“Imagine no possessions…” John Lennon was living in a mansion when he wrote that.

Mustn’t grumble.

I used to have one of those little joke .exe files called Cupholder. If you clicked on it, it opened the CD drive.

She’s my spirit animal.

Hmm, I’m beginning to think I was scammed by stinky boys who claimed they did it but actually just somehow managed to throw the empty seat over the bar. Because the chain was definitely wrapped around it.

Old fart’s boat.

Our big thing was daring each other to get the swings in the playground to go so high you’d flip right over the stand. You had to stand up on the seat and pump hard to get high enough. I always chickened out, but some of the kids did it. The problem was the chains were then wrapped around the stand, making it harder to swing.

And yes, the surface under the swing was hard asphalt.

I had an ear infection that had me lose my balance completely and start projectile vomiting anything in my stomach, including water. It was probably a good 36 hours before I was admitted to hospital; I was so dehydrated I was put on a drip. It turned out to be shingles, so no wonder the antibiotics didn’t work. I can’t remember how long I went without eating, maybe 48 hours? I was so ill I didn’t care.

When I worked for a newspaper we were asked by a campaigner not to use the phrase “committed suicide”, because it dated back to the days when suicide was a crime. We were asked to refer instead to someone having taken their own life. It made sense, so that’s what we did. You can call it “politically correct” I guess. I see it as just being sensitive to the feelings of people grieving for a loved one.

In a similar vein, Calum’s Road: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calum_MacLeod_(of_Raasay)

I have friends house-hunting in England and every place they’ve looked at has been freshly done up, with grey carpets, grey walls and a black kitchen.

“Dangerous and squalid” describes quite a few MPs.

Ouch. Big ouch.

I was walking the Cornish coastal path past some cliffs and saw a side path that the map showed led to a cave. It was really a narrow ledge, cut in the cliff side. I walked along it, stepping over a gap and spent a bit of time looking at the cave.

Heading back to the main path, I had the sudden realisation that the gap I’d stepped over earlier was where a section of the ledge had broken off. Which meant that the bit I was standing on was also at risk of breaking off. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced fear like it. I got a shot of adrenaline that left me shaking. The sea was a long way down, big waves pounding jagged rocks. I had to hug the cliff and wait for my heart rate to settle before I could step over the gap again.

I picked up a hitchhiker just outside Edinburgh once, and drove him all the way to Devon. The first thing he said was “Aren’t you afraid to pick someone up when you’re on your own?” I replied “You’re right, I’ll drop you off at the next lay-by.” His face!! Happily he realised how dumb he was, apologised, and we had a good trip.

I hitchhiked a lot in my twenties, ie in the 1970s, and only had a couple of scary experiences. Once my boyfriend and I were picked up by a guy who was a Vietnam veteran. He told us horror stories while driving at high speed down one of NZ’s windiest roads. Another time in Australia the driver turned out to be a drunk. It was a long ride so we stuck with it, until it got dark and very frightening. My boyfriend finally persuaded the guy to let him drive.

The best hitchhiking experience was in France, around 1980. A friend and I got a lift from a very friendly, nice man. He knew a scenic route to Marseille, ok fine. At one point he asked if we smoked, and produced a big bag of weed. Bonjour! Very strong weed. Happy days.

Aaaand then he ran out of petrol. On a deserted stretch of scenery. It’s ok though - he had a jerry can in the boot and put out his thumb to hitch ahead to where he thought there was a petrol station. He was away for a very long time, and we started getting paranoid. There was a briefcase in the back seat. We opened it, and it was full of pornography - photos stuck to boards that fit exactly into the case. Sacré bleu!

Very stoned and fearing the worst (kidnapping), we decided to hitch away and abandon the car. Stuck out our thumbs and a car stopped. A man jumped out, and it was our driver! The petrol station was closed, so he had hitched PAST us to another one. He put the petrol in the car and we continued on our way. He took us all the way to Marseille as promised, gave us a couple of joints and waved us goodbye.

I would appreciate someone just saying quickly, “oops, wardrobe malfunction!” in a jokey way with eyes covered. I’d hate to discover the open zip later and recall everything I’d done while exposed.

I’m 73 and I reckon I’m learning more now than when I was in my 20s. I have a few things I’m interested in and I have a real thirst to know more about them. Not like in school where I was forced to remember a load of names and dates.

I might have hit a wall as far as tech goes though - I see people here on Lemmy talking about servers and I’m interested, but struggle to understand the basics.

I’m old and tech-y, and my contemporaries still use the “I’m too old to learn” line on me - and then ask me to sort out their issue. Deeply annoying.

“Are you sure? There’s cocaine in it!”