UKFF Heritage sites

[CleetusVanDamme]

11 minutes ago, Merzbow said:

The plaque at Coventry Central Library needs to be amended to include that it's where Hulkamaniafan's best posts were made.

I remember laughing at one of the mods here or TWCF describing him as "untraceable" because he kept switching computers there. He's tied with DrNo, who somehow couldn't be banned from the chatroom as the UKFF's most l33t hacker.

[Keith Houchen]

16 minutes ago, CleetusVanDamme said:

I remember laughing at one of the mods here or TWCF describing him as "untraceable" because he kept switching computers there. He's tied with DrNo, who somehow couldn't be banned from the chatroom as the UKFF's most l33t hacker.

I may be wrong here but I think Cov Library eventually firewalled TWCF. 

[Tim Healys Chutney Spoon]

Israel where SgtDucky went off to fight I believe 

[Fatty Facesitter]

Here is the bonus blog that nobody asked for, but where you may still be surprised to see what unfolds*...

                         

 

Spoiler

Chapter One

The annual UKFF Awards often bring back fond memories for long-time members. Spearheaded by forum icons like the venerable Frankie Crisp - this year complete with a welcome smattering of Alan Partridge puns - other noble posters like the great Harmonic Generator also contribute with updates to the pinned history section - our little corner of the internet wrestling community's Hall of Fame. 

 

Initially conceived by everyone's favourite feline from the East Riding of Yorkshire, tiger_rick, it contains a who's who of the great and the good of the forum's past, present and future. 

 

It's typically not the part of the forum you'd expect to learn something new. After all, that's what the 'Today I Learned' thread is for in off-topic. And yet it's this corner of our baffling, bonkers, brilliant board where I not only learned something new, but learned about something that hit close to home. 

 

The revelation came to me in the 2022 winner's thread, via the 'Best ongoing Gag' award. A total of 31.9% of the forum's membership voted for 'Two Months at McColl's'. McColl's - a retail group - had been suffering its fair share of issues in recent years, culminating with a Morrisons' takeover, a naming and shaming exercise from the government at the tail end of 2021, and stores being faced with multiple closures and conversions into 'Morrisons' Daily' outlets.

 

One naturally assumed the 'Two Months' gag was something related to this British retail institution. The same sort of knowing, respectful and slightly ironic nod you'd attribute to a legendary television detective like Jim Bergerac, or a Coronation Street icon like Kevin Webster or Mike Baldwin, or a 90's football stalwart like Ruel Fox or Carlton Palmer.

 

It wasn't until @Accident Prone asked for the source material that sparked the ongoing gag/gags - which @Keith Houchen then subsequently provided - that I realised the text had something of a unique origin. The text originated from the Two Sheds Review Blog, authored by Julian Radbourne. A site where the words on the page are highly regarded (well, by its own author) and also heavily scrutinised (by a large majority). A similar impact on the reader to, say, the bible.

 

Original blog: http://twoshedsreview.blogspot.com/2007/06/two-months-at-mccolls.html 

 

As I have done in the past with you all - like the time I told you I was actually a massive rail geek, or about that time I told you where I shat my pants in my partner's grandmother's garden in Portugal (you should see the flowers now. And how!) - I'll be open and honest with you all again here. Once it got recirculated here, I fully expected to read a short passage of the 'Two Months at McColl's' blog (or 'book' as North Norfolk's good ol' JR Julian Radbourne described it) for the purposes of satire and sarcasm. 

 

Oh, that dope, I thought. Who in their right mind would read or even write this? 

 

I also thought it would arm me with additional knowledge of where some of the gags specifically came from, i.e when Harmonic Generator mentioned the name of the Area Manager in the awards thread. I could join in, I thought to myself. I'll be in on the joke! Then when the latest McColl’s disaster is covered in the news, I can throw in a really funny zinger. After all, I need to up my game if I'm going to create another post-of-the-year quality entry, or compete with Ian for the Funniest Poster gong. 

 

What I tell you next might shock you - and that's not even a deliberate reference to the popular Partridge catchphrase. Not only did I read the initial chapter, but I also read the second. Then the third. The fourth. Even the fifth.

