And it really did snow that year...

Some years ago, long before the 'globule worming'/'clumit chinge' scam started, (to make lots of people  very, very rich at the British Citizen's expense) Scrobs was working for a great company in London! This was the London of the nineteen-eighties, when it was a vibrant capital city, full of promise, and, business prospects were damned good! Sadly that's all changed now, but as I've vowed never to go there again, I'm not all that bothered!

But, because our construction prospects were very positive, my people were enjoying a huge bonus and we expanded our generosity to delivering - by car and hand - some Christmas Hampers to valued clients! We usually took these to their private addresses, as to wander into an office with such a huge, rustling and clinking gift might have caused some jealousy, even outrage and physical harm, so I obtained everyone's home address, and we all set off in different directions, a day or so before the big day!

Everything went swimmingly up to Christmas Eve, and I had one last hamper to deliver, to an address, which I mistook on my ancient A-Z as North East London,  and on arrival at the road, discovered nobody had ever heard of the actual house! After some frantic phone calls in a freezing phone box, I then discovered that the house was in fact, far out in Essex, on the North Sea coast, not far from Norway or somewhere even colder...

What I haven't mentioned, is that a few days before, there had been a Mother of snowstorms, and parts of the country were seriously snowed in, with many roads impassable! I had only really been delivering in London and the suburbs, and this was a bit of a concern, as Essex had really taken the brunt of the storm, and it was the middle of the afternoon...

So, the Scrobmobile was pointed East, and as the extremities of East London vanished in the rear mirror, so the snowdrifts were piling higher and higher, all along the A12...

I won't say I started to panic, because I could have turned round, but loyalty to one's friend and business contact made my decision to press on a bit of a challenge, and anyway the roads didn't look all that bad!

And it was true! Essex County Council had done a superb job in clearing all the snow from the carriageway - there was some cautious driving needed of course, and I still remember seeing drifts over six ft. high on both sides of the car! The only issue which kept niggling me, was that IF, anything had gone wrong, I'd not be home in time for Christmas the following day...

And that became more of a worry as the A12 finished, and the by-roads began!

Hmmmm...

My friend's address seemed a long way off, but I thank him to this day, for living in a very smart village, with a recognisable road name, a decent house name, and a cleared drive, all ready for me to ring the bell! I've liked East Essex ever since!

The trip back was one of little adventure, the Santa bit had been accomplished, and all I had to do was negotiate the Dartford Tunnel, (this was 1983 - no bridge), and be home in time for the big day!

The sad loss of Chris Rea has subliminally reminded me of this quite nerve-wracking trip, hence the song at the beginning! RIP.

May I wish everyone who visits here, a very Happy Christmas, and a Prosperous New Year - and thank you for all your kind comments!

Retail threnody...

It's the time of year when the disasters of the season manifest themselves in clearing every supermarket shelf of dubious spices and concoctions, foreign-sounding meat items, cheese from a species of Bulgarian sheep, and a lorry load of disliked Brussels sprouts...

I also have a fear of running out of washing-up liquid around now, and am unable to describe this syndrome - but it is already affecting me more than somewhat!

Choosing a bottle of brandy is always a pleasure, and spending ages peering at the bottom shelf in Waitrose is a worthwhile and pleasurable occupation, but what makes such a decision rely on the Poirot-style inspection of the whole shelf, the eventual choice, and somehow, without looking, a different bottle is picked up, with hardly a glance, and placed lovingly in the trolley? The same happened the other day with some sort of flavoured olive oil!

I am just thirty pounds short of my budget already, and it's still only half-way through December...

Fleet Foxes on The Medway...

Last week, Scrobs had the pleasure - and the enjoyment of such huge fun - of joining in with the Grandchildren's Carol Concert in Tonbridge!

The church was packed, and the singing and musical extravaganza was so utterly rewarding, as well as a marvellous celebration of our great British Christian Society!

There was a long programme of pieces, some singing, some old favourites, like 'The Snowman', (the Daughters excelled in the descant of 'Come all ye Faithful', a trait instilled by their fabulous music teacher all those years ago), and my eldest Grand daughter was playing in her first ever flute concert!

One  act also jumped out. It was a performance - with additional actions of a song I'd never heard of, and here is the original version played and sung by Fleet Foxes...

And here is a version which the older girls and boys presented with such fantastic skill and enjoyable excitement as their movements and singing just rang through the church!

I don't remember ever hearing such beautiful music performed by so many gorgeous, talented girls and boys!

