Halo Stickman

Aye, Pap, but in defence of us shorter chaps, craning necks can be very tiring.

Lou, to answer your original question, from what I can remember, I think I used to prefer my first dates to air on the side of sobriety and leave a little bit covered up, to be interpreted by my imagination. But I, too, have a question: if a woman, such as yourself, notices a man staring at her breasts, or whatever, is she flattered, offended, spooked or something else. If this depends on how long the stare lasts, then it would be very helpful to know what length of time is acceptable. I'm not looking for a precise time, you can round it up or down to the nearest 10 minutes if you like.

I think I read earlier that Bucks Saint is taking his 15 year old lad along to the next Farmhouse meet-up. Let's hope it's not him - we don't want Lou getting arrested.

Perhaps something that needs to be taken into consideration is the evolution of language – words, their meaning, connotation, implication and usage are constantly changing. For instance, these days, there are very few people who would not be offended if a government official referred to them as an 'idiot', 'imbecile',' lunatic', or 'feeble-minded' person – yet, little over a hundred years ago, these were the exact words used on UK government census forms to describe a person's mental abilities.

If you want to keep it football related, ask her if she would like to see a demonstration of your sliding tackle.

I've posted this true story before, so apologies for posting it again – but, you never know, it might be of some help. Mate of mine – no, really a mate, not me – met up with a woman from plentyoffish.com. Turned out she looked 20 years older than her photo, had stinking breath and babbled on about paranormal nonsense all night. Even several drinks couldn’t engender any enthusiasm on my mate’s part, but being quite p*ssed, and not wanting to hurt her feelings, he agreed to meet up with her again, only to subsequently ignore her numerous attempts to contact him. Couple of weeks later, he got chatting to another woman on plentyoffish.com who asked him whether he had met up with anyone else from the site. He replied that he’d only met up with one other woman, and that she had looked 20 years older than her photo, had stinking breath, and babbled on about paranormal nonsense all night. Turned out he was chatting to the same woman – she had re-enrolled under a new identity in order to attain some genuine feedback. Suffice it to say, this feedback made her very unhappy. Having said this, I do know at least two couples in happy long-term relationships – 20 years plus, in one case – who met through dating agencies.

Thanks for the sympathy, Lou - you're right, it is annoying. Call me old fashioned, but I've always been of the opinion that it's never ideal for the potential purchaser to turn up and find the vendor floundering around on the roof with a mastic gun and a can of Thompson's quick-fix sealer. Not to worry, I've sorted it now – I've told the agent only to bring people round when it's not f*cking raining.

I never get lonely – I'm always chatting to people like Portsea Lil and Matron ... to name but two of my imaginary friends.

... you get off the phone after just putting your house on the market, only to discover your f**king roof's leaking. Free free to add other real-life examples below (nothing too depressing please):

Agree, Fonte and Yoshida didn't deserve to be on the losing side. Gutted by the lack of cutting-edge up-front in recent matches.

Can I choose which movie or rock star you liken me to on here the next day, Lou?

Sorry, Goat, I didn't mean to make anyone sad with that post. Most of the time, I'm quite happy with my own company, or indeed, with that of Mrs Stickman :) – little other option really :( – although I'd be lying if I said I didn't occasionally reflect wistfully on former times following Saints home and away with a group of mates who I've since either lost touch with, or who no longer attend matches themselves. But, hey, as my mother-in-law always said: 'worse things happen at sea.'

There's no walking away from that one.

I was likened to James Dean in my day. These days it's more a case of Pearl and Dean – the op didn't turn out quite as well as I had hoped.

Well, in that case – I'm sorry if this makes me shallow – I'm starting to warm to Lou. When is the next meet-up? I'm free until 1pm this afternoon, if that helps

Calling Pap Bon Jovi and Bucks Brad Pitt to TMS – confirmation please.

For those that rapidly tire of being in the same place for more than a few days there's always the motoring forum. Personally, I'm looking forward to the day you sign up with the overseas forum.