 

That's right - I read the entire blog post. Not only did I read all 6736 words, not only did I digest all 35,791 characters...but I actually enjoyed the blog. And not even in a 'this is so bad it's funny' sort of way. I mean it actually made me smile. 

 

After crying in my bathtub whilst setting my clothes on fire in disgust and confusion ala Ace Ventura, I paused for reflection. I came to the conclusion that the piece spoke to me on a couple of different levels - quite literally gripping me from the first paragraph. Bear in mind that before Accident Prone asked about the article, I had no idea about the origin story, the author or the setting. 

 

First, the location - Cromer. Gem of the glorious North Norfolk coast and an area where I've spent some of my happiest memories from my youth - a place I still visit every summer and go for a cheeky dip, swimming in perfect harmony with the famous 'Cromer Crabs' that colonise its waters. 

 

The second thing that grabbed me by the feels was JR's experience in general of working in a retail environment. I’ve never met the man and have never knowingly interacted with him online as fas as I can recall. Whilst I can't personally vouch for some of the working practices he outlined or his desire to build his career in said line of work, myself and many others can relate to working soul-destroying retail positions in a past life - some people reading this might still be doing just that, if not in retail then another noble profession which initially offered great promise, before sucking them into the daily grind filled with the stresses and strains of everyday corporate misery. 

 

The combination of the above, coupled with additional elements, would form a lethal cocktail for the artist formerly known as El Nicko Loco and Slick Dick Nick. An unshakeable feeling of morbid curiosity took hold of me - the same sort you'd get from scanning the aftermath of a car accident that you pass by on a motorway, or refreshing Ralphy's profile to see if he's responded to your motivational speech about becoming a better contributor to the forum and whether he'd flounced again or not (note - sadly he did). Or Googling the Bad Boys Wrestling company of UKFF Gold folklore to work out if it was an actual promotion or a just some elaborate, homoerotic hijinks. 

 

The other thing that gripped me was a sense of purpose. As a fellow East Anglian who was Norfolk'n good - who happened to be within striking distance of the story's setting upon learning of its true origin, I felt duty-bound to visit the scene of the crime. To find out answers to questions lingering in my innards. To find...not so much inner peace, but to find out what all the fuss was about. 

 

It didn't matter to me that the original blog didn't have the strongest narrative thread or perfect punctuation and grammar. This epilogue certainly doesn't possess either of those traits. 

 

But I knew what I had to do - I had to see it all for myself. I had to go to Mill Road, to the site of the old McColls, and to gain...closure!

Chapter Two
Cromer is situated an hour to the north of the city of Norwich. Twinned with Nidda in Germany and Crest in the South of France, the town straddles the North Sea and welcomes a healthy amount of tourists and second holiday-homers each year. While for those of you reading this on the glorious pages of the UKFF, Cromer may be synonymous with the often-ridiculed author who penned the blog, there's far more to it. Cromer and its surrounding areas are quaint, pleasant, traditional seaside towns with lots to offer their visitors. Whether it's tucking into a delightful chippy tea, or strolling through beautiful nature reserves, taking in an amateur theatre show, or disturbing the peace by drinking cans of lager under a staircase facing the beach and mocking the locals. 

My visit to Norfolk on that fateful weekend was already planned. In the 'Fine City' of Norwich, I visited Mother Facesitter for luncheon, before going suit shopping with Brother Facesitter so we could pick out some sick threads ahead of his wedding in the summer (author's note - not to a relative, before you ask), before engaging in some low-key evening drinks with some of the wedding party as a bit of a 'meet and greet' between two different circles of his nearest and dearest. It was a gay old time in both the old sense of the word - akin to the lyric from the Flintstones intro - and in the literal sense, for my fabulous brother is a proud member of team LGBT. 

