Hiram.A.Biff
Well-known member
Apart from Fishing?
Me, Im a joiner. Nothing bores me more than doing nothing.
When i Get home, i do whatever need sto be done. Then occupy myself. Im TRYING to learn Accoustic guitar, I make priests, Sticks, (Thumbsticks, market sticks) tie flies,. do anything rather than sit and do nothing. It drives me up the f****ng wall.
Im a Season ticket holder at SJP, and a member of a gentlemens association shall we say. I have to have my mind occupied.
And i hoard things. I think I got that from my Granda, I have a garage full of sh*t. Wheel ramps, ( I know sod all about cars) a brand new window frame, (had it for 13 years) A mitre radial saw that doesnt cut!! an old school paper guillotine (blade only, no base!) and 80 eternit slates, (why??)I hate throwing things away. My Granda had all sorts in his "Washouse" (Cellar) even so far as a sawfishes snout, teeth ncluded. where in the name of sh*te he got that I will never know, but he had it, and never ever threw anything away, he had a mandolin, in a case he couldnt play, a .303 live bullet in a drawer, (never had a rifle) !, a piece of wood that was allegedly from HMS VICTORY. A silver tipped swagger stick from a Regimental RSM that had lodged at the house during the war. spent cases from a Spitfire, that had rattled off his roof in a dogfight during the war, as German planes tried to find Consett Iron works. I was 17 before Iknew you could buy new nails, I thought you just straightened old ones out with a hammer on a piece of wood, which Is what my granda had me doing for years.
He regularly took me for a walk when I was a weean, "up the road" as he called it, up from Elm Park Terrace, at the entrance to Shotley Hospital, to the wood. He once killed a rabbit, with a catapult, ( something I still have a passion for to the astonishment of my workmates) and we had it for dinner. Rabbit Pie, bloody lovely. After that as I got older, he did too, and Id go off for rabbits, with his catty, but, only after promising him, I would only shoot rabbits with a humpy back. Now, everyone surely knows why you only shoot humpy backed rabbits, to keep the bloody pie crust up!!
Memory tells me I only ever saw one rabbit, and by the time i looked to see if it had a humpy back, it was gone.
He was missing little fingers from both hands, due to Carpal Tunnel syndrome, Then, they amputated, now, its reparable. He smoked a pipe, and had the perfect shape worn in his teeth, where the pipe stem fitted. He was missing part of his thumb from the knuckle on his right hand, which he used to tamp down his baccy, and roll it in the palm of his other hand, his baccy was in slices and had to be crumbled.He told me it was his special pipe thumb. He lost it in a machine in Bradley workshops.
His gardening shoes always had holes it the toecaps, that his big toenails had worn through! He was brought up with his six brothers in Ponteland Orphanage ( Now Northumbria Police HQ) He had a scar from his wrist to his elbow, that he always said was from a knife he was using the wrong way. Years after he died I found out that he got it when he was sent to carry a jug of milk, aged 9,and fell, gashing his arm on the broken jug. The Matron made him clean up the milk before she allowed him to have the gash dressed. ( me mam says he spat on her grave in later years, and for the only time in her life, she heard him swear). God only knows what he and his brothers went through.
He grew veg in his garden, Beet, broadbeans, peas, cabbages, turnips, sprouts,and tomatoes, like footballs in his greenhouse, and always had a fire going, and my mam has a photo of him, with a marrow that won a show in yorkshire, bloody massive, and I never heard him swear once.
I remember once as a boy being scared of thunder. My mam told me that I shouldnt be, as thunder saved his life. He had been walking home from work, in a snowstorm, and had collapsed with exhaustion in a drift, he heard thunder, and thought it was German bombs, so forced himself to get home, so he could be with his family.
Septimus Harry Warburton. That was his name, Septimus, as he was the seventh son.
Always known as Sep.
Bloody hell lads, that drifted on. Hope you dont mind.
