A Haunting In Norfolk

[Stubby Pecker]

19 minutes ago, Decimus said:

Pecker, you know what I want, and it's within your power to give it. Apologise for your awful fucking slander and we can go back to cordial relations. 

That awful slander "my web toed friend" was the best part of 2 years ago. If you can't take the stupid fucking wanker mantle, try it on for a while and accept you made a right cunt of yourself, this very real and serious vendetta will run and run, just as you did running like a girl from the thought of kenith Williams poking his bony fingers up your arse in some misty swamp 

[Guest 'eavensabove]

23 hours ago, Decimus said:

Gather round fellow cunters, and make yourselves comfortable. Dim your lights, lock your doors and pour yourselves a large medicinal brandy.

What I am about to divulge has never been discussed outside of my inner circle through fear of being ridiculed by sceptical naysayers. But as the weather cools and the nights slowly begin to draw in, I feel that it is time to share the horrors that I once confronted during a cold foggy, and damp November evening whilst wandering the bleak fens of Norfolk in 2013.

Having attended a birthday of a colleague in a small hamlet just outside of Swaffham, I was dismayed to discover that the taxi I had ordered to take me to Norwich railway station at 11pm had failed to appear. Due to the complete lack of mobile phone coverage within the area, I was unable to call Mrs. D to mount a rescue mission, so began a five mile walk to the next village where a colleague was staying at a cosy local hostelry.

No sooner had I set out upon the narrow country lane which led toward my salvation, than a thick mist suddenly descended upon me, rendering my surroundings completely obscured beyond a radius of a mere four feet. Stumbling blindly along in eerie silence, I desperately attempted to grope my way towards civilisation as I suddenly became overcome with a feeling of existential dread. Within a minute of the fog cloaking my senses, I began to sense that I was not alone in my nocturnal journey. A slow, rhythmic breathing was ever present behind my right ear, deepening and becoming more ragged as I nervously increased my pace in an effort to escape the spectre that was stalking me.

As my own heart rate rapidly increased, I began to feel myself hyperventilating to the point that I had to stop my journey through fear of rendering myself unconscious and vulnerable to whatever was hunting me. After a brief two minute interlude where the only noise to break the sudden silence was the mournful hoot of a tawny owl, I began to run at full pelt, blindly crashing my way down the twisting lane that by now was completely cloaked by a veil of fridgid, ethereal vapour.

I eventually reached the safety of my colleague's lodgings, and fortified with a double Laphroaig, I considered relaying to him the horrors that I had faced during my eventful night-time adventure. As I was about to begin, my colleague turned his face back from the roaring fire of his room and looked me directly in the face. It was at this point in time, I realised that the true horror was only just beginning. This was not my colleague that I was face to face with. The hideous face that still haunts dreams was none other than....

 

 

Careful Dec's. Such talk with have Punkers salivating from both ends. 

[Guest Bill Stickers]

@Decimus, this would be funnier if you didn’t believe in traumatic imprinting or whatever the fuck you call it. 

Idiot.

[Guest 'eavensabove]

There aint much worth a hunting for in Norfolk.

You need to go further afield and head for the West, if you wanna spear the Duon Rhoces of Cymru.

Edited August 11, 2018 by 'eavensabove

[Guest Queefer]

On 8/5/2018 at 9:32 PM, Decimus said:

Gather round fellow cunters, and make yourselves comfortable. Dim your lights, lock your doors and pour yourselves a large medicinal brandy.

What I am about to divulge has never been discussed outside of my inner circle through fear of being ridiculed by sceptical naysayers. But as the weather cools and the nights slowly begin to draw in, I feel that it is time to share the horrors that I once confronted during a cold foggy, and damp November evening whilst wandering the bleak fens of Norfolk in 2013.

Having attended a birthday of a colleague in a small hamlet just outside of Swaffham, I was dismayed to discover that the taxi I had ordered to take me to Norwich railway station at 11pm had failed to appear. Due to the complete lack of mobile phone coverage within the area, I was unable to call Mrs. D to mount a rescue mission, so began a five mile walk to the next village where a colleague was staying at a cosy local hostelry.