 

Today, I live in London. This is important for context - remember I told you Cromer was an hour north of Norwich. Well Norwich is just over two hours northeast of London. This meant I had to hastily rearrange my itinerary - I'd have to factor in an additional two hours of driving on the day I was due to return to the capital in order to complete the round trip to the coast. Fine, I thought - I'll stop by a couple of other spots on the way and have a little stroll along the beach in nearby Sheringham, or make a brief pit-stop at the famous Weybourne Windmill (author's note - I've once used this as a euphemism for my member during coitus with Mrs Facesitter. I regret to inform you that the actual Weybourne Windmill is a far more impressive sight). 

 

But with cloudy skies and a chilly temperature to contend with in January, there were numerous moments during the drive down to Costa del Cromer where I thought to myself...What the fuck am I doing? Why in the good lord's name am I driving for an extra two hours for a round trip to somewhere that will no doubt be bloody freezing, out of season, all to see if there's still the equivalent of a fucking village shop there? 

 

What exactly did I expect to find? Per Radbourne's closing remarks, I already knew it wouldn't be a McColl's - we've got Jon Rundell to thank for that. Was this completely unnecessary trip really worth it, all just to take a quick photo from outside the building to get a few likes on a fucking wrestling message board that pre-dates the likes of Reddit, and even fucking MySpace? 

 

Luckily, I needn't have worried. the trip was totally worth it. 

 

Despite this modern era where entertainment and products for human consumption are conveniently portable in your own pocket and a world of possibilities is at reach with a mere flick of one's fingertips, I was absolutely delighted to discover on arrival that Cromer was in fine fettle, and indeed rather busy. 

 

By the time I'd found a parking space, a few clouds had parted. Braving the harsh sea breeze, many day-trippers, families, dog walkers and hardy locals merrily sauntered up and down the seafront.

 

A local fish and chip establishment looked absolutely rammed, both in the takeaway section and certainly within its main restaurant area which overlooks the sea. The arcades with their 8-bit soundtracks chimed away as visitors took in such electronic pleasures as the 2P machines, or the likes of the Deal or No Deal machine, complete with its own red seat and 26 different buttons and the cosmic presence of Noel Edmonds watching your every move (his face was part of the branding). A couple of twitchers (bird-watchers) stood side-by-side with their binoculars out close to the world-famous Cromer Pier (as seen in the motion-picture Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa and the student production of 'The Pier' by a young Fatty Facesitter in his formative years). Dogs sprinted with a charming sense of pure delirium and tail-wagging ecstasy chasing tennis balls lobbed by their owners on the beach itself. 

 

A broad smile festooned my boat race - it brought back so many happy memories of my youth. As this was a mission dictated by my membership of this forum, it also made me think of our own author extraordinaire Stuart Millard (@Astro Hollywood) and his wonderful Beach Diaries scribblings from his trips to Littlehampton - all timeless reads (note - genuinely, absolutely brilliant. Go read them if you haven't already). I couldn't help but wonder what he'd make of the comparisons between the two places and what oddities he'd pick up and articulate far more eloquently with his wonderful sense of humour than I'm doing here - would he unearth Cromer's equivalent of Big Shirtless Ron for instance?

 

I took a couple of quick snaps, then spent the next few moments wandering around waving my phone in the air like a complete ponce trying to get enough bars of signal to pinpoint where the former McColls would have been on Google Maps. Foolishly, I thought I had previously visited the establishment multiple times in my youth - however, I now believe I had mistaken this for another newsagent altogether in the town. What's more, is that I'd also mistaken the location of Mill Road - having sworn that it was closer to the still-open Cromer Beach railway station just a short walk to the edge of the town centre, I discovered that the actual Mill Road was actually much further south, and a good couple of miles inland from my current location. No wonder McColl's struggled for trade - it was so far away from the hustle and bustle of the town centre and where most of the populous would frequent. 

 

I returned to my car (author's note - sadly not a Lotus to complete the Norfolk stereotype, or a Lexus to complete the Partridge lifestyle) and finally headed to the source of inspiration for Radbourne's tale of woe. 

 

 

Chapter Three

Due to a road closure, I had to take a slight detour to the southern portal of Mill Road. I parked up and started to wander on foot. A quaint but lovingly maintained church sits at the road's southern end, with some additional construction being attended to at its rear. The houses along this area clearly had good owners - the front gardens and general foliage were very nicely maintained. A park - which I believe might be by the site of the Great Eastern Railway's Cromer High station that Julian references in his opening paragraph - is a short walk for local families that reside here. 

