that nigh on killed me off the other passengers beat a hasty exit and I limped to Passport Control...two plain clothes OB were at the entrance, probably for me but maybe not, I was so fucked with; heatsyroke, concussion, post-seizure, no food for days and a battleship of booze I could barely walk further anyway, so grasped the nettle and threw myself on their mercy...Ended up getting carted off to Wythenshawe Hospital (could've been worse - Prestwich for example) for a night of observation, librium, drips and staggering to the bogs in my nighty and adidas for sly wanks into the sink (I cleaned them after) had the horn for some reason...

 

Anyhow they discharged me after I argued against another night.

 

As a postcript to this rambling shite tale as I was getting my kitbag ready to leave a bloke, from County Durham I think, in the t'other bed I'd hardly said a word to struck up a conversation - asking how I was getting home, my wallet was awol at this point and I only had about 20 in Euros, told him I'd probably jib on the Metrolink and then jib on thetrain to Bolton. He perked up at Bolton and we had a good chat about Hick Hargreaves (I told him the drill story), Fred Dibnah etc. he was an engineer, a good un, his bedside reading was on Euclid or sommat. Anyway, he says let me help you out and gets his wallet, despite my protestations, I was thinking he'd give me about five quid in change for a bus ticket, oh no, he insisted I take a score, a crisp twenty...I was touched, if that description rings a bell pass on my best regards, what a gent.

 

(didn't think I should've gave him the Euros until I was on the tram)

 

Found the wallet much later in my fucking shoe, no money but cards, somebody must've put it there when I was non-compus.

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Some cheeky cunt asked me for an autograph thinking I was Damon Gough once, I reckon the sole reason for his mistake was I had a fucking beanie hat on and a bit of growth/stubble and my hair was a bit long - but what could I do? I just scrawled 'BADLY DRAWN BOY' in massive letters and a stick man for him. 

 

Was the stick man sporting a top-hat?  

 

If so, it'll be worth a fortune in later years I reckon

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