Done something recently that gives you small but significant pleasure? (Not that, Moose.) Some seemingly trivial action that creates a secret glow of satisfaction in a job well done? Something you wouldn’t brag about but feel that a little appreciation would be justified?
Example. I’d been struggling with a badly-designed frying pan for months. Handle too heavy, resulting in instability. So I sawed a couple of inches off it. Not as easy as it sounds, let me tell you! Very dense heat-proof plastic. Hacksaw. Holding pan secure while the work was done. Result? Complete success! Pan now sits securely on its base. Handle long enough to hold. The gratification seems out of proportion with the act. I didn’t reverse climate change, or learn to play Fairy Bells on the piano. I made a modest improvement that returns a private pleasure every day. I did a thing I’m mildly proud of.
There are other examples, but I’m sure you get the gist.
Will you take two small but insignificants?
I’ll take anything you have, Moosey. You know that.
I shall send the Polaroids to the usual address.
Pse ziploc to keep dry tx
This morning, I plugged a USB stick in first time. I didn’t think that was possible believing two rotations and three attempts to be the standard.
It has to be something credible, Mr. Digit, not wild claims.
Yesterday I told one of the assistants in M&S that her perfume smelt lovely. She gave me the biggest smile I have seen for a long time. A simple comment that made someone’s day. I’ll take that.
Funny, when I did that, I got punched full in the face.
Same branch of M&S too.
Are you better looking than me or something? Bloody racialism I call it…. Probably
Smoooooooooooooooth.
Slightly creepy, Steve
@madfox why? I agree that in this day and age it could be deemed that way. However that is a fault of society in my view. Complementing people should not be deemed as creepy.
What a sad world we live in.
I don’t think anybody’s concerned about the compliment, Steve. Just the sniffing.
Hard to put my finger on it, but just imagine your wife or daughter works in M&S or wherever and you find out some guy has told them they smell nice. What signal would you take from that?
Easy to say “sad that you can’t compliment someone” but this is about them not about you. She may well have smiled, but I wonder what she was truly feeling inside and whether she smiled to mask discomfort.
As you acknowledge, “in this day and age” it could be deemed creepy, but there’s good reason for that. We do, sadly or not, need to think about how the things we do – even “nice” things – make others feel.
And I totally believe you are genuinely meaning well. And I really hate sounding judgmental or patronising.
Perfume is a very intimate thing. It’s rather different from telling someone you like their shopping bag.
The thing to do is to consider whether what you say might make a woman feel uncomfortable. It might not but if in doubt don’t. It’s not a sad reflection on society or a shame, it’s a consequence of men being better at considering women and what they have to put up with every day.
I know Steve and there is no way he could be considered creepy. (Is that oK, Uncle Stovepipe?)
I changed an inline water filter yesterday. I’m thinking of buying a tool belt.
Your second is presumably your first step in the adult entertainment industry. Your first – maybe the same, but a lot more specialist.
It would be a small step if true.
As for the first, I had to drain it and then remove it before a new one was inserted…
And make sure you fit the right one, or you’ll damage the unit and cause leakage.
BryanD – get yourself that toolbelt and wear it with pride! You earned it!
The only thing I’ve achieved recently is a higher state of grace, an echelon of existence that can only really be described as enlightenment. Other than that, can’t think of anything offhand. Learnt to play Echo Beach on guitar. A minor, D and C, mostly.
Peak underachievement, right there.
Cut my finger nails after a week away in the sun. They’d grown an amazing amount in 7 days. I find cutting nails extremely satisfying.
I never cut my fingernails. I pick at them and pull them off, making full use of the thumbnail for leverage. A more analogue approach.
I was wondering where Gordon Brown had got to
Mr. Steady, this is a routine act of personal grooming – have you done nothing more deserving of mild acclaim than this?
Could Mr. S maybe come round and give me an estimate for doing my toe nails?