 

Then, I finally see it. This must be the place - the postcode and address match up to what Google Maps is telling me, therefore it must be true.

 

According to JR, Mill Road had been blessed with a paper shop since the 1920s. I'm pleased to report that despite the trials and tribulations of McColl's, more than a century later…IT STILL DOES!

 

 

As I indicated previously, I wasn't exactly sure what I was expecting to see. After all, when you look at the picture of the disused McColl's shop front in the original blog entry, it seemed to be in a sorry state. 

 

To my amazement, the new establishment, christened as a 'OneStop' in its latest rebirth, actually looked...quite nice! 

 

Two extensions have been built since the 2000s. The first, under the ownership of SPAR and then Londis, covered up the previous front of the building and allowed for more room for additional shopping amenities. The second extension - much more recent - expands the front of the shop further. More developments to the layout have apparently taken place within, now neatly integrated with the Post Office to form a sort of super-hub for the locals. 

 

I venture inside. The flooring - whilst not exactly as exotic or as unique as a Wetherspoons carpet - is perfectly clean. The shelves are neatly positioned and the stock is nicely merchandised (retail speak for how the stock looks as customers face it, i.e everything is neatly brought forward to the front of the shelves). You can buy all the sort of everyday tat you'd need to survive in the wilderness, from cutlery to pet food, from bathroom amenities to frozen grub, from coffee to ice cream. From stationery to paintbrushes. From biscuits to toys for children. And - albeit slightly bare upon my Sunday afternoon visit - papers! And even magazines!

 

 

One item in particular piques my interest - it's the latest edition of the Premier League's Panini sticker album. The same album I will have purchased multiple times as a young lad and in shops just like this one, during seaside trips to the same vicinity, and probably the same kind of publication that Radbourne himself would have bought along with the Roy of the Rovers comics in his youth. I buy it, along with a couple of additional sticker packs. It'll be a laugh for the office to all try and complete together, I thought. I also grab a fizzy drink, some crisps and a copy of Rail Express (fitting given the area's links to the long closed station). After all, it would be rude not to actually come all this way to take a couple of daft photos and not actually buy something. 

 

I head towards the counter, wondering what colourful characters I might meet behind the till or stocking the nearby shelves. There are two members of staff on duty - a young woman with a pleasant smile filling up the drinks aisle, navigating several unopened heavy delivery boxes, and yet attending to her task with zero fuss and a calming practicality. A slightly older lady is ready and waiting to greet me at the till...incredibly, I think her name was actually Julie, though her nametag was partially obscured by her cardigan. How appropriate that a similarly-named staff member still worked in the paper shop! 

 

I cast my mind back to some of Julian's passages in the blog about the people he'd worked with and the state he felt the shop was in, both in terms of the aesthetics and the day-to-day operations. Assuming he still lives in the area, I wonder what he makes of the site today - presented with bright yet inoffensive branding, functioning like a well-oiled machine and with two members of staff who offered both efficiency and warm pleasantries, to the customers and to one another.

 

I hate shopping in general - I find it boring, mundane and I can't wait to get my shit and get out. I had none of those misgivings or urges to moan here. I considered leaving a positive review on Trip Advisor. 

 

I spoke to Julie (if that is even her real name), secretly doing some undercover investigative journalism. "Sorry to bother you, do you know what this shop used to be?" I asked innocently. I said I used to visit as a youngster but couldn't remember what it was called. A jovial Julie, speaking in that homely Norfolk twang, replied "I've not been here long, but I think it used to be a Londis, than a SPAR. The Post Office has been here a while I think! Thas' £8.95 please darlin', tha's smashing thanks love. Have a bootiful day!"

 

Interesting - it seems other business ventures have tried to make a success of this property since McColl's ceased operations. Perhaps the Post Office element is the one constant that keeps people flocking back, be they customers or business owners. 
 