Funny what a good red wine will do when you get farther down the bottle.
Me, Im a joiner. Nothing bores me more than doing nothing.
When i Get home, i do whatever need sto be done. Then occupy myself. Im TRYING to learn Accoustic guitar, I make priests, Sticks, (Thumbsticks, market sticks) tie flies,. do anything rather than sit and do nothing. It drives me up the f****ng wall.
Im a Season ticket holder at SJP, and a member of a gentlemens association shall we say. I have to have my mind occupied.
And i hoard things. I think I got that from my Granda, I have a garage full of sh*t. Wheel ramps, ( I know sod all about cars) a brand new window frame, (had it for 13 years) A mitre radial saw that doesnt cut!! an old school paper guillotine (blade only, no base!) and 80 eternit slates, (why??)I hate throwing things away. My Granda had all sorts in his "Washouse" (Cellar) even so far as a sawfishes snout, teeth ncluded. where in the name of sh*te he got that I will never know, but he had it, and never ever threw anything away, he had a mandolin, in a case he couldnt play, a .303 live bullet in a drawer, (never had a rifle) !, a piece of wood that was allegedly from HMS VICTORY. A silver tipped swagger stick from a Regimental RSM that had lodged at the house during the war. spent cases from a Spitfire, that had rattled off his roof in a dogfight during the war, as German planes tried to find Consett Iron works. I was 17 before Iknew you could buy new nails, I thought you just straightened old ones out with a hammer on a piece of wood, which Is what my granda had me doing for years.
He regularly took me for a walk when I was a weean, "up the road" as he called it, up from Elm Park Terrace, at the entrance to Shotley Hospital, to the wood. He once killed a rabbit, with a catapult, ( something I still have a passion for to the astonishment of my workmates) and we had it for dinner. Rabbit Pie, bloody lovely. After that as I got older, he did too, and Id go off for rabbits, with his catty, but, only after promising him, I would only shoot rabbits with a humpy back. Now, everyone surely knows why you only shoot humpy backed rabbits, to keep the bloody pie crust up!!
Memory tells me I only ever saw one rabbit, and by the time i looked to see if it had a humpy back, it was gone.
He was missing little fingers from both hands, due to Carpal Tunnel syndrome, Then, they amputated, now, its reparable. He smoked a pipe, and had the perfect shape worn in his teeth, where the pipe stem fitted. He was missing part of his thumb from the knuckle on his right hand, which he used to tamp down his baccy, and roll it in the palm of his other hand, his baccy was in slices and had to be crumbled.He told me it was his special pipe thumb. He lost it in a machine in Bradley workshops.
His gardening shoes always had holes it the toecaps, that his big toenails had worn through! He was brought up with his six brothers in Ponteland Orphanage ( Now Northumbria Police HQ) He had a scar from his wrist to his elbow, that he always said was from a knife he was using the wrong way. Years after he died I found out that he got it when he was sent to carry a jug of milk, aged 9,and fell, gashing his arm on the broken jug. The Matron made him clean up the milk before she allowed him to have the gash dressed. ( me mam says he spat on her grave in later years, and for the only time in her life, she heard him swear). God only knows what he and his brothers went through.
He grew veg in his garden, Beet, broadbeans, peas, cabbages, turnips, sprouts,and tomatoes, like footballs in his greenhouse, and always had a fire going, and my mam has a photo of him, with a marrow that won a show in yorkshire, bloody massive, and I never heard him swear once.
I remember once as a boy being scared of thunder. My mam told me that I shouldnt be, as thunder saved his life. He had been walking home from work, in a snowstorm, and had collapsed with exhaustion in a drift, he heard thunder, and thought it was German bombs, so forced himself to get home, so he could be with his family.
Septimus Harry Warburton. That was his name, Septimus, as he was the seventh son.
Always known as Sep.
Bloody hell lads, that drifted on. Hope you dont mind.
Funny what a good red wine will do when you get farther down the bottle.
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