Several local farriers have declinedthe job; one of them saying that my tootsies were “the podiatric equivalent of the Augean stables”
Moose will chew them down for you. Ten quid a foot. It’s all he can afford.
I haven’t really if I’m honest. But to reiterate, I find it extremely satisfying. The difference between a nail that is wayward and misshapen and one that has been neatly clipped is hard to explain.
I’m not doing anyone else’s.
What I find even more satisfying is posting a reply in the correct place. Did it once, I’m sure.
I put an old coat hook up in my music room to hold the mountain of cables on the floor. Good eh? Also signed Kate Rusby poster, Marshall 100w head key holder, Pignose amp beloved of Frank Zappa and Lowell George (not that one sadly) and Orange bass amp. My favourite place.
I put on my raincoat to make it rain, and sure enough the skies opened up again
Drew a peace sign on my baseball boot, July 1975. I was listening to the Basement Tapes, glad just to be alive.
That cable hook is a thing of beauty.
(Pretty sure I have a Pignose amp in my Room O’ Boxes.)
This reminds me of Janice from The Muppets
I’m mildly proud (or cloyingly smug) about this:
At lunchtimes, I go the cafe downstairs and order a sandwich and a drink.
On Wednesday, they forgot to charge me for the drink (I didn’t notice at the time)
So on Thursday, I asked them to charge me double for the drink.
(I know … worst Craig David song ever.)
Yeah … y’see, I smell the taint of virtue signalling here … I’m going to have to disallow it. I don’t make the rules.
It so hard to be humble, though! No-one understands…
I got Wordle in 5 this morning. Is that modest enough?
… and you are … ?
Nobody in particular. That’s another of my modest achievements.
Assembled 3 bookshelves. Earlier this year I replaced 2 switches in the bathroom without elecrocuting myself, quote from electrician was $160, I spent $2.50 on it, $1.25 per switch
I think you should send yourself a bill for $160, pay it, and when the money comes in, spend it on records.
Having said that, my Aunt Dolly would’ve done it for a fiver.
Are you sure she wouldn’t have done it for nothing?
Funny @hawkfall!
Bookshelves? I dunno. Well, I do know, and the news is not good. But switch replacement is. That took gumption. Most things that require gumption are eligible for the Afterword Hall Of Modest Accomplishment.
I cleaned the toilet with actual Gumption a while back. I regard that as a major achievement.
Your pedestal is ready. In both senses.
Not recent, but some years ago I slipped my whole arm into a black bin liner, shoved it up the bend of my toilet out-pipe and cleared a blockage where a wire coathanger had failed. Get me.
I was fearing the worst until we got to “toilet”.
Thank you for clearing that up.
What a crap thread.
Could have been worse.
I created a very small erection in the garden
@Foxnose
Always wondered what a ha-ha was
Mr. Foxnose – photo or it didn’t happen.
I will investigate the location of my macro lens.
Hopefully doing something along these lines.
“Hubert was unusual. In his adolescence, during the summer, in a northerly direction parallel to the Earthly axis, he would throw himself naked onto the lawn, and with that loathsome bluey Roman clock face tattooed about his private parts, think about Jean Harlow very hard, and from the shadow cast, tell the time with remarkable accuracy”.
From Sir Henry at Rawlinson End by V Stanshall.
Though the name is the same, honest not me guv.
Although I have a worthless piece of shit called a Dyson – I did affix the wall attachment very well. Every time I angrily slam it back in its holder after another frustrating attempt to actually clean up something, I marvel at how solid the wall attachment is. I did that.
What’s wrong with it? Is it the battery? We have a Dyson hand job (paging anybody…) which was useless because it wouldn’t hold a charge. So I bought a new battery on eBay (not a Dyson one) and now the hand job is supremely satisfying and works as it’s supposed to.
Same tale, Black C – third party battery off that world wide eBay net and now the Dyson sucks once more, just the job!