I walk out and take a couple of photos, trying to do so on the sly so as not to look too much like an oddball (as if this wasn't enough of a fucking act of complete lunacy in the first place). I notice a hairdresser's directly opposite - it looks quite new and is clearly another property in the area that has been tastefully renovated. 

 

I return to my car and head north up the rest of the road - it's longer than I'd expected it to be. Two more cool discoveries present themselves to me - on the right is a local hospital - the buildings look virtually new. It has a huge MacMillan centre. I pause and think about how great it is that an area so near and dear to me has a potential lifeline of a facility like this which is much closer to home than the main hospital in the city. I have absolutely no idea about patient numbers or success rates, but it certainly looked the part. 

To my left, and keeping firmly on brand for off-topic - though I fear I may temporarily lose the interest of our magnificent moderator Chest Rockwell for a moment (if indeed anyone is mad enough to still be reading this absolute gibberish I'm spouting) - a football club! Wait, what's this...TWO football clubs?!

 

I roll into Cabbell Park - which is apparently Norfolk's equivalent of Milan's San Siro. A sign indicates that Cabbell Park is the home of Cromer United AND Cromer Town Football Club. My mind races as I try to pull slyly into the car park which faces the pitch, as a training session appears to be taking place (judging by the lack of energy, the team training were either just about to start, just about to finish, or they may not have been training at all and were just having a Sunday afternoon kickabout). Why are there two teams here? Are they rivals? Can they coexist? Is it a spicy rivalry aka the Milan derby? Do they contest El Crabbico?

 

Like a spy under the gainful employment of Marcelo Bielsa, I grab a distant snap of the session and make haste, passing the clubhouse and bar (there are no stands - only railings and no cover for the home faithful), turning left out of the ground, out to the junction and away from Mill Road. Mission complete, I think to myself. 

 

So many things were swirling around my noggin as I made a course back along the A140. First of all, I couldn't believe that a seemingly random street in a sleepy part of the town - made infamous by Julian's blog - actually seemed to have lots going on. All positive too. The expanded paper shop was one thing, but the brand new hairdressers, the Church that appeared to be getting restored (which shows the local community must value it), the football ground which was actively being used during my visit, and the big, shiny new hospital complex were unexpected delights. Not just because they existed, but because they were mostly either new ventures or entities actively being invested in with the potential for future growth. 

 

Overall, I found it quite remarkable. For Julian, someone with an interest in writing and someone who I naturally assume is passionate about his local area, there are so many interesting things that he could have written about regarding Mill Road, when apparently the former McColl's newsagents wasn't even the most notable part of that very street. There must be so many interesting tales waiting to be told about the football clubs (more on this in a bit), or success stories of loved ones getting better as a result of the care given at the nearby hospital. 

 

I kept asking myself what he'd make of it all now. I keep thinking about asking him directly via social media - though I'd be mindful he'd think it was all an elaborate exercise to take the piss and personally attack him - I'm hoping that's now how this entry has come across. Also, it is a bit weird, stalking an old poster's former haunts, isn't it? The more I think of it, it's all a bit worrying. 

 

I make a quick pit stop back at Brother Facesitter's gaff, treating it as if it were a humble service station, urinating all over his toilet seat on the count of terrible aim, before grabbing a sandwich and heading back on the open road returning to the capital. 

 

 

Chapter Four

I return to my base in London and greet my dearly beloved. "You took your time!" Mrs Facesitter remarked as I walked through the door (not the first time she's mentioned this, in truth). Mrs Facesitter knows about 'the forum' and even about my alias - she thinks it's all jolly good fun. I didn't heave the heart to tell her that this is the reason I was late. How could I look at her with a straight face and tell her about a sneaky trip to a random street just to take some photos of a corner shop? Granted, I engaged in other activities before and after my visit to that particular corner of North Norfolk, but it all felt like it would be too complicated to properly convey to her. I'm still trying to figure out what the hell possessed me to go in the first place - I'm questioning this very post as I type it, let alone the trip itself. 

 

I airdrop the pictures I've taken onto to my computer. It takes a bastard age for the devices to recognise each other and connect - I have to restart the transfers multiple times and it's far more painful than it should be. I've been driving for hours, all in the name of this absolutely stark raving mad pursuit of something so ridiculous, I'm tired and ratty. Finally, the pictures transfer. 

