06-25-2015, 07:19 AM
This one brings back very fond memories of living in Scotland. Every sign seemed to have some sort of interesting addition.
Such as a stern reminder to bureaucrats to get their priorities right; (incidentally, if you're at work perhaps don't click this link as it contains some rather emotional, evocative language scrawled in large letters.)
http://www.bitterwallet.com/wp-content/u.../7o6sr.jpg
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer...
I remember we had frequent battles with the Edinburgh City Council, owing to the fact that our antiquarian bookshop (that I was freelancing in) had teddy bears nailed to the walls, a plank that dropped down like a guillotine, and an open radiator frequently placed on a pile of torn up pulp fiction. Also ladders and irritable poets everywhere. The particular beef of the Council was with the window, which, BIZARRELY for a bookshop had actual books in it. They maintained this was a health and safety concern, as the books might conceivably burst into flame under the focused beams of the sun. This was in Scotland. In the wettest city outside of Aberdeen. IN THE SHADOW OF A CASTLE.
The owner had us replace the books with tinfoil and stuck up a sign saying he'd fight the Queen, as she was the same age as him, and he could probably take her down if it came to a street fight.
Such as a stern reminder to bureaucrats to get their priorities right; (incidentally, if you're at work perhaps don't click this link as it contains some rather emotional, evocative language scrawled in large letters.)
http://www.bitterwallet.com/wp-content/u.../7o6sr.jpg
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer...
I remember we had frequent battles with the Edinburgh City Council, owing to the fact that our antiquarian bookshop (that I was freelancing in) had teddy bears nailed to the walls, a plank that dropped down like a guillotine, and an open radiator frequently placed on a pile of torn up pulp fiction. Also ladders and irritable poets everywhere. The particular beef of the Council was with the window, which, BIZARRELY for a bookshop had actual books in it. They maintained this was a health and safety concern, as the books might conceivably burst into flame under the focused beams of the sun. This was in Scotland. In the wettest city outside of Aberdeen. IN THE SHADOW OF A CASTLE.
The owner had us replace the books with tinfoil and stuck up a sign saying he'd fight the Queen, as she was the same age as him, and he could probably take her down if it came to a street fight.
"WHERE THE HELL'S MY PARACHUTE?"