Tales from Christmases past...

 

The annual trek to the attic, to collect up all the Christmas decs which were chucked up at the end of last year, and cart them down the ladder to display yet again, has started in earnest!

This year is going to be very different, with Scrobs acting solo, after my dear Senora popped off in the Summer, but between me and the Houndess, we're going to light up the rooms and blaze away, as The Senora would have threatened me with all sorts of torture, if  I didn't, and loss of tinctures was always going to be at the top of the list!

We've only been here in The Turrets for about thirty-five years, but the amount of clobber which accumulates in the attic still seems to grow, witout any rhyme or reason, and of course, there is always something up there, which you just cannot throw away!

Here in the pic, are two Christmas albums I was given nearly seventy years ago! The Brer Rabbit book came from my dear sister, who was about eleven or twelve then, and still going strong! I was an avid fan of Brer Rabbit, and the stories were all informative, fabled and easy for young impressionable children  to read and admire! I would have been seven then...

The Kit Carson album of  1956, arrived when we'd all moved to the new house that dad had bult built. It would have been our second Christmas there, and I was well into owning several cap guns, dad's old army bush hat, holsters made from cardboard, and all the paraphernalia that comes with being a cool cowboy! (Come to think of it, that was quite a change from the other book in just two years, but we all grew up playing outside, getting muddy and driving wooden carts around the woods back then, and life in the lanes and fields was a necessity...)!

Reading the stories again opens up such a huge chasm of how children absorbed fiction back then, the drawings were all there of course, but the writers always seemed to capture an eight-year-old's imagination, and ensure that the stories, however beyond reach, were still understandable, likeable and so really captivating!

And I haven't even started the rapture on finding all my Rupert Bear albums yet...

After all this time...

 

As some chums know, some of my formative years were spent in a Category C prison boarding school in Wales, and despite all that, I left with many friends, good memories, a prize for music, some rugby skills and some experience of a tougher life ahead, and how to deal with it.

On one occasion, a friend asked me if I would like to go and have Sunday tea with one of his aunts, who lived not far away. Visits such as these were forbidden of course, but, like buying five Woodbines, we all did things like this anyway!

So there was a scrubbed Scrobs, sitting by a roaring open fire, chatting with all my chum's relations, and having a great time! They were all lovely people, and were extremely kind to a new face at their tea table!

Welsh cakes were in abundance, and I'd never had one before, so it was a new experience for me, and of course, absolutely delicious, being home-made!

Visiting my local Waitrose recently, there on the shelf, near the crumpets, muffins and buns, (watch it Scrobs, stop describing the staff - Ed.), was this packet of the delicacies, so they went straight into the basket, and off we went!

And until only a day or so ago, did I realise that they can be fried, grilled, or presumably toasted, and that really is the answer for a perfect delicacy, which has now become a staple, especially for breakfast, with yet more coffee...*

*see Scrobs last week!

A garden centre not called Alta Rica...

"Well, here's a turn up for the books - I only wish I knew which comic it was", as Rachel Reeve's boss might have exclaimed when she was promoted to Senior Stapler Monitor at Sodden Prickney's village sub-branch visiting caravan on the 'Basil Kalshnikov Field of Glory" car-park, (2.00pm - 4.00pm, Wednesdays and Thursdays)!

Yes, the Earth has moved, Saturn is in the Despondent, Mars has Groils for each strumlical legend, and Jupit...(get on with it - Ed), and Scrobs has started partaking of coffee again!

Yup, it is a new era!

Some years ago, around March 2015, Senora O'Blene and I had taken to the habit of visiting a large garden centre just outside Tunbridge Wells. They were in the process of refurbishing and extending, and like a lot of them now, they were intruducing the through-wave of having to walk round every single section, to arrive, tired and exhausted at the exit with a plastic gnome, some fake snow, and a pot plant of dubious quality, but at least it had Latin name!

One day, the GC decided that all loyalty card members could have a free cup of coffee, which was normally a couple of quid, and as we'd been there for some time, buying an electric fence cable, some barbed wire for the garage roof and the plans for an air raid shelter, we decided to succumb to their brand new speciality coffee, which had some sort of Italian name, but I can't remember it.

Resting tired rear paws against a blue plastic-sided raised rose garden, I risked a sip of the stuff, then another...

At that monent, I gave up drinking coffee for nearly ten years! It was utterly disgusting, with a sour, unpleasant smell coming from a turgid grey/brown slurry surrounded by a rather weird looking foam which seemed to creep everywhere over the cup, down the sides and dangerously close to Senora O'Blene's handbag! The taste was nothing like coffee at all, and was downright foul!