 

I load up the original Two Months at McColl's blog post from Julian's site, using it as a guide to make notes about what I might post on the forum. As I'm reading it back, I catch a line in the second chapter that confuses me slightly. It's a reference to an employee called Rob, who failed to make a financial transaction at 'the post office over the road' according to Radbourne. Over the road? That can't be right - the post office desk sits within the shop as part of the last extension that was built. It's a combined entity. 

 

I loaded up Google Maps to check I wasn't going completely loopy (far too late at this point) when a maddening thought pierced my brain like a lightning bolt. Hang on a minute, I say to myself...

 

I hastily check the front of the building opposite the One Stop outlet. You'll recall earlier in this post that I mentioned that an adjacent property had been renovated and turned into a hairdresser's. I did get a picture of it, but on the other side of it via the next road. I load up the original cover art for Julian's blog post and line it up with the Mab-style side-on picture I'd taken earlier. It doesn't appear to be a direct match and I thought for a split second that, despite my moment of panic, I hadn't just made a massive balls up. 

 

Then, I went back to Google Maps and inspected the Mill Road side of the building. I looked at the layout of the doors and the windows. It isn't a direct match - the window to the right of the door is missing. But then my worst fears are realised - underneath left window pane, I spot the same cream-coloured hatch from the blog photo. The black drainage pipe design is also a direct match. 

 

I hadn't been to the former McColl's at all. It had been directly opposite me that whole time. The HAIRDRESSER'S is the former McColl's, not the One Stop! 

 

My head collapses into my hands. I realised there and then that I'd just driven all that way and back in the pursuit of a ridiculous and utterly nonsensical mission to grab a historical record of a UKFF heritage site, only to visit the wrong establishment and fail to even grab a picture of the old front of the store I was actually supposed to track down. A sense of shame, disbelief and embarrassment overpowers me - think of the scene in Johnny English where he infiltrates what he thinks is a criminal lair, but is actually a hospital building, and he only realises when he sees his spy colleague waving at him from the other building, before pretending it was a drill and heading outside before he cries out 'Oh Goooooooood!' (https://youtu.be/n2ZTA_CN60s) - this was essentially my reaction. I had one job, and I'd fucked it. What a monumentally stupid twattock I am. 

 

I try to recover. An easy mistake to make, I tell myself. The address is virtually the same and it was the only paper shop on the road that existed. I read the original blog post again to check that I hadn't made any other glaring errors. I put the laptop down, go to the loo, and laugh in embarrassment at the five-star dickhead that I see before me in the mirror. 

 

 

Chapter Five (the actual epilogue)

It's Monday. I wake up and start typing up the nonsense you're currently reading. Though I still couldn’t believe my stupidity, the truth is I'd had a whale of a time. Remember, I'd already had a fantastic weekend seeing family, and I'd enjoyed my secret rendezvous to some of my favourite spots on the coast even without the visit to Mill Road. 

 

I started reading up on the sites I'd taken in and doing some additional research. Cromer United and Cromer Town are infact now one entity - the club is formed of a combination of a couple of old mergers of other local clubs. Cromer Town F.C currently play in the highly prestigious North East Norfolk League Division One - they sit in the top four places as I type this entry in January 2023. In a neat discovery, I found out that the ground itself is essentially a war memorial - it was named after Mrs Bond-Cabbell, who donated the land to the town in honour of the Cromer residents who passed away during the First World War. A memorial plaque - another thing I didn't snap - has recently been reinstated. It's hosted local football since 1922. 

 

Another lovely story comes from the Cromer & District Hospital - a new cafe has recently opened there which also acts a community hub, whether you're a patient at the hospital itself or just a regular Joe. All proceeds go directly back into the hospital and funding various good causes within it. 

 

The site of the former McColl's - now the Harmony Hair and Beauty Salon - opened nine years ago in 2014 and appears to have gone from strength to strength. The owner had completely renovated the former McColl's site which had long since been derelict. Although I failed to get a picture of the old McColl’s entrance, you can easily view this for yourselves on Google maps (I think it might be where they also live, hence I haven’t shared the photo of what might be the bedroom window and thus completing the transition into warped territory. 