Thanks for the tip (also @fitterstoke) I might give that a go because I it works for about 10 seconds and then needs recharging or “pulses” because it’s sucked up something bigger than a grain of sand.
Dyson’s are shit. I got rid of ours. Miele is the way to go for yer vacuum cleaner.
You’re meant to clean floors with them, as I was once told in A&E
Yes! I bought a Miele a few months ago and it’s great. Still have the Dyson for day to day dining area maintenance though. It’s OK when it feels like working.
I missed a sitter there. I meant to say “Dysons suck!”. Twas ever thus.
Let’s do this, people!
I didn’t mop the kitchen floor. I listened to some Ron Carter and drank tea instead. Then I didn’t mop the bathroom floor and ate a biscuit.
So much to unpack here.
A Finish black metal biscuit?
A Gong Planet Brandy Snap.
I installed a new diaphragm in my toilet cistern the other day. I was enormously proud of the fact that I managed to get it in, as it was very fiddly.
Mind you, the toilet wouldn’t flush and I had to call in a plumber, but even the plumber said I’d done a good job and only charged me sixty quid for his trouble….
I replaced the toilet handle and associated lever on mine last week, but I would call the achievement minor. It had to be done as I think the old one was the original, making it 1970s, so not only had the thread worn out making it difficult to flush but the screw attaching the handle to the lever had rusted away, and the lever and handle were jammed solid with limescale. I had to use an adjustable spanner to grab the screw, then a small hacksaw to cut through the lever and work the handle off by rotating it and using the spanner from multiple directions. Took me bloody hours to do what should have been a ten minute job.
Boneshaker and Gatz both have a place in the Pantheon.
I dismantled the toilet seat and refitted it so it’s straight. Not as easy as it sounds. A week later when it was out of line again I knew how to do it properly this time.
Let me guess – you realised it was out of line when you had to clean your poo up from the floor?
When a seat is not on straight it creates a problem for a chap. When you are mid-flow and whistling the merry tune of the carefree micturator, the seat crashes down, catching your hapless bellend.
If you’re a woman you can probably just shoogle the whole thing into position with your big fat arse.
And then there’s the toilet seat. Oho!
Either you are very short or very….
….much in possession of a very big toilet.
I don’t understand, @Boneshaker. Why would you need to prevent your toilet from getting pregnant?
He’s trying to change the cistern from within.
You. Outside.
I (fairly recently) managed to open up and fix a broken Kato HO powered switch.
It’s a model train thing.
And now you know that about me too.
We have a gas hob in the kitchen. Old but functioning well and safely. We need to ignite the hob rings with a match, so we use those longer ‘cook’s’ matches.
As a result we tend to have at least 3 or 4 of these matchboxes hovering about on the bench close by. After a while each one becomes randomly depleted until eventually we have a number of boxes with only a few left inside.
This irks me so recently i had the brainwave of CONSOLIDATING ALL THE REMAINING MATCHES INTO ONE BOX. ( I felt that all caps-worthy)
I told my wife what I’d done. It’s a good job I wasn’t expecting any praise because I didn’t get any. Nevertheless I was very pleased for a brief number of minutes afterwards.
Excellent work. I’m proud of you.
*Afterword Crowd Wave* (everyone leaning forward slightly in their comfy chairs)
I sniffed a shop worker and got away with it
It was funnier when SteveT did it, and he didn’t mean it to be funny.
The Captain is quick on his toes.
I took an hour or two out of the day to service my turntable. Tightened the bits which had gone slack; slackened the bits that were too tight; lubricated the bits that were dry; lifted the bits with had slipped down; levelled it using a small box spanner and the world’s tiniest spirit level. It sounded…a gnat’s tighter, but broadly similar to how it had sounded before I started. I punched the air in triumph and had a sit down and a cuppa.
I did all that a while ago, plus I put a picture of it on Facebook.
The sit down and a cuppa – or the other bit?
The turntable. Which looks exactly the same as it did before in truth.
