Monday, 13 November 2017

A surfeit of lamps...

Just this evening, we suddenly discovered that we were somewhat lacking in the tincture department, and that a visit to our local Tesco was in order, to make up the deficit.

Now I'm never one to complain as everyone knows, I mean, we even watched three seconds of the BBC 'News' before I threw a bottle at the screen while they spouted their usual leftie bile, but a reduction of levels of tincture is not for the squeamish!

So any'ow, a visit to the fifth aisle was becoming a dead cert, and so it was! Several bottles were gently laid in order in a trolley, and a bank card was checked at least eighteen times before I ventured to the till. Now, at this time of night, there are no girls we recognise at all, they're all at home, but a vague recollection of a pretty cashier resolved me to unload the collection and think of England. Nice lass, firm b...

All was fine, and your friendly Scrobs meandered back to the relatively new car to prepare for the short journey home.

Bugger me, every single light in the car started to blaze away, and I thought that Blackpool had arrived, which is pretty stupid really, but there was so much light everywhere, I needed sunglasses - but they were at home!

And I didn't have a clue how to turn everything off! The interior lights stayed on and shone in my eyes, the dashboard was flashing like every lighthouse in Christendom at the same time, and above all, I had a warning light as well! It was dark, so I couldn't find the manual, which is written in forty-eight languages, and has so many warnings that I'm really scared of it, and after pressing all the switches in a flurry of panic at the traffic lights I realised that I'd left the boot open...

Blimey! What an escapade! I don't really want to go out after dark these days, Mrs Scroblene is just the finest company I could wish for, but even a foray out at such an hour as six-thirty after the clocks change is now somewhat aligned to Scott of the Antarctic meeting David Livingstone in a pub near Droitwich, and discussing the relative merits of tomatoes in aspic...

I'm staying in for the next four months, (except for a boozy 'do' I've been invited to just before Christmas), and that's the way it'll be! (I'm walking this year, last year I went on my electric bike, got my foot caught on the chain in the dark and fell off)!

And they haven't even turned the lights on in Regent Street yet!

Saturday, 4 November 2017

Uncanny return to old post, revealing the same headlines as postulated today...

Back in 2012, there was some proposed development put forward to take over Dartford, cover it with concrete and shopping malls. I was working then, and knew the site well, and as a chortle, wanted to bring in a few old chums to make fun of the issues...

So, unashamedly, I'm reproducing the whole post in its entirety, and ask readers the question, 'How many issues mentioned here are relevant today'?

I reckon at least six, and counting Edwina (who doesn't), eight...

Scroblodanus or what...

There was uproar at the Inaugural Meeting of Sodden Prickney's Liaison Committee, for the 'Kent Themerama', on Thursday.

What should have been a gathering of great celebration, was turned into a major unpleasant incident, so reports Mrs Edwina Baggage, Bicycling Correspondent on The Sodden Prickney Bugle.

With the failure of the local broadcasting company to curb the affections of some of their staff, the recent 'inspiration', of Miss Cynthia Molestrangler was enhanced when at some stage in the evening, Mr Norman Wibble, a Veteran of several world wars, and also the village fete's disastrous production of 'Ben Hur', was asked to put some music on the record player, to create a jubilant atmosphere.

Miss Molestrangler was sitting next to the box of records, and Mr Wibble accidently brushed against her nylon encrusted knee, with the result, that she began shrieking hysterically, and claimed to be a victim of abuse by this rampant lothario!

Of course, Mr Wibble was astounded by this accusement, and became hypothetical, to which Miss Molestrangler advanced her posture to 'Aggressive', thereby thrusting her rather large accoutrements towards the explainant, which tended to excite some of the younger members of the community.

This became untenable to a bachelor such as Mr Wibble, and while Miss Molestrangler was no stranger to various interference in intimate terms with anyone who might wish to avail themselves, it was a serious position in which Mr Wibble became incarcerated.

It appears that Mrs Edwina Baggage, who has long espoused the term 'bicyclism', and which has shady connotations not unconnected with similar versions of compatibility with energetic discussions about Uganda, decided to nail Miss Molestrangler once and for all, and egged Mr Wibble to start a gropefest in (or on), her honour.

