Today's whimsy

"Toilet trader" is a wonderful phrase. In German, the word is Sinstadt

NotBert wrote:"Toilet trader" is a wonderful phrase.  In German, the word is Sinstadt

As in Gerald Sinstadt?

Come on, Tone, I thought you'd have got that reference...

From '94 - I love the tags at the bottom, that wanking in an "art house" has to be French football...

https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/charges-dropped-1434811.html

Criminal charges against Gerald Sinstadt, the football commentator, have been dropped, his lawyers said yesterday. Mr Sinstadt, 64, of Highgate, north London, who works on Grandstand and Match of the Day, had been charged with gross indecency for an alleged sex act at a porn cinema.

More about: Cinema; French Football; Highgate; Sex

I wasn't aware the old duffer had been done for wanking!
He was always my favourite commentator.....the voice of midweek 70s football for me.
And he's still alive!

I know, one for the "Anita Harris" thread in retrospect.

He worked on Kick Off as you posted, so he was a regular up here on Granada TV in the 70s and presumably in council-run street toilets as well. Clearly a City fan (not a gag, that, you could tell - Elton Welsby was an Evertonian and didn't hide it well either, for example).

Oh, and also from '94, a letter to the Deputy Assistant Commissioner of Police...

Congratulations] The local police in Islington, part of your patch, have come in for a good deal of criticism in the past, so it's good to see reports that they've arrested someone, a television sports commentator indeed, and charged him with gross indecency. According to reports in the tabloids, your officers claim to have seen Gerald Sinstadt and another man 'fondling themselves' (though not each other) at the Fantasy II cinema in Islington, north London.

As I'm sure you are aware, there's so much crime in Islington the police scarcely have the resources to record it, let alone catch the criminals. When our neighbours were robbed last year, your men turned up in the early hours to examine the damage and did not even have time to look at the next house, where our own cellar door had been kicked in.

Your crime prevention officer was extremely charming when he came round a few days later. He told us all about the opportunist thieves of the district - 'toe-rags' he called them - and said it was years since he'd seen a really classy burglary.

Then a few months later, with our cellar wall rebuilt, the same toe-rags tried the front window, damaging the woodwork and snapping a catch. But the locks held. I mentioned it to a couple of police officers passing the next day, and they commiserated with a knowing glance towards the window. Three houses in the street had been less fortunate the previous night.

I have occasionally wondered why, in a road that burglars seem to visit every couple of months at about 3am, we don't occasionally hear of one being caught by the police taking a stroll down the street at the same time. Can it be that they are too busy putting in overtime on what must be Islington's most popular beat, preventing masturbation in porno cinemas?

I'm more an Odeon or Screen on the Green man myself, but I've always imagined that that was basically what porno cinemas were for. What were Mr Sinstadt and other audience members expected to be doing? Admiring the cinematography? Discussing the method acting? Drooling at the lip-sync?

Still, as we lie in our beds and listen to the tinkling of smashed quarterlights, as we try to ignore the ringing of car and house alarms, as old ladies move in convoys down the street to collect their pensions, we can at least reassure ourselves that the porn cinemas of Islington are being kept safe for our children.

What a wise allocation of police resources] Rather than frittering away my council tax on crimes with real victims, rather than responding to the complaints of the public, you allow your officers to sit in the dark and spy on sad old men. Gerald Sinstadt hasn't done me any harm and isn't likely to, but you have - you've wasted my money. Fancy a person of your position and responsibility being caught behaving like this. You should be ashamed of yourself.

"Can it be that they are too busy putting in overtime on what must be Islington's most popular beat, preventing masturbation in porno cinemas?"

The British sitcom's decline can be traced back directly to the demise of the trefoil carpet beater. Since people no longer hang carpets over a washing line and beat the fucking shit out of them to get the dust out, comedy back garden chases and choking in comically-excessive clouds of dust have declined 92% and the scenes that can be developed from them have been lost like the history of New Faces.

Blame James fucking Dyson. Again.

Belly button fluff is invariably blue because it is made of sky dust that is absorbed through the skin and escapes the body through the umbilicus.

Having "listened" to some woman bark on to her mate on a bus this morning about kids football kits - her kids have club kits, Spanish club kits and a clutch of international kits - it set me wondering whether there was a Spanish version of me pissed off on a Madrid bus listening to a mother harping on about how her kids have just got themselves a cracking Wolves kit, they're always nice, and I love the Spurs kit with the cockerel and young Javier has been itching for the Newcastle humbug to go with his Juventus jersey...