No sooner had I set out upon the narrow country lane which led toward my salvation, than a thick mist suddenly descended upon me, rendering my surroundings completely obscured beyond a radius of a mere four feet. Stumbling blindly along in eerie silence, I desperately attempted to grope my way towards civilisation as I suddenly became overcome with a feeling of existential dread. Within a minute of the fog cloaking my senses, I began to sense that I was not alone in my nocturnal journey. A slow, rhythmic breathing was ever present behind my right ear, deepening and becoming more ragged as I nervously increased my pace in an effort to escape the spectre that was stalking me.

As my own heart rate rapidly increased, I began to feel myself hyperventilating to the point that I had to stop my journey through fear of rendering myself unconscious and vulnerable to whatever was hunting me. After a brief two minute interlude where the only noise to break the sudden silence was the mournful hoot of a tawny owl, I began to run at full pelt, blindly crashing my way down the twisting lane that by now was completely cloaked by a veil of fridgid, ethereal vapour.

I eventually reached the safety of my colleague's lodgings, and fortified with a double Laphroaig, I considered relaying to him the horrors that I had faced during my eventful night-time adventure. As I was about to begin, my colleague turned his face back from the roaring fire of his room and looked me directly in the face. It was at this point in time, I realised that the true horror was only just beginning. This was not my colleague that I was face to face with. The hideous face that still haunts dreams was none other than....

 

 

Stephen Fry - the jizz gargling lanky telly Hom - he lives right there on A47

[Guest Quincy Cockfingers]

On 8/5/2018 at 9:32 PM, Decimus said:

Gather round fellow cunters, and make yourselves comfortable. Dim your lights, lock your doors and pour yourselves a large medicinal brandy.

What I am about to divulge has never been discussed outside of my inner circle through fear of being ridiculed by sceptical naysayers. But as the weather cools and the nights slowly begin to draw in, I feel that it is time to share the horrors that I once confronted during a cold foggy, and damp November evening whilst wandering the bleak fens of Norfolk in 2013.

Having attended a birthday of a colleague in a small hamlet just outside of Swaffham, I was dismayed to discover that the taxi I had ordered to take me to Norwich railway station at 11pm had failed to appear. Due to the complete lack of mobile phone coverage within the area, I was unable to call Mrs. D to mount a rescue mission, so began a five mile walk to the next village where a colleague was staying at a cosy local hostelry.

No sooner had I set out upon the narrow country lane which led toward my salvation, than a thick mist suddenly descended upon me, rendering my surroundings completely obscured beyond a radius of a mere four feet. Stumbling blindly along in eerie silence, I desperately attempted to grope my way towards civilisation as I suddenly became overcome with a feeling of existential dread. Within a minute of the fog cloaking my senses, I began to sense that I was not alone in my nocturnal journey. A slow, rhythmic breathing was ever present behind my right ear, deepening and becoming more ragged as I nervously increased my pace in an effort to escape the spectre that was stalking me.

As my own heart rate rapidly increased, I began to feel myself hyperventilating to the point that I had to stop my journey through fear of rendering myself unconscious and vulnerable to whatever was hunting me. After a brief two minute interlude where the only noise to break the sudden silence was the mournful hoot of a tawny owl, I began to run at full pelt, blindly crashing my way down the twisting lane that by now was completely cloaked by a veil of fridgid, ethereal vapour.

I eventually reached the safety of my colleague's lodgings, and fortified with a double Laphroaig, I considered relaying to him the horrors that I had faced during my eventful night-time adventure. As I was about to begin, my colleague turned his face back from the roaring fire of his room and looked me directly in the face. It was at this point in time, I realised that the true horror was only just beginning. This was not my colleague that I was face to face with. The hideous face that still haunts dreams was none other than....

 

 

Mrs D. Urg 

[Decimus]

23 minutes ago, Quincy Cockfingers said:

Mrs D. Urg 

 

[Guest 'eavensabove]

1 minute ago, Decimus said:

 

Fangs, for that.

[camberwell gypsy]

1 hour ago, 'eavensabove said:

Fangs, for that.

I'm not getting involved in the stupid play on words crap. You can COUNT on that. 

[Eric Cuntman]

7 minutes ago, camberwell gypsy said:

I'm not getting involved in the stupid play on words crap. You can COUNT on that. 

I would STAKE my reputation on it.