We share in fitterstoke’s triumph as he dons the Modest Achievement Sash of Honour!
I would have been delighted it worked at all if I had attempted all that.
I’m putting off replacing the cracked toilet seat, mainly because I know I’ll fuck it up. They are very fiddly and your placement has to be exact, and I know I lack that level of patience.
However, I’m not sure if merely thinking about doing something counts in the context of this thread. Can I have a referee to rule here please?
I put off replacing the cracked toilet seat for 20 years, until I eventually had a brand new bathroom/toilet installed just recently. Some things are simply beyond the reaches of human endeavour.
There are a worrying amount of toilet related problems here. I feel a whole ‘Afterworders and Their Toilets’ thread coming on.
In answer to Mo’s question – in danger of dignifying it with a response – no, thinking about something doesn’t count. In spite of what the Baby Jesus says.
We can call it “When the Lavvy Breaks”
😂😂😂
The Pong Remains The Same.
It’s been a long time since rock and loo roll.
Under the BumGun
Takin Care Of Business
We are not back on the bum gun are we ?
Oooh errr!
I’m just going to leave this here
That’s what he said. And then “I’d give it ten minutes if I were you.”
“Better make that fifteen.”
Funny to think that LZ bestrode rock like a collossus in the 1970s and ^this was the only hit “they” had in the 80s.
Your fortunes tend to nosedive when your drummer dies and you split up.
As you were….
I got £30 of my car insurance which paid for the ticket to last night’s concert, and I got dispensation to overstay the 72 hours disabled maximum parking limit when I leave the car at the station on Sunday.
Well done you! (*looks over Hubes’ shulder to see if anyone more interesting has turned up*)
Sees someone more interesting over HP’s shoulder, dons wig and dark glasses and escapes.
I plugged my spare fridge in, earlier in the week, and found it wasn’t working.
After determining it was the thermostat at fault, I removed it, gave it a couple of sharp taps with the handle of my screwdriver and refitted it after checking it was now working as it should.
I now have several cans of IPA and a bottle of Rioja Blanco in said fridge, cooled and ready for drinking.
This is manly, manly stuff, Mike! Except for the white wine. You’ll be telling us there’s quiche in there next.
You’ve got to provide something for the “ladies”!
Good point, good point. Maybe a bottle of Bailey’s. and some chocs?
The Quiche is in the food fridge, silly.
Broccoli, tomato and cheese.
That’s like a Yoko Ono poem.
Yoko is not in my fridge.
Honestly.
She is not in my tree.
This is not here.
You have a food fridge, Mike? I assume you have other fridges as well. My advice, from bitter experience, is that you are better off storing human remains in a freezer.
Oh god, first the gloves and now this.
I don’t think Tigger knew he was speaking out loud.
I prefer to dig a shallow grave out on the far reaches of the marshes.
A bit of exercise never does any harm and avoids awkward questions from nosey neighbours about the smell if the freezer goes on the blink.
I heard you once on Gardener’s Question Time, Pence. Something about lime pits.
I’m fortunate in that I have relatively easy access to a hospital incinerator for final disposal. It’s a bit of a faff out-of-hours, with the keycard and what-not. I have to park in a side street because the hospital car park has number recognition cameras. Still, I only carry a few small pieces at a time, in a couple of carrier bags, and the night air is lovely this time of the year.
I have access to a council shredder. A lot messier but curiously satisfying.
Sadly, I took off the top of my finger, as I tried to push some gristle down our US style sink eviscerator unit
Is “sadly” the adverb you’re looking for, Sal? Not “agonisingly”?
FREE TEA FOR A WEEK!
I crept into your gaff, released a couple of fruit flies in your kitchen, stuffed my pockets with tea bags, reversed the batteries in ONE of your remote controls, had a right old sniff of your underwear drawer, scratched my itchy bum with your toothbrush and got out again, all without you noticing because you were busy posting on here.
But which one of you am I talking to…?