Actually, Tim, I'm in a similar boat. In fact, in recent times – and I'd be grateful if you didn't tell anyone else about this – I've been reduced to attending matches with, ahem, Mrs Stickman, who, somewhat mysteriously, has developed a post-menopausal passion for the Beautiful Game. Anyway, for the Crystal Palace match, I got the rare – not to mention, welcome – opportunity of attending a match without her. So off I went as happy as Larry – I'm not sure who the fuck Larry is, btw – but after having breakfast and a pint by myself in the Standing Order and a pint by myself in the Royal Oak I got fed up with being Nobby Nomates. It was at this point, I suddenly remembered Pap mentioning that he drank in the Farmhouse, and I though maybe it would be a good idea to wander up there and introduce myself. So, off I headed for the Farmhouse, even though I only had a vague idea of where the place was and what Pap actually looked like. I'd got as far as the Hindu Temple before I said to myself: 'Halo, what the fuck are you doing looking for some bloke that you've only ever met on an internet forum, who might not even be in the pub, and if he is, is probably having a drink with some proper mates and won't appreciate Nobby Nomates gatecrashing his pre-match get-together. Get a grip on yourself!' So, I turned round and headed back to the Chapel Arms, where I had a couple more pints by myself. I don't know if it was the beer or spending all that time by myself but by kick-off I was so morose I actually started to miss Mrs Stickman not being with me.

It was enough for me to learn that you and I share at least one of the same vices, Pap.

Beheading doesn't necessarily solve the problem

So, I was in Birmingham for the weekend of the T20 finals. The day after the match, Mrs Stickman was doing some shopping and I was wandering aimlessly around the city centre when a big chap came up to me and said: 'Hi mate, good to see you again!' So, I thought to myself: I don't know who the hell this bloke is, and he must have read my mind because he said: 'We met at the station.' So, I thought to myself: no we didn't, and he said: ' You were with your wife.' So, I thought to myself : well, I was at the station and I did have my wife in tow and my memory's not what it was, and he said: ' You remember me, don't you?' So, I thought: he's gonna be a bit sad if I say no, so I said: 'Course I do, mate.' So, he said: 'Respect' and held out his fist and we did that knuckle rub thing, and then he said: 'Remind me again, what you doing up here?' So, I said: 'I came up for the cricket' So, he said: 'Oh yeah, how did it go?' So, I said: 'My team lost, but I suppose someone has to.' So, he said: 'Respect' again, and we did that knuckle rub thing again, and then he put his big arms around me and hugged me for what seemed to be far too long a time, and just when I started to fear that he was going to kiss me he let me go and said: 'I could murder a basket of chicken and chips.' So, some time after he'd departed with the couple of pound coins I gave him, I noticed he'd also rifled through the contents of my rucksack. So, the moral of this story is that village idiots like me shouldn't be allowed out in big bad cities.

In common with other forums this site has a large number of lurkers – people that watch from a distance but never post. So did any of you spot any possible lurkers at the Farmhouse last night?

Perhaps a little premature to be starting this thread with the season still a few months away, but it was great to see Carbs helping Perth Scorchers win the Big Bash and Vince making some decent scores for England Lions recently. I also thought Yasser Arafat and, to a lesser extent, Jackson Bird bowled pretty well during the Big Bash. I'm hopeful that Hampshire will hold their own in Div 1 this year, whilst continuing to impress in the shorter format competitions. Would be interested to read other posters' expectations for the forthcoming season.

My grandfather fought in Egypt and Palestine in WWI and served as an ARW in WWII, during which time he once extracted injured and dying neighbours from their bombed-out house, shortly before having his own home destroyed. In between times, he supported his family by working on the council dustcart, growing vegetables and keeping chickens and a pig in his back garden. A day after his 61st birthday, whilst his youngest son, aged 10, was playing in the garden, and other family members were settling down to listen to the Archers, my grandfather got up from the dinner table, retrieved his shotgun from the shed, and shot himself dead. A selfish act? Well, it was certainly one with deep-seated and long-lasting effects on his family – 64 years on, my 84 year-old mother still can’t bring herself to listen to the Archers’ theme music. But this was clearly an act perpetrated by a broken mind, and, as such, any sane mind will struggle to comprehend it. Either that ... or a completely OTT reaction to poor grandmother's cooking.

Disappointed in you, Bletch. Speaking as one of the figments of your imagination, I expected you/us – whatever – to stay away from Lou/Col’s Nice, Friendly thread, in the (increasingly forlorn) hope that if we ignored her/him long enough she/he might eventually go away, leaving us to enjoy our nuns and other stuff in peace. Anyway, I have to depart for a few days in order to organise and attend a funeral – why is it that deaths always occur at the most inconvenient of times, ffs? By the time I get back, I will expect you to have sorted this place out – women’s menstrual cycles, discussions on the morality of posting naughty nuns, and photos of fluffy animals have no place in TMS!