Parsnip

Lovely steak and kidney pie and chips for me tonight!

What's that @Angry Ram? Something missing you say? Right you are sir...

What's that @Jourdan? Still something missing you say? Ok ok just for you..

Everyone happy now?

Lovely steak and kidney pie and chips for me tonight!

What's that @Angry Ram? Something missing you say? Right you are sir...

What's that @Jourdan? Still something missing you say? Ok ok just for you..

Everyone happy now?

Lovely steak and kidney pie and chips for me tonight!

What's that @Angry Ram? Something missing you say? Right you are sir...

What's that @Jourdan? Still something missing you say? Ok ok just for you..

Everyone happy now?

Lovely steak and kidney pie and chips for me tonight!

What's that @Angry Ram? Something missing you say? Right you are sir...

What's that @Jourdan? Still something missing you say? Ok ok just for you..

Everyone happy now?

Lovely steak and kidney pie and chips for me tonight!

What's that @Angry Ram? Something missing you say? Right you are sir...

What's that @Jourdan? Still something missing you say? Ok ok just for you..

Everyone happy now?

A woman goes to the funeral home to visit her late husband whose funeral is the next day.
Upon seeing the body, she says to the funeral director, “Oh, no, you've dressed him in a blue suit! He hated blue and I've given all his other suits to charity!”
The funeral director says, “I'm not sure what we can do at this late hour, but I'll see what I can do.”
The next day, the widow returns and asks if they had managed to sort things out and the undertaker says, “Well, as luck would have it a lady came in last night and said her husband was dressed in a grey suit and that he hated grey”.
“Oh good!”, says the lady.
”Yes”, replied the funeral director, “all we had to do was swap the heads”.

Can't wait for Spitting image tomorrow! 
Gove is a triumph.

Can't wait for Spitting image tomorrow! 
Gove is a triumph.

Can't wait for Spitting image tomorrow! 
Gove is a triumph.

That's not perfectly cooked. You've overcooked it. 

Have you considered perhaps you're the only one who can hear or see her?

I had something similar, 20 odd years ago. 
Kept getting cryptic notes pushed through the door every Wednesday, started off rambling nonsense, but gradually got more threatening. 
One day I happened to be home, heard the letterbox go and looked to see what it was, another note. Went outside to see what if anyone was around, but the street was deserted, it was snowing though so I could follow the footsteps which seemed to go next door, I'd never even seen who, if anyone, lived there.
Called the police, and a few days later they sent someone round. We showed him the notes we'd been sent and I told them I thought it may be next door. The coppers had a look, and said although the notes were disturbing there probably wasn't anything criminal about them. We agreed tbh, and they left us a card to contact them if it carried on. 
We woke up the next morning to another note 'Way too much paranoia, now you'll die'. Whoever was sending the notes was obviously close enough to be watching, which was a terrifying thought in your own home. 
Called the cops, who said it still probably didn't meet the threshold for intervention, and recommended I stay at home on a Wednesday and try to catch the person in the act.
We hatched a plan, my Brother in Law came over Tuesday night and stayed over, then Wednesday morning I'd make out I was taking the missus to work as normal, but park around the corner and sneak back into the flat via the back window.
The missus went to bed Tuesday night as normal, and between the two of us we did a large bottle of Bombay, for Dutch courage I suppose.
Everything went as planned Weds morning, apart from the massive hangover! 
I was sat waiting when the letterbox went, flung the door open and collared the bugger. It was the bloke next door.
His house alarm then triggered, and he begged me to let him switch it off, but I wanted the neighbours looking out on the commotion, and calling the police, even though my Bro was already on it.
We lived in maisonettes, us downstairs and him next door upstairs, so I pushed him back down the gap between the buildings and asked him WTF he was playing at?
I told him he'd put me and the missus through 6 months of misery, and the little swine smirked, so I smacked him one in the temple, not a proud moment.
He asked if he could get his cigarettes out of his inside jacket pocket, I didn't see no harm in that so let him. About 30 minutes later the police turned up, he immediately moaned I'd twatted him, which I denied despite the egg like lump on his head, and I explained my side of the story. Then the officers we'd spoke to previously turned up and took control of the situation, calmed him down and sat him in the back of the car, then went to turn his alarm off.
A few minutes later, the PC came to talk to me. While turning off the alarm, he'd taken a gander round the flat. The fella next door had pushed all his wardrobes against the windows, to keep the devil out, and had a wall decorated with pictures of me and the missus identifying us as evil with our eyes gouged out etc! We'd never even clapped eyes on him.
The PC explained that unless he agreed to be sectioned, he'd probably be home that night and we should stay alert, which frankly terrified us.
An hour later, we received a call from the same officer, who told us that when he was searched at the station they'd pulled out 6 butchers knifes from the same jacket pocket his cigarettes where in! On the plus side, this meant he would be unlikely released that evening, but he couldn't guarantee anything long term, and we should stay vigilant.
We didn't hear anything more from the police after that point, no statement taken or anything, so spent the next few days in fear of seeing a light on or movement next door. 
It was pure luck the missus mentioned it to a colleague at her work, who's husband was a high up in the force. Within a few hours, we'd found out he'd been sectioned for 28 days in a secure facility. Then a week later he took a bath with a plugged in iron, to bring the tale to a wretched conclusion.
Care in the community they called it, but he'd not received care for far too long.
For months later, I'd see him everywhere I looked, the same shock on his face that I'd hurt him, and feel the same disgust that I did all over again. 
A few months later we bumped into his parents clearing out the flat, a nodded head acknowledgement with no words, but I can still now see the fire in his mother's eyes as we crossed paths.
 