[Guest 'eavensabove]

9 minutes ago, Eric Cuntman said:

I would STAKE my reputation on it.

BLOODY spoil sport.

[Eric Cuntman]

37 minutes ago, 'eavensabove said:

BLOODY spoil sport.

Don't be CROSS.

[scotty]

Coffin'. 

 

Panzerknacker

[Guest 'eavensabove]

11 hours ago, Eric Cuntman said:

Don't be CROSS.

She's trying to VAMP it up, that's all, You SUCKER. 

[Guest 'eavensabove]

10 hours ago, scotty said:

Coffin'. 

 

Panzerknacker

Where is the little paddy-feller?  He seems to have made a quick Brexit. 

[scotty]

5 hours ago, 'eavensabove said:

Where is the little paddy-feller?  He seems to have made a quick Brexit. 

Didn't roops whack him with the ban hammer? 

[Guest 'eavensabove]

1 hour ago, scotty said:

Didn't roops whack him with the ban hammer? 

I dunno what became of him.

If rumour is anything to go by, then he's currently camping in a Yurt on a roundabout in County Cork. 

[Guest judgetwi]

On 8/5/2018 at 9:32 PM, Decimus said:

Gather round fellow cunters, and make yourselves comfortable. Dim your lights, lock your doors and pour yourselves a large medicinal brandy.

What I am about to divulge has never been discussed outside of my inner circle through fear of being ridiculed by sceptical naysayers. But as the weather cools and the nights slowly begin to draw in, I feel that it is time to share the horrors that I once confronted during a cold foggy, and damp November evening whilst wandering the bleak fens of Norfolk in 2013.

Having attended a birthday of a colleague in a small hamlet just outside of Swaffham, I was dismayed to discover that the taxi I had ordered to take me to Norwich railway station at 11pm had failed to appear. Due to the complete lack of mobile phone coverage within the area, I was unable to call Mrs. D to mount a rescue mission, so began a five mile walk to the next village where a colleague was staying at a cosy local hostelry.

No sooner had I set out upon the narrow country lane which led toward my salvation, than a thick mist suddenly descended upon me, rendering my surroundings completely obscured beyond a radius of a mere four feet. Stumbling blindly along in eerie silence, I desperately attempted to grope my way towards civilisation as I suddenly became overcome with a feeling of existential dread. Within a minute of the fog cloaking my senses, I began to sense that I was not alone in my nocturnal journey. A slow, rhythmic breathing was ever present behind my right ear, deepening and becoming more ragged as I nervously increased my pace in an effort to escape the spectre that was stalking me.

As my own heart rate rapidly increased, I began to feel myself hyperventilating to the point that I had to stop my journey through fear of rendering myself unconscious and vulnerable to whatever was hunting me. After a brief two minute interlude where the only noise to break the sudden silence was the mournful hoot of a tawny owl, I began to run at full pelt, blindly crashing my way down the twisting lane that by now was completely cloaked by a veil of fridgid, ethereal vapour.

I eventually reached the safety of my colleague's lodgings, and fortified with a double Laphroaig, I considered relaying to him the horrors that I had faced during my eventful night-time adventure. As I was about to begin, my colleague turned his face back from the roaring fire of his room and looked me directly in the face. It was at this point in time, I realised that the true horror was only just beginning. This was not my colleague that I was face to face with. The hideous face that still haunts dreams was none other than....

 

 

Bullshit. Never happened.

[Jake The Muss]

Excellent, love to hear your rendition of the three billy goats gruff, maybe someone from the clique can give you a nosh for extra drama.

[Jiggerycock]

On ‎8‎/‎5‎/‎2018 at 9:32 PM, Decimus said:

Gather round fellow cunters, and make yourselves comfortable. Dim your lights, lock your doors and pour yourselves a large medicinal brandy.

What I am about to divulge has never been discussed outside of my inner circle through fear of being ridiculed by sceptical naysayers. But as the weather cools and the nights slowly begin to draw in, I feel that it is time to share the horrors that I once confronted during a cold foggy, and damp November evening whilst wandering the bleak fens of Norfolk in 2013.