Well, given I certainly have nothing as common as a gaff…. Having said, my toothbrush does smell a bit marmitey.
It’s not me, because I Go Commando.
For this delightful information, much thanks!
It be so! I’m out there and I’m lovin’ every minute of it!
I don’t go commando, at least not ouside my flat, but I keep my undercrackers on a shelf in the airing cupboard. They smell of lavender fabric conditioner, as do my socks.
A sidebar, so to speak, why is it called going Commando?
Is it becuase if people see your doings peeping out from your shorts they yell “Aaaaaargh Himmel!”?
My son drew an action hero called “Commando Man” as direct opposition/nemesis to Captain Underpants. So proud.
I will not be asking you to explain the second sentence.
Can you hear the drums, Commando?
I remember long ago another night like this
In the firelight, Commando
You were humming to yourself and softly strumming your guitar
I could hear the distant drums
And sounds of bugle calls were coming from afar
Urban Dictionary is your friend:
“It is called ‘going commando’ because of an old practice in the army, where, so you didn’t shit your underwear in battle, you didn’t wear any – and therefore could boast that you didn’t shit your pants.”
As well as being poorly written, this may have little grounding in truth.
If you don’t put yourself in threat-intensive situations, this advantage isn’t a deal-breaker. But letting the air circulate around your Little Shop Of Horrors has hygenic advantages, especially in an overpoweringly hot country like the U.K. is going to be. Of course, you have to keep the whole area scrupulously clean, which you can’t in the U.K. because you use *shudder* toilet paper.
My long-held understanding is that it referred to Commandos using their undercrackers to wipe their arse with when ‘in-country’, and thereafter travelling around…unconstrained.
That might just be a factoid, of course.
However, I *have* spent a lot of time reading up on Commando history, and visiting Commando veterans sites etc, as my father was an RM Commando in WWII (one of the very first, in fact) so perhaps I picked it up from one of those sources.
Just been told I will have a complete left-knee replacement in October followed by the right knee six months later. Each op means a week in hospital followed by three weeks in a “re-education” centre where I will learn to walk again.
My small achievement? Not being in the slightest bit terrified, that’s what.
I’m just going to walk into the back-room and close the door. Me scream? Never!
Damn! Good luck Lodes, I hope all goes well and that the new knees will be less unsightly than the present ones.
You are assuming they will be replaced by knees.
Good point. He needs to get that in writing. There’s a lot of cowboys in the replacement game.
Knee replacements!?!?!? You’re fourteen years old fercrissakes!
Bad luck Lodes! Hope this helps.
Had my hip done 2 years ago. Honestly, there is nothing to fear from the op (though the catheter they stuck up the gentleman’s department to get me weeing after the anaesthetic wasn’t pleasant, especially when the nurse tripped over it while it was still attached). Post-op takes about 6 weeks to feel moderately human again, but it’s all worth it in the long run. Best of luck.
I had mine done three years ago sans catheter, thank Christ!
Hip, schmip. I am surrounded by “Finest Specialists in France”. Knee, hip, elbow, nose etc etc – they are all here. Apparently they all train in Paris then think “I’ll go live in Montpellier where I can have a chateau plus a little “shack on the beach””.
My guy has photos on his wall of famous footballers he has fixed – Bayern Munich, Barcelona and PSG. I’m sure my picture will be there soon .
Anyways, my guy tells me “Hips, for example, are simple things. Quick op, couple of days in bed and you’ll be back on the pitch in no time. Knees are however very very complicated. Three hours surgery, four weeks until you can walk using crutches and then only a year later you’ll be shouting “C’mon Messi, give me the ball!””
My father in law had a heart bypass op. “Don’t worry we’ll have you out on the golf course in no time.”
“That’s fantastic! I’ve never played golf in my life”
That’s true. Knees are incredibly complicated – the failure rate from surgery is extremely high and you will be in excruciating agony for months.*
*None of this is true.
