If I am Harley's Dad it would account for a game we used to play when he was perhaps 10 years old. In a pub or a hotel bar, when there was a suitable pause in the hubbub (you know, that moment when you wished you'd delayed that fart a few seconds longer!) he would turn to me and say in his shrillest voice "please don't hit me again, Daddy. Remember you broke my arm last time ..." God, it used to create a pause!
Another more recent little game which we considered during this last summer was to take place at a local pub which is particularly popular at weekends - people sitting in the garden, the bars inside packed. Now those of you who own dogs will know that petshops sell enormous bones known as "postman's legs". So we were going to get one of these, put a little white sock and a shoe on one end and then walk into the garden or the bar with it, and with our lab at heel, asking "had anyone lost a child?"
Cowards, we decided not to go ahead since a. we might have been lynched and, b. more importantly, it might have given small children present nightmares.
Could it just be that we're what's known as a disfunctional family - whatever that really is.
This has been quite the diversion for me. However, I must make one thing absolutely clear. The only thing I can say for sure is that I am in no way related to Harley, James or Harley's dad. That's a safe thing to say...isn't it?
If I am Harley's Dad it would account for a game we used to play when he was perhaps 10 years old. In a pub or a hotel bar, when there was a suitable pause in the hubbub (you know, that moment when you wished you'd delayed that fart a few seconds longer!) he would turn to me and say in his shrillest voice "please don't hit me again, Daddy. Remember you broke my arm last time ..." God, it used to create a pause!
Another more recent little game which we considered during this last summer was to take place at a local pub which is particularly popular at weekends - people sitting in the garden, the bars inside packed. Now those of you who own dogs will know that petshops sell enormous bones known as "postman's legs". So we were going to get one of these, put a little white sock and a shoe on one end and then walk into the garden or the bar with it, and with our lab at heel, asking "had anyone lost a child?"
Cowards, we decided not to go ahead since a. we might have been lynched and, b. more importantly, it might have given small children present nightmares.
Could it just be that we're what's known as a disfunctional family - whatever that really is.
okay i read this whole thread just then and im just going to say its random confusing and gah hahahaha it cheered me up tho and distracted me but i dont even rember how i found this thread
