Gen dit
Remember the day when that girl lost half of her foot on Exmouth beach to a prop and you saved the day because you had an FFD (First Field Dressing) in your bag? The guys would call you 'pusser' for carrying such stuff for such 'just-in-case' moments. Well, sometimes that kind of thing can happen when you have been out for years.
I had to go up North by train yesterday. As I was descending a set of steps onto the platform I slipped, and before I could adopt a landing position for 'rear-side-right' I ended up legs akimbo and split the arse out of the trousers to my suit. After making a dignified recovery I held my head up and walked along the platform with my tight buttocks on display, much to the chagrin of the many women on the platform who proceeded to faint as I passed by. Anyway, knowing I was heading for a meeting I found a seat on the train and reached into my black leather grip for my ... housewife! As I dropped my pants around my ankles and began sewing them up with big feck-off mailbag stitches the ticket lady came from behind and asked me why I was sitting in my jacket, shirt and knicks with my trousers around my ankles. Without dropping a stitch I explained my predicament. Such was her amusement she forgave me and even sat and chatted with me until I had finished
Does anyone else have a tale to tell about how an old skill/routine, ect., came back to rescue them?
Remember the day when that girl lost half of her foot on Exmouth beach to a prop and you saved the day because you had an FFD (First Field Dressing) in your bag? The guys would call you 'pusser' for carrying such stuff for such 'just-in-case' moments. Well, sometimes that kind of thing can happen when you have been out for years.
I had to go up North by train yesterday. As I was descending a set of steps onto the platform I slipped, and before I could adopt a landing position for 'rear-side-right' I ended up legs akimbo and split the arse out of the trousers to my suit. After making a dignified recovery I held my head up and walked along the platform with my tight buttocks on display, much to the chagrin of the many women on the platform who proceeded to faint as I passed by. Anyway, knowing I was heading for a meeting I found a seat on the train and reached into my black leather grip for my ... housewife! As I dropped my pants around my ankles and began sewing them up with big feck-off mailbag stitches the ticket lady came from behind and asked me why I was sitting in my jacket, shirt and knicks with my trousers around my ankles. Without dropping a stitch I explained my predicament. Such was her amusement she forgave me and even sat and chatted with me until I had finished
Does anyone else have a tale to tell about how an old skill/routine, ect., came back to rescue them?