If it helps, an ex-colleague of mine had both her knees done, and after the second one she was jetting off to Greece 4 weeks later.
Yeah yeah – was this “ex colleague” 94 like what I am?
Sadly she had a 50 year advantage there. Add in the sliding scale of recovery time for age and you should be up and about again in 2026.
Messi to Lodestone back to Messi ..through ball to Lodestone.. one on one with the keeper..oh, he’s just fallen over
I said that goalie was a bad choice
Just for clarity – was it the tube she tripped over, or the gentlemen’s department?
Boneshaker insisted on the catheter.
I am pretty much the go to guy when it comes to issues with the printer at work. Various staff struggled to pull out a jammed piece of paper from a drawer in the machine where you load paper. They put a note on the machine in the end to say that it was not working and an engineer would be called. I then stepped in and removed the drawer above the one with the jam completely, thus making it much easier to remove the offending sheet. I triumphed where others had failed miserably. I became the hero, my feat was the talk of the corridor. Such a saga could easily be made into a Netflix type series, quite clearly. I may have sniffed a co-worker in the process but the close proximity when you are squatting down with a young woman, examining the drawers of a printer, makes it hard not to inhale the odours that hang in the air. I did not express my thoughts on what I sniffed however as I like my job and intend to keep it.
I find it impossible to get past that first sentence. I’ve blacked out twice. Can someone give me some bullet points?
You missed some great stuff at the end.
Something about a young woman and her drawers.
There’s a lot of sniffing on this thread. I think you lot need to do lateral flow tests.
Sounds like everybody’s got summer colds.
Though I’m sure you’re supposed to mix Lemsip into hot water, not put it up your nose like *some* people seem to be doing.
Well it looks like Lemsip.
Hamper time. Add that to your list of modest achievements, Saucey.
With people starving in the streets of Ye Olde Unitede Kingdome, I hereby decree that the contents of my hamper be shared out equally amongst them.
Don’t worry, we’re doing alright for now with all this lovely sewage on the beaches
I installed a Ring doorbell (connected two wires to the little screws – without dropping them) and an Echo show (plugged it in, typed in the WiFi passowrd).
A mere seven hours, and lots of Googling, later, I got the Ring app and the Alexa app to talk to each other so that I can now answer the front door of my house from my office desk in the garage.
I could have hand-carved a sign saying “I’m in the garage” in half the time.
The Ring app… does it cause a long-haired Japanese person to crawl menacingly out of your phone?
Not again!
When I felt obliged to look relatively smart at work, in London, and less like a sack of shit tied up in the middle, my ensemble would often comprise a pair of dark navy trousers, a blue shirt and dark tie.
On occasion I could from a distance look a bit like a Transport for London employee. Often enough it seemed. While standing on a tube platform, and resolutely not employed by TFL, I have had a few times queues of old folk asking me about train times, best routes to Piccadilly Circus and various tube sundries. Out of politeness, and because I know the answers, I’ve told them. I’ve also told them I don’t work on the tube but some refused to believe it.
Try taking the Hi Vis off. And the peaked cap.
A couple of hours ago I got a listless, poorly puppy, who hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since yesterday, to drink water – lots of it – from the cupped palm of my hand.
She’s due at the vet’s in about half an hour, and I’ve been promised a phone call to let me know what’s transpired.
(This involved repeatedly pouring water into my hand, rather than having enormous hands.)
Any news?
Yes – if there’s a happy ending to this I think “film rights” might be in order
Not yet, @fitterstoke – I’m still waiting to hear.
Just had an update. Bonnie’s had something to ease her digestion – she had been bringing up bile – doesn’t have a fever, enjoyed some cold bottled water from a syringe while at the vet’s, and has been persuaded to eat some chicken. She’d previously refused cat food (tastier than dog food), cheese, yoghurt and chicken liver pâté.
And I heard her barking during the call at one of the local kids who was at the window. My friend Polly is significantly less worried now.
