My dad was a Jim. I feel like I have the vaguest recollection of being at an age of having known his name was Jim, and initially perplexity trying to take onboard that his name was also James, and that they were somehow the same. This is me not smoking, by the way. Anyway I just got a response to a product enquiry from a James, and he's not the first James I've corresponded with representing whichever company I've been dealing with lately. Which made me wonder is James a fashionable name now? If dad was alive I'd ask him - one of those things you never get round to when you can - did it mean he was, so to speak, owned by Jame? Or was he so named for the quality of being more than one Jame? If anyone here knows the answer, you know... because we can't dig him up and reanimate him on account of he was burned. I've probably said before I had Smokestack Lightning playing. It was supposed to be when he was going into the furnace, but they inverted the playlist, possibly thinking I was having a laugh. So we walked in to Smokestack Lightning and he trundled through the curtain to The Immigrant Song. But I don't think I mentioned that on scattering his ashes on the winning post at Cheltenham Racecourse a gust of wind blew him back in my face. Possibly I have at least one Jame embedded in the shit lining my lungs (which shit will probably aid the combustion process when it's my turn!) The trouble with getting high on smoking cessation is it doesn't last very long. So you have to keep starting again so's you can quit.
I’m a Jamie, Scottish derivative of James. I get called Jay, Jame, James, Jimmy but only a few call me by Jamie. My maternal grandfather was Jim. My son is Jim. it’s a good name. And I hope it’s Ok I laughed at your playlist choice and the ashes incident!
"Then, as more snow began falling, they hit a stretch of sastrugi, a stiff-peaked meringue of wind-sculpted snow... " I was an advanced reader. But one time I was sitting with my teacher, reading from the book - I forget which, but rather more challenging than Janet and John - reeling it off without difficulty, until I got to a word I'd not previously encountered: picturesque, which I rendered 'picture skew'. Teacher corrected me with a grin. My point is that I don't really care for meringues - but I still hope, deep inside, one day to taste exotic merring gyoos. They sound savoury. I never took to petit fours. But what a shame they're not what golfers wear oversized versions of! It wouldn't be a good walk spoiled, but great art. The above passage is about one of Shackleton's expeditions to Antarctica. They'd set off from Cape Royds, which is, I think, all you need to know. When would they not be sitting on cold, hard surfaces? I never got the idea pemmican was especially fibrous. It doesn't really bear thinking about. Missing nose, fingers and toes, okay. But trudging through the Antarctic with farmers? I think Antarctic explorers probably took cacti along to shove up each others arses of an evening.
i'm not so sure about that. i watched yon new Frankenstein movie the other day there, a fair chunk of that story was based around explorers who's boat was stuck in the Ice. not once was was there a scene of hairy arsed boat people shoving prickly veg up each others rectums. it was rated as a 15 too. so you think it would of been cool to show it had it been true.
I stand to be corrected. Though, really, I sit to be corrected. I definitely don't bend over to be corrected, like someone who'd take a cactus up the arse.
Not really. I can't remember the last time I was spending time with someone who actually owned a cactus, much less one who would attempt to insert it into my exhaust port if I had bent over!
Do you avoid bending over in the company of owners of cacti? What about Lophophora williamsii? That one just has buttons.
