J.K. Rowling said that 65% of people in Britain are transgender. Where did she come up with that statistic?

Anyway, the germane point. The germane point to Sheffield having things other than a quite big railway (not train) station, that is, rather than the question, because by my rough count we are now about six hundred words into this and I’ve barely made a scratch on the question yet and I intend to drivel on like this for ages yet. Patience is a virtue. But then, according to the Romans, so was gravitas, and there’s precious little of that in this answer, so meh.

One of those two things isn’t the doors. Those glassy twats don’t stop the pigeons coming in. They aren’t going to stop anybody in a big ’n’ yellow Komatsu. The first problem is the stairs. Unless you only want to go to platform one, you’ve got to tackle the stairs up and the stairs down again to all the other platforms (bulldozers are a bit too big to get in the lifts). You’d have to be very good at driving your bulldozer not to topple it over, and there’s the weight issue; not being a civil engineer I can’t be absolutely sure about this but a back-of-the-fag-packet calculation suggests that those stairs won’t take the weight. The other thing is the policemen and women that are all over the place on a Saturday. There’s a contingent of British Transport Plods there all the time, since they’ve got a lair there, and if you hang about long enough you will see at least one person get a wigging or nicked for egregious mischief (which is fair enough, if you are stupid enough to indulge in egregious mischief under the very noses of the hordes of Plods then you are in fact a wee bit thick, and deserve it, and next time you’ll go somewhere they can’t see, won’t you?) but Sheffield has things other than a quite big railway station.

Last night was Saturday and I had the misfortune to have to go to work, because we haven’t all got nice little Monday-to-Friday here’s a wad of bunce for doing bugger all jobs, thank you, and on Saturday evenings Sheffield station gets peopley. If, like me, you have a vague contempt for humanity in general, it gets too peopley. If you get the feeling that the peopliness is so much that you’d prefer not to walk through Sheffield Station, then hard lines, because there are two things that will stop you.

If Delta Force soldiers wanted to form a criminal gang, how dangerous would they be with all their equipment (explosives, rifles, vests, night vision goggles)?

I doubt she did, because that would mean that out of every three people on Sheffield railway station two of them will either be a BIF (blokes in frocks) or a BIB (bints imitating blokes).

The red stripies and the blue stripies have a definite effect on Sheffield railway (not train) station on Saturdays, because although the British Transport Plods are still there, there are not nearly enough of them to deal with those who like to spectate cruelty to spheres, and those latter tend to get very yelly indeed. They start to yell at about ten in the morning, and stumble off to wherever they may have come from later in the evening, usually off their tits on the wares of the local hostelries. Which of course necessitates the drafting in of what seems like every member of South Yorkshire Constabulary to assist the British Transport Plods in their stopping of egregious mischief. Some are often on horses. I once saw what I thought was a troop of dragoons on Sheaf Street at the canter, but it turned out to be EquestriPlod obequitating their way to form a barrier at the end of the square. They were big horses, too, and a couple were being ridden by big women. You wouldn’t want one of those swimming up your arse, let me tell you.

I blame the EU. Ursula vagina Monologues.

Why don’t Jews regard Jesus as an important teacher or rabbi, if not the Messiah? Putting aside messianic claims, wouldn’t Jesus be one of the most significant Jewish teachers in human history?

So anyway, the wizard-woman. Don’t think she did. Not unless she’s gone potty……

Any road up, between the Transport and the South Yorkshire Plods, your chances of getting a bulldozer anywhere near bloody Burger King are remote on a Saturday afternoon. They’re on your case if you ride an electric scooter through the crowd. Your bloody Komatsu isn’t getting off Sheaf Square. Which brings me back to the BIFs and BIBs thing, for those of you who were wondering. It’s only taken about 1400 words.

Right. Sheffield. I know that you denizens of Nancyshire think that anywhere oop north is a wasteland where the only thing you’ll find is inbred cannibals leading whippets on a string but it’s not really like that. Well, there is a certain part of Barnsley that may be like that, yes, but it’s only a small enclave and easily avoidable, and the denizens appear only in daylight and don’t like to be more than a hundred feet from their off-licence, so no. Sheffield has lots of things. One of its universities is a Russell Group one (ooh, la-de-dah!). The other is what used to be the Poly but there we are, can’t win ’em all. Sheffield’s got museums by the bucketful. And a big art gallery. No, really. It’s where the library is. I once took the kid in there to get some culture other than that of Nintendo. There was a video of a Japanese bint poking a box in there. She really liked that box. She poked it here, she poked it there, she poked it every-bloody-where. The actual box she poked was in the middle of the floor. With a sign next to it saying “do not touch”. We assumed she couldn’t read English, then. Theatres? Got ’em in buckets. Currently if you want to you can go and watch The Vagina Monologues being done not only in spoken English but also in sign language for the deaf. If you want to, that is; I think I’ll just crank up Netflix and look at Deep Space Nine instead, thanks. There’s the Tree Place, the exhibition of Spoons (there’s knives and forks and scissors too but mainly spoons, so many spoons) that the SBT is obsessed with, and a dining quarter in which if I’m sure you looked far enough you’d find something where they serve the cuisine of the North Sentinel Islanders, and more Greggs shops than you can shake a sausage roll at (always a sign of civilisation). It’s also got football. Two of them. One of them goes up and down an oblong of grass wearing red stripy shirts, and the other goes up and down a different oblong of grass wearing blue stripy shirts. Unless they are pitted against each other in their sphere-abuse, in which case they run up and down the same oblong of grass, in different directions. In each case there is a sphere (as I have mentioned) involved which they have to kick, but I don’t know why. Like the certain area of Barnsley to which I have previously alluded, that is a culture I take pains from which to distance myself. Perhaps they just like kicking spheres.