How much fucking summer wine was there left, really?

The old couple up the road have two huge sprays of pampas grass. The dirty fuckers.

I didn't know this until this week...

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/shortcuts/2017/may/31/pampas-grass-secret-symbol-swingers-turn-off-sales-plummeting

Amazed that John McCain dies and there's a rage over whether he was a warmongering shite or a wonderful man and NOT ONE PERSON has mentioned how he single-handedly saw off the terrorists (who were in fact just thieves) in Nakatomi Plaza barefoot on Christmas Eve

NotBert wrote:The old couple up the road have two huge sprays of pampas grass.  The dirty fuckers.

I didn't know this until this week...

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/shortcuts/2017/may/31/pampas-grass-secret-symbol-swingers-turn-off-sales-plummeting

In review, three doors up, two doors down and opposite and to the right have it. That's one-sixth of the road.

So do the strawberry pensioners who live around the corner (they grew strawberries at the end of their front garden) and the recent-build old people's home around the corner clearly don't just play solitaire after dark...

The iconic Littlewoods building in Liverpool is listed and as such is protected from unscrupulous developers like Mayor Diamond Joe Anderson.

It was to undergo a revival as a film centre and set and then a few weeks back, the fucker burned, automatically throwing the listed status into doubt and possibly leaving many acres of prime developing land up for grabs.

The film people have come along, took a look and say 'nah, fuck it, we can sort that out, it's a setback, that's all'

Quimby has not been quoted as saying "I've got more fucking matches, you know?"

Genealogy is the second most popular hobby in the U.S. after gardening, and the second most visited category of websites after pornography

Ok, here's where I come in.
Firstly, if more people are viewing porn on the web than anything else, then that's America's top hobby. You can't garden in a Manhattan flat but you can make a movie or have a wank at a site devoted to red-haired MILFs, or any site really, don't what made me think of that. Just remembered I have to be somewhere else, back in a bit...

...that's better.

Anyway, yes, one-handed surfing is no less a hobby than any other. If you're expert at it, you can make a career out of it, it's the basis for a legitimate industry and there are serious fans and followers.

Secondly, is there not a possibility of crossover? Making an error isn't too hard to imagine, tugging one out over a particularly sexy begonia or surfing one-handed for a site featuring red-hot pokers, lady's fingers or other amusingly-named plants like throbbing donger, which I've just made up.

I just think that America's wanking gardeners or gardening wankers have an interest in who was growing hollyhocks or blowing a volley of cocks in the generations before them. They had engravings of people having a thoroughly depraved and miserable time on the Mayflower, you know?

Just read Kevin Keegan's book, not something I'd have bought myself but glad someone did now.

Aside from the utterly bizarre ending that was his second spell at Newcastle (Tony Jimenez appears to think he's the equivalent of a modern day Khashoggi in player deals, if Khashoggi had delivered peashooters to a civil war at the end), he starts by recounting a tale of him going back to St James's Park undercover.

Keegan.  Undercover.

He does it three times in the book, says how he loves doing it (absolutely loves it - he's made a good living out of that interview in speaking engagements, so fair play to him) but the important thing about the three occasions, the dark glasses, baseball hat with pony tail, Packers sweater and long coat, all the outfits, is that the first person who sees him invariably says 'can you sign this for us please, Kevin?' One of these was in Florida

You might like doing it, Kevin, but you are the giraffe in sunglasses trying to get into a polar bears only nightclub.

The last page he talks of his grandson being born and having been up all night with the family after complications, he nipped out into the street, sat on a wall, feeling content but knackered and in yesterday's clothes, put his coat collar up to keep warm and began to nod off.  He sees a pair of feet in front of him and a bloke says 'here mate, go and get yourself a coffee' and pressed a pound coin into his hand.  The one time he isn't undercover he gets mistaken for someone homeless.

He bought the coffee and sold a book with the proceeds.

If Eamonn O'Keefe had been gay or at least a bit bi-curious, who knows how Saudi football may have turned out...

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-47258619

That is without a doubt the most fascinating football related story I have ever read.
What an amazing life he's had.

Personally, I think he should have tried the Royal pork sword before making his decision to have it on his toes.

"Only one rule, your Highness - no anal. Now knight me with your halal sword. I'll pull myself off while you're at it, and I'll swallow"

The unwritten chapter of his autobiography