It wasn't worth complaining, it went to feed the plastic roses, and we left soon afterwards, with me quietly exhibiting the occasional shiver and whimper! I haven't touched a drop since then, well, one very small Gold Blend, but it just reminded me of the nasty stuff!

So there you have it! Coffee has just made a comeback today, as several dietary issues demand a bit more diversity, and that goes for drinks etc., as a scoop of chemo every three weeks for myeloma makes partaking of comestibles go somewhat awry, but we're winning, and thanks to Mr Alta Rica, it's been an even better day!

A new era, and hope for the residents of our favourite village...

 

There was indignation and uproar at the voting table in Sodden Prickney Parish Council hall last Tuesday, (reports Tarquin ffarquin Larquin of 'The Bugle').

In fact, it was more like a battlefield scene from Henry V, or The Crimea, or the Som...(get on with it - Ed), as the several piles of votes were clearly showing one outright winner, with Cllr. Amelia Newt carefully holding the stack down with a house brick!

The entire committee had assembled in the hall to find out who was to be their next chairman, and recriminations between the various parties had already begun, with Cllr. Cynthia Molestrangler, fresh from an assignment with her gardener, who has been putting up a new pergola in her arbour, (so that what it's called - Ed), and feeling slightly flushed, announced her arrival by banging the door back with such ferocity, that the picture of Queen Victoria's Coronation, situated close by, fell with a crash, and sent glass shards everywhere, much to the annoyance of the caretaker, Arthur Grumble! 

She immediately accused Cllr. Basil Kalashnikov of cheating by voting for himself three times,and began to harangue everyone she could see through her bloodshot eyes, which, had they not been seeing double would have noticed only a dozen or so bored citizens of the village, sitting around and gawping at their mobile telephones!

It was clear that Cllr. Trumpet was going to be the winner, as the small pile of votes, with fifteen spoiled papers paper-clipped to last year's calender, was the sum total of his nearest rival, the redoubtable but statuesquely diminishing figure of Cllr Molestrangler!

Cllr Norman Wibble, together with Dr. Iodine, began to try and placate her tantrums, which had now risen to a sound resembling a turkey farm around Christmas, and her harsh cackle began to reverberate around the room, to the point that two citizens left in disgust, and visited the local pub to wait for the result!

It didn't take long, before the vote was finalised, and the 1,245 votes for Cllr. Sid Trumpet made a welcome fanfare to a new era of Sodden Prickney Parish Council's hopes and. aspirations, and all he got was a great clonk in the face with a bejewelled left hook, before his beaten opponent stormed out of the room, shrieking obscenities, and by slamming the door, knocked the painting of King George VI to the floor, causing great shards of glass to fly everywhere, to the continuing intense annoyance of the afore-mentioned Arthur Grumble!

It was a night to remember, and to celebrate, someone produced a bottle of Asti Spumante for some odd reason, as it hadn't ever been entered on the inventory for the council expenditure, so the recriminations had started almost immediately, with Cllr Basil Kalshnikov sidling towards the door to escape, and uttering only the mildest of ,'Sod the lot of yous', and scrunching the broken glass at his feet, causing Arthur Grumble to throw up his arms in utter despair...

Down - and up - the tube...

Chatting with ED last evening about this and that, she came up with the sort of fact that you hear, and somehow want to marvel at, but for no other reason, than it's just, 'very/quite/somewhat 'interesting'!

In a previous life, she used to travel extensively in Europe, and usually went by Eurostar from here. It was much easier for her, as they lived in London, so the terminal was not far away.

As the train would slide into the tunnel, she was in the habit of turning on whatever musical extravaganza was available at the time, and playing the classic song - still one of my absolute favourites - 'Supper's ready'...

Apparently, the length of the song, which is one whole side of the album 'Foxtrot', is almost exactly twenty-three minutes, and from going into the tunnel to getting out the other end was the exact duration of the trip, give or take the occasional puncture! So she would emerge near Calais just as the...

'Lord of Lords, King of Kings, has returned to lead his children home, to take them to the new Jerusalem'!

Sometimes these revelations just need recording!

That election, yet again...

There was, as usual, some confusion surrounding the election of Sodden Prickney Parish Council's new Chairman, mainly because the current incumbent, Cllr. Basil Kalashnikov, had barricaded himself into the small store room next to the ladies' convenience, and was refusing to come out! 