Having attended a birthday of a colleague in a small hamlet just outside of Swaffham, I was dismayed to discover that the taxi I had ordered to take me to Norwich railway station at 11pm had failed to appear. Due to the complete lack of mobile phone coverage within the area, I was unable to call Mrs. D to mount a rescue mission, so began a five mile walk to the next village where a colleague was staying at a cosy local hostelry.

No sooner had I set out upon the narrow country lane which led toward my salvation, than a thick mist suddenly descended upon me, rendering my surroundings completely obscured beyond a radius of a mere four feet. Stumbling blindly along in eerie silence, I desperately attempted to grope my way towards civilisation as I suddenly became overcome with a feeling of existential dread. Within a minute of the fog cloaking my senses, I began to sense that I was not alone in my nocturnal journey. A slow, rhythmic breathing was ever present behind my right ear, deepening and becoming more ragged as I nervously increased my pace in an effort to escape the spectre that was stalking me.

As my own heart rate rapidly increased, I began to feel myself hyperventilating to the point that I had to stop my journey through fear of rendering myself unconscious and vulnerable to whatever was hunting me. After a brief two minute interlude where the only noise to break the sudden silence was the mournful hoot of a tawny owl, I began to run at full pelt, blindly crashing my way down the twisting lane that by now was completely cloaked by a veil of fridgid, ethereal vapour.

I eventually reached the safety of my colleague's lodgings, and fortified with a double Laphroaig, I considered relaying to him the horrors that I had faced during my eventful night-time adventure. As I was about to begin, my colleague turned his face back from the roaring fire of his room and looked me directly in the face. It was at this point in time, I realised that the true horror was only just beginning. This was not my colleague that I was face to face with. The hideous face that still haunts dreams was none other than....

 

 

Mrs D!

She'd come out to surprise you or spy on you (I didn't get the details - you know what the P.A can be like at these outdoor festivals) and she told me you'd done a fucking shit-ton of acid round your (imaginary) friends' house.

[Decimus]

9 minutes ago, Jiggerycock said:

Mrs D!

She'd come out to surprise you or spy on you (I didn't get the details - you know what the P.A can be like at these outdoor festivals) and she told me you'd done a fucking shit-ton of acid round your (imaginary) friends' house.

This is eerily quite close to the truth, Jiggeroony.

I used to be a regular worshipper of beak, numerous pills, barbiturates for comedowns, mushrooms and bog standard weed. Nowadays, the only drugs I regularly touch are my little paper Panda squares, you can't beat a bit of microdosing before a full council meeting or a parents evening.

[ratcum]

1 hour ago, Decimus said:

This is eerily quite close to the truth, Jiggeroony.

I used to be a regular worshipper of beak, numerous pills, barbiturates for comedowns, mushrooms and bog standard weed. Nowadays, the only drugs I regularly touch are my little paper Panda squares, you can't beat a bit of microdosing before a full council meeting or a parents evening.

Jiggeroony?

Jiggeroony?

Just how long have you two toffee jousters been an item then?

[Decimus]

18 minutes ago, ratcum said:

Jiggeroony?

Jiggeroony?

Just how long have you two toffee jousters been an item then?

I'm sweet on him, what of it?

Ordinarily I wouldn't look at another man, but your silence today regarding the earwigs shooting down one of Vlad's planes has left me feeling disenfranchised.

[scotty]

53 minutes ago, Decimus said:

I'm sweet on him, what of it?

Ordinarily I wouldn't look at another man, but your silence today regarding the earwigs shooting down one of Vlad's planes has left me feeling disenfranchised.

Rat has become a shadow of the man who routinely described his auntie Vi making abortions out of marigold gloves and firing them at the luftwaffe. It's tragic really, nowadays all he ever leaves behind him is a collection of wanky fonts and the bitter whiff of disappointment. 

[ratcum]

53 minutes ago, Decimus said:

I'm sweet on him, what of it?

Ordinarily I wouldn't look at another man, but your silence today regarding the earwigs shooting down one of Vlad's planes has left me feeling disenfranchised.

I was hoping Vlad would accidentally novichok the whole fuckin lot of them Deco. The sooner we admit the Russians are doing more to stop IS/ISIS/ISL/House of Frazer than we ever could, the better. Okay they're propping up kasbah rocker Assad, but that's better than Johnny extremist.