As am I, Nigel…thanks for the update.
That’s a talented dog you’ve got there. “Hewo Nige? Been looked at but I’m still feeling* rrrrufff”
*You knew it was coming.
Sausages!
After two unsuccessful attempts to get the bin men to take away the cardboard I left on top of the recycling bin, as is their contract with Council Tax payers, I sent the council a vaguely threatening email:
“If it can’t be collected, I’m faced with either putting it in the black bin for landfill, or burning it.”
They’re coming back on Monday to take it.
How about “…burning it on the steps of the council offices”, if they don’t come back on Monday.
2 achievements. Both high impact but remarkably mundane.
Achievement 1. I sewed a button on the cuff of a shirt. Not only did I sew a button on but I noticed a spare on the inside of the shirt so replacement matches. And the cuff flaps no longer.
Achievement 2. A blind has a faulty lock mechanism so the previous tenants installed a screw to loop the cord around. The cord is thin and the screw is at the base of the skirting board. The cord is likely to break and the daily task of looping the cord over the screw is awkward and annoying. I * preens ever so slightly* have installed a cleat at about hip height. No wear, no bending down. And it is the first activity of the day after getting out of bed, so a daily sense of triumph and accomplishment.
Sewing on a button! You need the Buttoneer.
Ronco’s finest.
I think if I was burgling a house and found this I’d exit fairly swiftly.
I’d jab it in me arm, on the off-chance.
Junes, your blind cord cleat is the only accomplishment here to embody the spirit of the post better than my own sawn-off frying pan handle. And you brought to life – if I may quote you – that “daily sense of triumph and accomplishment” which is at the heart of the thing. I salute you.
I’m on a roll, today the key got stuck in the deadlock. Sprayed some WD40 in there, left it 20 minutes, wiggled the key about and Bob was my uncle. I may have to upgrade the toolbelt.
Oil it up and wiggle it, that’s the way!
I had to drain my tubes yesterday, I need a break!
Yesterday I fixed the pepper grinder AND the salt grinder.
The pepper grinder, a tall blue item made by Peugeot, regularly needs to be simply taken apart and put together again. That’s it. Like turning your computer off and on again
The salt thingo was a different kettle of fish – having taken the ass end to pieces I still couldn’t work out how you were supposed to put the salt flakes in any other way. Eventually dear reader, I DEDUCED that what was needed was sheer brute strength, and pulled like fuck and off came the top. Turns out it had been put it in incorrectly, ie ignoring the little arrows indicating the correct spot.
Who was the guilty party for the previous incorrect installation?
Er – @Junior-Wells, I suspect the culprit was Mrs M, a sadly untechnical person at the best of times.
This is heroic work, Mousey. The stuff of legend. Whenever warriors are foregathered, goblets of frothing mead will be raised in your honor, and your song will be heard from the far hilltops.
O come ye hearty warriors bold
Of Mousey would I sing
Of his fight against the Grinders Two
That made the welkin ring
The pepper being true to France
Surrendered without a fight
The salt it proved a worthy foe
But no match for Mousey’s might!
(ectect for another four hundred verses)
A Peugeot pepper grinder? Swipe me, how glitterin’!
I know this has probably been asked before but nevertheless why does the reply button disappear seemingly at random?
You accidentally touch reply further up so the option is no longer there down the bottom.
Thanks Junior. How is that even remotely a useful thing?
So if this happens I cannot reply and end up looking rude or at best disinterested.
I think the Reply button disappears after eight replies to a particular post. Each reply is slightly indented and after eight there is no more room. For example, if you want to reply to Moose’s comment on Led Zep, you have to actually reply to Sewer’s post of the Big Log.
🙂
Should be six, for synergy and thing.
Life like Tom Cruise is too short.
Unlike Tom Cruise, it’s not short enough.
The Stones are short, Pink Floyd are short.
Soze this.
The Small Faces were even shorter.
As is Wayne.
Martin?
