Done a madness
Fairs
Tart cart
The hurty bum
Bony and boobless
Pubes in exile
Hairy eyeballs
Scared mayonnaise
Showmance
Shit off a shovel
Handy carroll
Waft knickers
Knickery waft
Day dot
Own it with chest
Don’t deep it
Kiss was sick
Early doors
It’s half-monkey
It’s dead sore
Giving desperate
Insinuated them kisses
Kisses like a washing machine
I deeped it
It’s given me the ick
Wifed off
Super gassed
Million percent
Fire fits
My spleen is silent
Colour supplement piece glued into a scrapbook circa 1979 - the author is possibly Keith Waterhouse.
Attempts to put these prank tactics into practice - in the elevator at Dillons, in department stores - led to underwhelming results. Perhaps grown-ups instinctively tune out the prattlings of children. Perhaps we weren't good enough actors.
Conversely, eavesdropping rarely trawls up anything very startling or surreal.
rejected Daily Telegraph story phoned in from a regional stringer where it reached the copy-editing stage (my dad) but was deemed insufficiently newsworthy to go to press. Maybe on a slower news day? My father brought it home for our entertainment.
Daily Telegraph's equivalent of Page 3 in those days was not bare-chested young ladies but grisly stories - "boy's arm severed in elevator accident", that kind of thing. Maybe if the car had reversed and crushed a granny or smashed through someone's living room, the news item might have had legs.
