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Any DiS pals over here?
I base all cities on London, mind.
great transport link - bus/train. cheap, too.
museum - too big.
anything you wanna know about plymouth, hit me up
who emigrated about 10 years ago now, say hi from me.
Here's a story about him (from here: http://jelly.b3ta.com/questions/foodsabotage/post247877):
It was a glorious summers day and my housemates and I were in our back garden celebrating this rarity of British meteorology in the only way we knew. With a barbeque.
As the sun shone upon the succulent meat cooking upon the hot coals embedded on a rickety £10 Asda grill, the environment was serenely perfect for spiritual reflection on life in its many wonderful forms, even with a hangover.
In light of this uncharacteristic good mood, I decided to do the honours of offering to make tea for myself and those around me.
Maybe it was the weather or maybe just good timing, but the unanimous approval from those around me was evident, and so it was that I embarked to the kitchen to begin the brew.
A few minutes later and four cups of brown liquid stood in front of me ready to be presented to their rightful owners. Rather than risk the two-per hand carrying approach favoured by seasoned veterans, I opted for the two at a time in two journeys way. Today wasn’t a day for risks.
Chris and Aaron were most happy with their tea, as was evident in the gratified smiles upon their faces as they took their tepid first sips, gauging the temperature of the institution within.
As I began the second journey back to the wonderful sunshine with the remaining two teas in my hands, for reasons unknown a chemical shift within my brain engaged the mischief switch. I was doing all I could to stifle my own laughter as I walked through the kitchen door towards an eager and expectant Pete whose arms were raised waiting for his warm refreshment.
As I walked out the door, I placed my own cup on the ground near my own feet, turned to the wall furthest from where all were laying and with all my might launched the cup of boiling hot tea, shattering the cup into hundreds of chunks and splinters.
To say we laughed would be an understatement. Between tears of laughter, Pete used his gasping breaths to call me a cunt as many times as he possibly could whilst I made the most of his paralysis by necking my own cup before retribution was possible. The physical damage the extreme heat was causing my throat may have been unpleasant, but scoldy tea was better than no tea at all.
After the fuss had settled down, I apologised to Pete and said I'd make him another cup to as a peaceful gesture for accidentally dropping his last one.
I ended up smashing two more cups this way, each time seeming somehow funnier than the last. It was only on the third time when Chris reminded me that we wouldn't have any cups left to drink tea ourselves that I realised it was time to stop.
I never did make Pete a cup of tea.