What do you miss?

  • Thread starter Deleted member 13905
  • Start date
calum down said:
drives me to despair hearing it.
if i worked behind a bar i'd say...
"no you can't fucking get it!
i'll get it!
that's why i'm here!
and stick your stupid americanisms up your stupid arse you stupid ****"
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As somebody who's lived outside the country for many years, but who goes over there regularly (for matches! you will understand why I put that in bold shortly), this is the single most striking thing to me. The americanisation of the language. Young people don't even realise that they're talking like second-hand Americans. I constantly correct people if I'm in, say, a Caffè Nero in the UK (never go to Starbucks, the coffee's poor in my view), and they say “Do you want regular?”. I say, “Just normal size please”. I should say “Well it's not really a question of how often I want it”. If they come back at me and say, “You mean, regular?” I reply “No I don't, because I'm not an American. I mean I want a normal sized coffee, or standard, if you prefer.” See, I'm a stubborn old fucker.

Now, there's really only one thing I miss, from my childhood. I used to get thruppence pocket money (you remember those coins? Loved them!) and at a certain point it went up to sixpence. Can't remember when. At the sweet shop on the corner I could get untold riches, even when it was only thruppence. Quite a few things were a ha'penny. (No, can't remember farthings, don't take the piss…!) Sherbet fountains, gob stoppers, liquorice of all sorts. I'd walk out with a packet filled with treasure. Sheer happiness for the rest of the afternoon.
In that same vein — the boiled sweets that you would get out of big jars on the shelves behind the old geezer running the place. He'd measure it out on scales. Four ounces, say. Not electric scales — metal ones (iron? steel?). I was very partial to pineapple chunks and pear drops, but I've never really finished mourning for the disappearance of sherbet lemons. Still not over it. About fifteen years back, I discovered one confectioner's in Oxford, on Broad Street, that still did them. I could have cried.
Oh just thought of something else, but from about eight years further on in my life. Record shops. Better still, record shops with listening booths. Between about fourteen and twenty-four, I must have frittered away a very substantial part of my life riffling through LPs.

I don't miss dogshit filled alleys leading to Maine Rd. But I do miss it.
 
Lovebitesandeveryfing said:
As somebody who's lived outside the country for many years, but who goes over there regularly (for matches! you will understand why I put that in bold shortly), this is the single most striking thing to me. The americanisation of the language. Young people don't even realise that they're talking like second-hand Americans. I constantly correct people if I'm in, say, a Caffè Nero in the UK (never go to Starbucks, the coffee's poor in my view), and they say “Do you want regular?”. I say, “Just normal size please”. I should say “Well it's not really a question of how often I want it”. If they come back at me and say, “You mean, regular?” I reply “No I don't, because I'm not an American. I mean I want a normal sized coffee, or standard, if you prefer.” See, I'm a stubborn old fucker.

Now, there's really only one thing I miss, from my childhood. I used to get thruppence pocket money (you remember those coins? Loved them!) and at a certain point it went up to sixpence. Can't remember when. At the sweet shop on the corner I could get untold riches, even when it was only thruppence. Quite a few things were a ha'penny. (No, can't remember farthings, don't take the piss…!) Sherbet fountains, gob stoppers, liquorice of all sorts. I'd walk out with a packet filled with treasure. Sheer happiness for the rest of the afternoon.
In that same vein — the boiled sweets that you would get out of big jars on the shelves behind the old geezer running the place. He'd measure it out on scales. Four ounces, say. Not electric scales — metal ones (iron? steel?). I was very partial to pineapple chunks and pear drops, but I've never really finished mourning for the disappearance of sherbet lemons. Still not over it. About fifteen years back, I discovered one confectioner's in Oxford, on Broad Street, that still did them. I could have cried.
Oh just thought of something else, but from about eight years further on in my life. Record shops. Better still, record shops with listening booths. Between about fourteen and twenty-four, I must have frittered away a very substantial part of my life riffling through LPs.

I don't miss dogshit filled alleys leading to Maine Rd. But I do miss it.
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black jacks and fruit salads.
 
journolud said:
I miss all those threads from 2009. If only there was someone to regularly bump them
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giphy.gif
 
idahoblues said:
Can I get an 'Amen' bro
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not the "can i get" bit, but my twin sister says that to me.
she's such a tit.
"amen to that, bro"
it's a shit nun joke they secretly say to each other about the monks.
my sister is a cistercian sister in france.
i can understand her need for being a recluse from this world,
but she has no phone or email, though it's nice to write & receive letters.
naturally, i'm not allowed to visit her,
and she only comes back when there's been a death in the family.
thankfully, we come from a large family and we are 59 now,
so lots of them keep dying on us and we see each other more regularly.
we are sound.
i take the piss out of her bad habit.
she brings me french booze.

anyroad,
i miss her.
 
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