 

I didn't find any additional info about the One Stop, the post office or the church I'd spotted when I first rolled onto Mill Road - but at this point I've written what feels like a dissertation about this sodding place - I don't need to mention anything else about them other than I wish all of the respective patrons well and I look forward to checking in once in a while to see how it's all getting on. 

 

Julian Radbourne was 34 at the time he wrote the now-fabled Two Months article in 2007. Fast forward to 2023, and I'm 34 myself. Should he be unfortunate enough to hear or read about this post, I want him to know that my intention wasn't to take the piss out of him directly. I genuinely wish him well, and I even want to thank him. Because while a random blog post created 14 years ago may have raised some eyebrows, it's raised at least one person's spirits too. Namely my own. It’s just a shame he had such a crap experience here and that’s the only story he wrote about - when actually there’s some many lovely stories waiting to be told from this area of great importance. Importance to its patrons, Cromer at large and, of all things, a fucking wrestling message board. 

 

**END**

 

(Note - I have spoiler tagged the above so it doesn't eat up scrolling space when you first click!)

(*Apologies - this is much longer than I anticipated it would be when I first started typing it. But it was quiet at work, I started writing and couldn't stop)

Edited February 1, 2023 by Fatty Facesitter
Forgot to add a key section about taking an initial photo of the new hairdressers from the wrong side

[Lion_of_the_Midlands]

That is a sensational piece of work @Fatty Facesitterand it is that sort of dedication that makes this forum what it is today. Full of the loveliest crackpots you could ever wish to meet. 

[DavidB6937]

Fucking hell. What a post. And now I want to go back to Cromer. Luckily I live in Ipswich so not a terribly bad trip. Its definitely going on the list for this year!

[Onyx2]

Two years running this toerag ties up post of the year in January. The nerve of some people! 

[Tommy!]

I'm not looking forward to next installment where he visits the house two sheds got caught wanking over a sleeping wrestler for a memorial tug. 

 

*Allegedly

Edited January 31, 2023 by Tommy!
Hislop Defence

[HarmonicGenerator]

That’s phenomenal, @Fatty Facesitter. Chapter 4 genuinely had me on the edge of my seat but I’m glad it ended the way it did.

[Gus Mears]

Could bring a tear to a glass eye. Sometimes it's not about whether you make it to McColl's or not, it's about the corner shops you visit on the way.

[CAREBEAR LUVVA]

Here's one:

Harehills Working Men's Club, the supremely glamorous site of Pie & Peas Mania (AKA LPW Nemesis: A Real Treat).

[ReturnOfTheMack]

Incredible! One of the best things I have read in ages.

[Jazzy G]

What an amazing piece of writing @Fatty Facesitter. 

[Accident Prone]

Feels like a proper pandemic UKFF year when we've already got the POTY award sewn up by January 31st. Excellent, incredible work @Fatty Facesitter! Above and fucking beyond.

[Carbomb]

Facesitter's the new "solid veteran" of the forum - that post is his 2nd HBK/Taker WM match. Can't wait for the next two years, when he does HHH/Taker 2 and HHH/Taker III.

It's also reminded me of something from back in the day, on the old Real In Memphis forum, when Radbourne had incurred a lot of bad feeling, accusing @Astro Hollywood of costing him a lucrative deal with Silver Vision as a reviewer, then refusing to back it up. @JNLister pointed out that JR was touting himself as "Cromer's No.1 Wrestling Journalist", which, to be fair, is a reasonable bar to aim for - except that there was another, bigger name journalist in wrestling who, it turned out, was from Cromer. 

Then there was the infamous poem from Hurtado, the penis wig, and Astro calling JR an "absolute wretch", which has long since been a staple of my own vocabulary.

EDIT: Been trying to remember Hurtado's poem, and I think it was something like:

"TwoSheds, TwoSheds, woe is me
Got no deal from Sky TV
Later I'll do a big jobee
Cock in my hand."

Edited February 1, 2023 by Carbomb