Dennis Quaid was even shorter than Martin Short.
Wayne Shorter’s son.
Wayne Even Shorter.
Not As Long John Baldrey.
…who in turn is barely knee-high to Long Tall Sally.
Who is almost as tall as Short Fat Fanny.
Such a naughty nanny
@pencilsqueezer . There are other possibilities but I find my explanation the most common, especially if using your phone, as you are more likely to touch the post comment box while scrolling.
If I really want to reply under a particular comment I found the only solution is to exit the post and then scroll down again.
Thanks Junior. I’ll give that “exit the post” wheeze a whirl next time the issue arises.
Why not try it right here, Pence?
Alrighty…
I don’t know/ even vaguely understand any of this computery witchery.
I’m just a thicko painter.
I. Have. No. Idea. About. Any. Of. This.
*Chews on the end of a brush for comfort*
I’m not seeing your replies, Pence … anybody seeing Pence’s replies?
Maybe it’s because I’ve got my eyes wide shut?
While wearing Full Metal Headphones.
Away from my day job which is to reverse climate change (sort of), I have 2 things I am moderately proud of.
1. There’s a dearth of sockets in our kitchen, because the wall sockets are hidden behind a fitted unit on 2 sides. The only visible ones are just behind the stove – trailing cables over a halogen plate just seems a bit too risky. Under the skirting there are an array of interconnected extension cables – feeding fridge, freezer, oven, dish washer and washing machine, All sockets are filled – nothing to run an additional line from. Apart from one unused extension cable. Which doesn´t work, because the plug has slightly melted. Hmm. Interesting. Hoik out the cable. Unscrew the socket end – all in working order. Unscrew the plug end. Both live and neutral wires have blackened out. So I cut off a good couple of inches, stripped down to the bare metal and screwed it all back in. And it works, and I now have a multi socket adaptor that pops in and out from behind the skirting board, currently powering this laptop (and letting me listen to ´Walk of Life´- what a song! Woohoo!).
2. My daughter was toying around on our piano after do0ing her violin practice. I sat down beside her and she asked me for something to play. So I showed her ´Over The Rainbow´, single note style. She loved it but couldn´t quite grasp it. Tonight she sat down at the piano, and worked it all out herself, singing the notes and finding the corresponding keys on the piano. Wow! With that attitude, she´s got a future as a keyboard noodler ahead of her.
Now, about that climate change reversal…
Dearth of sockets…. visible ones…. all sockets are filled…. unscrew the plug end… stripped down to the bare metal….. a good couple of inches…. screwed it all back in… pops in and out…
Despite the wholesomeness of the rest of the post, I think we all need dousing with disinfectant after all that.
Halfway through typing the above I got bored, so thought I should shove a few double enders in to make things flow and spark a smidgen of response. Not too much, mind. Last time I tried to rewire an expansion cable, I electrocuted myself. I still have the parallel scars from the cm deep cuts that jolted into me as I unscrewed the socket end, completely forgetting that the plug end was attached to the wall.
I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Not even “Nads” Dorries?
You ought to get your kitchen properly rewired (if you can afford it) so that you have wall sockets where you need them. Using extension leads for high-current kitchen appliances is a fire hazard.
Thank you Mike! And just a reminder that a staggering eighty-three per cent of accidents in the home happen in the home – so buckle up and play safe!
– Hi-viz vests compulsory in kitchen
– Safety goggles over the stove
– Inflatable vests in the bath, and never fill over half an inch deep
– Rubber flooring tiles throughout house – painted directional lines avoid crashes
Everything in my house is rubber.
Well, I call it a house
Do you mean hose? Showing results for rubber hose.
I don’t live in a hose. I have lived in hose, but that was only when I was pretending to be in the RSC in order to get free coffee.
You can never go back, Moosey. You know that.
Don’t burn your house down. You might miss it if you do.
I’m. An. Or. Di. Na. Ry. Guy.
Burning down the hose.