What does it mean when your husband comments and likes other women on social media? He has private IG and TikTok accounts that I have no access to. He has saved videos and pictures of women on his phone.

There is generally speaking no difficulty telling amongst the several thousand hedonists that swarm the place at about half past six which are bintybirds and which are blokes. In the case of some of the bintybirds it is glaringly obvious that things are au naturel, as it were. And in one very special case where she fell over on her high heels, I, the taxi drivers, and the general public for twenty feet about were left in no doubt whatsoever.

Any road up to either the red or blue stripy people’s bit of grass, lots of people on Saturday pay an absolute fortune to watch either the red or blue stripy-shirted people kick their spheres. No really. The cost of a ticket to watch red or blue stripies kicking the sphere for ninety minutes is more than that to go and watch The Vagina Monologues for the same time, and in the latter they don’t even do a half-time where you can go and buy a pie.

An interlude here, methinks. RAILWAY station. Railway. Railway. Railway. It is not a train station. I don’t care what you think. Yes, it is a place where trains become stationary for a while. But whilst the trains become stationary they are doing it on the rails of the railway, unless of course something horrible has happened. Therefore it is a railway station. And yes I further know we have bus stations. That is because bus stations are, observation proves, populated quite often in the evenings by semi-literate winos who do not know any better. Railway stations they are then. And if I hear you say “Railroad station” I will assume that you are in fact a victim of American television programmes and will treat you as a babbling cretin, unless you are an American, in which case I will display sympathy because really you’ve suffered enough in life already. If you say “gare” of course I will assume that the baguettes and garlic have addled your brains, and if it’s Bahnhof I will inform you that the Spar next to the station do a nice wurst but you might be struggling to find sauerkraut. And that your chocolate is strange and disturbing, so try a Mars Bar, do.

Hello,hope y'all doin good, i came to Quora to share my strange story , a very weird one , a story when luck smiled at me ,maybe u will enjoy it , let's begin,have fun... A year ago ,I was a real porn addicted(btw I was 18) ,but never had sex before, I don't have a gf I didn't try to find one even ,always thinking to go to find a sex worker but then I just don't , everyday watching different bodies getting fucked and everyday enjoying. One day, I was watching porn, a big ass lady with big boobs ,just after seeing her the image of my female cousin poped in my mind, (let's introduce her : she's 35 years old , very big ass , nice boobs ,not very big but nice,always wearing tight clothes , she's divorced ) and I thought of me fucking her ,I never had sexual desires for her but now I do days went by and when I met her I was so horny ,I couldn't stay with the family cz my penis was clearly erected , I realized this is my first time I get horny for one of my family ,it not illegal in my country.well to make a long story short( if u want details just text me I will tell u 😊),I decided to give her signs that I want to fuck her,finally I decided to have sex and with my cousin , I thought it is the best beggining for me, i started touching her when I came across her in a narrow place , make her feel my hard cock when we hug , I thought it will hard and I will be ashamed but no , I felt nothing and she said nothing , probably she thought it was by mistake,anyways, I decided then to talk with her about sex, waited for her to be alone in a room and talk with her, I confessed everything about me watching porn and addicted..etc,she said it's normal and u are growing up and u must have sex,well at that time I was like whaaat????? Well I didn't control myself and asked her for sex ( horny like I Ve never been before) she said that she will think Abt it ,2 weeka went by then she called me ,telling that she reserved a room in a hotel and we meet tonight ,we met,and bruuhh, sex is great , I mean, I had to find a pirstitue ,what I was waiting for to have such a feeling ????, I will never forget that night, I started kissing her she was kissing hard ,she misses sex so bad , she sucked my dick and swallowed my semen ,I felt I'm in a dream , then when fucked ,her ass was very big and the anus was open ,didn't struggle to get my hard cock inside it , she was obviously missing sex , she was shouting ,fuck me yh fuck me , I go fast after every word until I cum , we did that 3 times , then we went to her pussy , using condoms I fucked her so hard the moans were higher , everything was perfect ,in the end I asked her to lick her body , licked pussy ,ass, boobs,then she sucked my cock until we sleeped ,all I know that she was dirty ,well before even having sex with her I knew she is an open minded woman , and a woman that looks that she donesnt know anything , but she knows everything, but never expected having sex with her ,well she was horny and that helped...but no one of us regretted that sex ever.. We still have sex from time to time ,and I started having sex with sex workers , joining threesomes..etc If u want pics of her text me.

Y’know how I said that the yelly sphere-abuse enthusiasts tend to bugger off late afternoon? Well, you get this point between about six and seven when the hedonists that like to partake of the grain and the grape start to make ingress whilst the yelly orb-bashers make egress. The hedonists like to dress in all the greatest finery Primark can provide (Sheffield Primark is huge; no, really, if there is a bigger Primark anywhere it’s probably been built in an old factory in which they used to make aeroplanes and there’s one at Meadowhall which is only slightly smaller.)