Mr Wibble now has to take copious amounts of beta blockers after suffering from the effects of such an occasion, and as Mrs Baggage points out in her column, (she likes that word), there's nothing wrong with espousing 'bicyclism', as long as it only happens in private, and not in places like the Sodden Prickney Village Hall. There was once a case of a record playing gentleman noticing a small piece of purple lace on the fragrant knee of Mrs Baggage, and while she protested that the elastic on her favourite Janet Reger had broken, the matter was not by silenced by the gentleman, (to be named one day by Mrs Baggage when she has little to write about), who exclaimed in a loud whisper 'Charlie's Dead', and received a few clops around his ears for the privilege!

Mr Sagtrouser was unavailable for comment, and Senor O'Blene declined to say anything other than a terse 'Sod off, it wasn't me'.

Meanwhile, the 'Kent Themerama' saga continues to struggle forward, despite opposition from just about everybody.

Thursday, 2 November 2017

Last letter today - 'all clear'...phew...

Bummer for a time really, but looks OK now, so back to normality!

So Reevers and Goosey, please continue your mutual didactism, and I'll pop in a few well-chosen terms as I see fit!

Monday, 23 October 2017

Shit week, last week...

Lump scan...

So far so good, but who could think your chum Scrobs had a breast problem?

Fabulous girls and boys in Pembury Hospital - I was the last to leave well after 7:00pm...

Monday, 16 October 2017


One of the loveliest ladies I have never met is Goosegirl!

She writes gorgeously funny posts on another site here, and we converse in a non-tactile way, but by Jimminy, she's a real chum and that's a fact!

Goosey and I would have an enormous meet-up if we ever did,  but there's a lot of miles between Lancaster and Kent, so we just chat as normal people do, and have a lot of fun doodling on whatever subject comes up.

I was so pleased when we started messageing, and while Mrs O'Blene is in on the act, it's a different world out there, and so much the better for having this little electric computer thing to make life a more interesting place.

Saturday, 7 October 2017

Pound coin deadline...

Sodden Prickney Parish Council

Minutes of Emergency Meeting held on 4th October, 2017.

"To discuss the withdrawal of the old pound coins from the parking meter close to 'The Newt Foundation'  carpark"

Present: -

Ms Cynthia Molestrangler (Chairman)
Count Basil Kalashnikov
PC Lumbersnatch
The Hon Sidney Trumpet, OBE and Bar
Miss Amelia Newt
Alderman Ron Groat
Mistress Edwina Baggage

The decision has been made for Mr Kalashnikov, accompanied by Mr Groat, to visit the premises of Mr Elias Sagtrouser, Purveyor of large lumps of concrete, knobs and ferret cages, to purchase a large hammer.

The said hammer, at a cost of no more than ten shillings, including SET, will be transported back to the carpark, where, under the supervision of  PC Lumbersnatch, the said parking meter will be dealt a crushing blow to try and open it to extract the old pound coins within.

Once these coins have eventually been counted and purveyed to the bank, a receipt will be issued to the council accountant, and the money credited to the Ways and Means Committee. 

Sodden Prickney Parish Council

Emergency Meeting to be held on 10th October, 2017.

'To discuss why absolutely no money was found in the parking meter, and why three buttons, a Belgian franc, two washers and a token from an old fruit machine were the only contents of the machine'.

All Members are requested to attend, with the possible exception of Alderman Groat, who will soon be out of hospital with a broken thumb.

Sunday, 1 October 2017

Reasons to be cheerful...

Aided and abetted by the fabulous Ian Dury, there's a good feeling in 'The Turrets'!

It's all to do with going at least a month, probably longer, without watching anything on the BBC!

Last evening was the first foray into the living room for months, and a warm log fire and a DVD was the true way to welcome Autumn, but the TV button hasn't strayed to any biased 'news'. or any 'sleb' trashy stuff for ages! We both feel just great for the easy life without the awful groaning biased leftie rubbish churned out from W1A!

I have to admit, that if I just can't sleep, I'll don the earphones and try a few stations, and Radio 5 Live still does the same dreary old rubbish, and I get to sleep soon afterwards, as - except for Dotun Adebayo - the others are just dull, uninteresting and plain boring, especially Rhod Sharpe!

I know I shouldn't pay for all this, but being an upstanding citizen, (and the television can easily be seen from a window), I'll grin and bear it...