It is a well-known fact, (Are you sure? - Ed), that the store room was often used for shenanigans of a Ugandan nature, especially when Cllr. Edwina Baggage (Bicycling Correspondent on 'The Bugle'), was attending the meetings, and the sounds of much joyous rapture were inclined to affect the concentration of other members of the committee, including Cllr. Ron Groat, who often availed himself of the facilities there, especially when his usual squeeze, Miss Amelia Newt was away visiting an elderly relative, and he always had a notion that Cllr. Cynthia Molestrangler fancied him something rotten!

So, voting in the new Chairman wasn't going to be easy, especially as Cynthia had her eye on the job, and was canvassing - indeed, even beseeching, (so that's what it's called - Ed), all and sundry to vote for her, but the general impression was that she had an irritating cackle, was never able to hold her brief, (Plural?- Ed), and while reckoned to be in the exalted position of chairing a sub-committee dealing with the bicycle shed repairs, which was normally Ms Baggage's occupation, the complete 'job' of running a well-oiled council wasn't really an option worth considering beyond the fatuous!

Cllr. Norman Wibble was also throwing his hat in the ring, which surprised everybody, as his ability to remember even the most recent discussion was reckoned to be irremediable, so, as he'd once had the job in 1954, comparisons, and denials had to be made, and his doctor informed! Dr Norbert Iodine agreed that Cllr. Wibble had in fact begun to lose various marbles, but as far as he was concerned, he couldn't be arsed to find out which ones!

Of course, the front runner for the job was Cllr. Sid Trumpet, on account of the fact that he had the most money, was deeply enamoured by, with and from Edwina Baggage, for his style, fortitude and longevity, (that explains a lot - Ed), and he also thought that Cllr. Basil Kalshnikov was as useless as an inflatable dartboard!

P.C.Lumbersnatch had also been alerted to the possibilities of computer-based voting fraud, which was becoming quite a problem in the locality, what with Cllr. Ron Groat's machine being impounded and investigated quite recently. The truth of the matter, was that the village forensic team, (Master Chimney Sweep Wally Nobbling's son, Adrian), had discovered quite a few items of interest, including several bookmarks for Janet Reger sites, presumably to appease most of the other ladies on the committee, who had been 'bookmarked' under a special file - some had been bookmarked already several times apparently, so a quandary was established, which hopefully escaped the diverse collection of nerve endings which served as a brain for our erstwhile constable!

Thus, the election was still in the balance, but it was reckoned by the Chief Reporter on 'The Bugle', Arthur Narg, MBE, that Cllr. Trumpet would be elected once they'd found the key to the store cupboard next to the ladies convenience, and been able to tell Cllr. Kalashnikov to clear his pigeon hole and await instructions...

Les bolleaux de le chien...

Scrobs' ability to knock up a reasonable lunch took on a new phase this week!

Back in the Spring, we bought an air fryer for a couple of reasons, one, that our oven was not that efficient, being quite a small machine, which does what it says on the box, but gets pretty murky, so while a Karcher Jetwash could be the answer, the resulting fire from an electrical short-out might not go down so well, and two, I'd heard from chums that a new-fangled fryer could be the answer to most of the basic culinary conundrums being faced at the time! Elder Daughter convinced me that to buy one was a good first step up to Jamie Oliver standards!

The first machine wasn't half bad, being almost an 'entry-level' bit of kit, but like most items, you get what you pay for, and timing is of the essence where such efficiency is required in minutes on some cooking periods. The timer was a wind-up clock type, and just recently, was becoming erratic on the crucial final five minutes of cooking, and continually opening and shutting the drawer to check things, let all the hot air out, and made the issue worse!

After five months, I thought I should be able to do better than this, and my current favourite Argos Store thankfully agreed, so I chopped it in for a refund, and bought a bigger and better one!

Hence the post-title...

I'd never given much thought to the fact that Tefal is a French company, or rather, I never spent much time wondering where all the fabulous frying pans they make come from, but this new beast may well take the place of so much kit in the kitchen, I'll have to re-think the whole layout now...

For a start, the TV is going, as the last time I watched it was when Senora O'Blene used to banish me from the lounge to watch the rugby, as I made too much noise yelling at the screen, and she wanted to read a book! That would have been around the World Cup days!

I've found countless diaries, old recipes, receipts, instruction leaflets for long-busted items, and a packet of very attractive printed kitchen roll we bought in Italy about twenty years ago!

I've road-tested the machine already, and am pleasantly surprised that the action is superb, quiet and easy to work with the digital display making immediate sense!

Le chien is definitely in the ascendance...