“He was raising money for mental health charities . . . “

by NobblySan

Bloody hell!

He could probably end up receiving treatment that he’s funded himself.

Nutter alert!

Wouldn’t it just have been simpler to do a sponsored walk, or flog some stuff at a car boot sale?

Hats off to the bloke though: although I do suspect it’s more a case of ‘straitjackets on’

Read all about it!

14 Comments to ““He was raising money for mental health charities . . . “”

  1. He’s probably angling for an award, or something.

    He’ll be basking in the glory of it, until somebody knocks him off his perch, you can bet.

    Like

  2. Didn’t quite reach terminal velocity?

    Like

    • Ah! Gweetings woddy.

      For some reason, you were stuck in the moderation queue, and I have only just reached the required level of toss donation to log on and check if anything needed approving.

      Consider yourself well and truly approved.

      Like

  3. Hello !

    H-e-e-e-e-e-lo-oh !

    Like

  4. Echo – Echo – Echo . . !

    Like

    • Bonsoir M. le rat.

      It’s been a while, me old mucker. I thought you were brown bread, or sumfink.

      Like

    • I thought I saw some plants to feed
      It turned out to be tumbleweed
      Blowing through the empty spaces
      Where one often would find faces

      (Or at least some avatars
      Concealing those Mad Hatters ‘stars’)
      I shouted out, but no reply
      The place was empty, withered, dry

      I hung around the scene for hours
      Sweeping up the wilted flowers
      Broken neon sign outside
      Flashing madly, so belied
      The deathly pall that lay within
      And chilled the soul, as mortal sin

      As hunger turned its cruel grip
      I forayed to ‘The Golden Chip’
      And on return heard something nasty
      As I scoffed my tasty pasty

      An ‘echo’, yes, repeated twice
      Maybe it was just the mice?
      I called out, through a mouth of filo
      “Foxtrot, uniform, charlie kilo
      “Oscar, foxtrot, foxtrot mate!”
      (My nerves were in a right old state)

      Despite my dread, I kept my seat
      (I still had loads of chips to eat)
      But further in the darkened room
      A figure filtered from the gloom
      I froze as I bit on my pattie –
      “Oh, fuck me . . . !”
      It was only ratty

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Thank you, sir, but I was never eaten.

    And never at Eton.

    Thank fuck.

    Like

    • I once got rather drunk in a few pubs in Eton, and going for a walk round a large field behind the hotel the following morning to try and shake off a hangover before my business meeting.

      I got shouted at by a fierce looking bloke as apparently I was on the toffs’ cricket pitch.

      That’s my only experience of the place.

      Like

  6. I also had a disturbing experience in Windsor (which is where you was), in 1980 or 1981.

    My brother was over from Paris. We went for a day out in Windsor with his girlfriend and her friend, whom we had picked up in Twickenham.

    It was rather busy there (I remember that the weather was hot and sunny), and we circulated round this large car park, along with quite a few other cars, trying to find a space.

    Eventually, we spotted one, but there was somebody standing in the middle of it – ‘a foreign-looking gentleman’ (to quote Python).

    Now, my thinking was, and still is, that a pedestrian can’t reserve a space for a car containing his mates, somewhere in the queue behind; so I drove into the space, assuming that, if he had any sense, he’d get out of the way.

    He didn’t have, but he did, eventually; edging back, yet leaning forward and having a tantrum at us all the while.

    He was of Arabic appearance, about 20, wearing a Barbour jacket, and I don’t believe I have ever seen anybody so worked up, and so close to having a stroke or a massive heart attack.

    He didn’t let up, and when I had parked, he was at the passenger side, tantruming at my brother. Mick told him to ‘back off’, then he really went into one, as he seemed to have misheard, and thought he had told him to ‘fuck off’.

    He was going to get the police – “You don’t know who I am!”

    We had some theories, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have liked them.

    As we were getting out of the car, a Mini came along with an embarrassed, reserved couple in their twenties or thirties, who stuck his dummy back in his mouth, and managed to get him back in their car.

    Not the sort of experience you really want to have at the start of a day out in a nice place, with lovely weather, and I remember the females were pretty shaken by it.

    The Bold Foreigner: I have experienced this phenomenon several times. They behave towards you in a manner that would get you beaten up by the police, probably thrown in a cell, and possibly even tortured, were you to do the same thing in their country.

    Like

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