Why we need juries...

Some time ago, 1989 to be exact, we were moving house to 'The Turrets', and while the days were fraught with packing-up and the normal stress one had, even back then, with changing the family life forever, we sometimes collapsed in front of the TV by late evening, usually with a tincture!

One particular programme jumped out from the screen and caught our imagination, and also concentration and delight at such superb stories and great acting, that we vowed that when we'd settled in, we'd revisit the series again!

But we'd packed the VCR...

Since then I've tried to get hold of reasonably priced copies, and had very little luck - in fact none at all!

But I've found the b*****d! At long last!

I watched the first episode just last evening, and it is still as fabulous as it was when we first watched it all those years ago!

When the episode had finished, I looked online to get more information, as Jonathan Hyde's acting describes an incredibly good barrister in the part, he is brilliant, but I didn't realise that his wife is Isobel Buchanan, who also sings one of my most favourite choral pieces by Duncan Browne...

I had managed to record the ending theme music from an old library cassette once, and was disappointed at the quality of course - I think I've mentioned this before somewhere, and here it is again in better condition... 

The whole programme was made back before the BBC manipulated their programmes with curious DEI interference, and they probably couldn't replicate the true stories today, but there again, they'd not even try with a certain Mr Lammy fiddling around with stopping juries altogether...

There's a lot of info on Edward Marshall Hall online, but with the combination of the actor, and the gorgeous singing, I'm rationing each programme to one a night, otherwise I'll never get to my bed...

Ode to Rachel...

Tax his land, Tax his bed, Tax the table, at which he’s fed. 

Tax his tractor, Tax his mule, Teach him taxes are the rule. 

Tax his work, Tax his pay - he works for peanuts anyway!

 

Tax his cow, Tax his goat, Tax his trousers, Tax his coat.

 

Tax his ties, Tax his shirt, Tax his work and Tax his dirt. 

Tax his tobacco, Tax his drink, Tax him if he tries to think. 

Tax his cigars, Tax his beers, If he cries then Tax his tears. 

Tax his car, Tax his gas, find any way to tax his ass! 

Tax him more, then let him know 

That you won’t be done 'til he has no dough

When he screams and when he hollers;

 

Then tax him more, take all his dollars

 

Then tax his coffin, Tax his grave, Tax the sod in which he’s laid… 

Put these words upon his tomb: ‘Taxes drove me to my doom…’

When he’s gone, do not relax, It’s time to apply Inheritance Tax!

(h/t WWFC)

'The Bugle' cocks it up...

As to be expected, there was uproar at the Sodden Prickney Village Council meeting last Thursday, when it was discovered that an article in The Bugle had been altered to give a completely different interpretation of Cllr Basil Kalashnikov's address at the village fete, back in the Summer.

What was printed, was under the heading, 'Bollocks to the Sods', where in fact, what he'd actually said, was, 'Both Councillor Baggage and I are happy to introduce  new reports on the local football team in the village, which is known colloquially to many as 'The Sods'. The village purchase of the strip will include boots and lots of socks!

PC Lumbersnatch has been informed, but as he is away having a 'gentleman's inconvenience' operation, there is some delay, not to say confusion, as to why the interference in the actual oration by Cllr Kalashnikov was actually mis-reported, so a committee, consisting of Cllrs Molestrangler, Newt, Iodine, Flange, D'Artagnan-Minge, Trumpet and Groat has been assembled to get to the bottom of the issue, or  rather just above the hem of Edwina Baggage's Janet Regers! 

Cllr Baggage has been summoned to the council to explain the reasons why her reporting was so blatantly 'bicyclist', and how on earth the mistake had been made, when both Ms Baggage and her Editor, Wing Commander Largely-Knobbs RAF (Retd.), are keen protaganists of the sport, which also entails several measures of Glenmorangie before the event, and a Castella afterwards! The date for the dressing-down has not been set yet, as the committee has decided to do more investigation, possibly because Cllr Baggage refuses to listen to anyone who even mentions the obfuscation, and therefore, nobody will probably ever be responsible for a satisfactory outcome of what has been unequivocal pandemonium in the tangible microcosm of such a small village!

Old Hackney 'post'...

This is all explained in detail in the main story, and a bit of a shocker, but the few pics here describe another time pretty well...

https://spitalfieldslife.com/2018/05/25/the-hackney-whipping-post-x/

In the comments, 1962 was mentioned as the last time it was used, so all I can say is 'Hellfire'...

H/T Spitalfields Life