I have a rental property in Matlock and the downstairs neighbours are the vilest things I've ever known. He's like a cross between a dead gecko and Jimmy Saville, his hands are all gnarled and he has this broad Nottingham drawl. His wife is 3 feet tall, never speaks, just skulks behind his legs hissing. To be fair to her she does look like she's had a very hard life.
Every tenant I've ever had has left because of these creatures. I've had tenants call the police on several occasions but he's an ex copper himself so I think he knows what he can and can't get away with.
I had to tell the estate agent not to offer the flat to single women, people with children or anyone who seems in any way vulnerable because he'll just relentlessly bully them until they leave.
The saving grace is that my brother's marriage has broken down so he's in there for the foreseeable. Loves a good scrap he does.

Quite proud of myself here - took about 5 mins to prep and 40 in the oven... a honey, garlic, mustard, lemon, chicken and tater thing. Bloody nice that was.

Quite proud of myself here - took about 5 mins to prep and 40 in the oven... a honey, garlic, mustard, lemon, chicken and tater thing. Bloody nice that was.

Quite proud of myself here - took about 5 mins to prep and 40 in the oven... a honey, garlic, mustard, lemon, chicken and tater thing. Bloody nice that was.

Quite proud of myself here - took about 5 mins to prep and 40 in the oven... a honey, garlic, mustard, lemon, chicken and tater thing. Bloody nice that was.

Quite proud of myself here - took about 5 mins to prep and 40 in the oven... a honey, garlic, mustard, lemon, chicken and tater thing. Bloody nice that was.

This is about to become a steak sandwich. I'll fight any man, woman or child who says that's not a perfectly cooked piece of meat.

This is about to become a steak sandwich. I'll fight any man, woman or child who says that's not a perfectly cooked piece of meat.

I'll have a bit of that bait...Roll your sleeves up Beetroot...that's a little underdone for a sandwich.
I've had 5 fights this week and I'm due a win. 

Steve McClaren? I'll drive to Holland myself and deliver him directly to Moor Farm.
I'll also drive him back after a couple of months of his crap.
I love new manager days I do.

Steve McClaren is a beautiful dream that we don't deserve anymore