Monday, 22 January 2018

Boks v Brits - 1879...

Isandhlwana. 22nd January, 1879.

1,300 Brits died, probably a lot more on The Boks side!

And all this on the day before Michael Caine walked his horse across a stream for another bundle at Rorkes Drift. Jack Hawkins was getting ready to shriek at everyone and the cook was starting to boil up the soup, before being told to put out the fires with it.

1969 - pretty much the same thing happened at Twickenham, but the Brits won then...

Wednesday, 17 January 2018

Retale therapeuticals...

Marvellous ! (Mrs Goose may have seen it elsewhere...)!

Friday, 5 January 2018

'Flop and flutter' - a small storm in a swamp...

There was uproar in the council chamber of Sodden Prickney Parish Council, when it was revealed that an outrageous pamphlet about Alderman Sid Trumpet was to be published in The Sodden Prickney Bugle and had certain allegations mentioned on pages three, nine, twenty and twenty-seven.

The pamplet, entitled 'Fit and furry', was described by Ms Edwina Baggage, who is bicycling correspondent for The Bugle and quite happy doing it, (we know - Ed) as 'a travesty of innuendo and opprobrium'!

As nobody in the room understood a word of what she was going on about, the confusion was further compounded, when Count Basil Kalashnikov started his usual tirade at all and sundry, by rushing around the room, knocking over chairs and tables, waving his arms and yelling 'Sod everything', then collapsing close to the fragrant knee of Ms Cynthia Molestrangler, who is no stranger to such antics, as she often does the same thing herself!

Mr Norman Wibble piped up that it was well known that the main source of the verbal, slanderous attack in 'Fat and fruity', was none other than a discredited whale-meat purveyor, Ivor Bunion, who once used to share a room with Alderman Sid Trumpet, until he became better known as Mr Chairman.

So as the general confusion reached a crescendo not unlike that in 'Lohengrin', or 'Tannhauser', maybe even Wagnerian, (get on with it - Ed), it was noted that Miss Amelia Newt had disappeared from the room! This was duly minuted by the Secretary, a new face on the Committee, Madame St Mont-Shemel, a French import from Brittany. Why she bothered to write it down is a mystery, as Miss Newt immediately returned, dragging her one-time lifelong squeeze, Cllr Ron Groat, who often had his tea and crumpet with Ms Newt, by his scarf, and led him whimpering to the red faces of the committee, where she began to beat him senseless with a large golfing umbrella, and proclaimed him as the source of the fake news.

As nobody actually knew what the news was, because nobody had actually read 'Fifty and flighty', they wondered briefly what all the fuss was about, and moved on to the next item on the agenda, the replacement knob on the door of the gents.

Saturday, 30 December 2017

Foyle's War revisited...

As most good people know here, we just don't bother with the tripe served up by the BBC any more, and prefer to watch our own DVDs as and when we want to/are awake/feel like a laugh etc...

The latest addition to the library is the complete series, and as the progs were made for ITV, commercially produced, not funded by telly taxes to give 'work' to failing 'actors' and thick presenters, it is indeed an eye-opener as to how damned good the three main characters are protrayed here.

Hastings is really my home town, and while much of it isn't shown (just as well - Ed.), I didn't really know the Old Town very well (except for 'The Pump House' in George Street, but that's another story), the drab wartime scenes are still as vibrant and evocative as when the first series came out.

Last night's showing (The White Feather), was the second programme in the whole series, and as the adverts are now cut out, the plot continued unabated for a good ninety minutes, and was worthy of much acclaim.

Well worth the few folding plastic notes too...

Saturday, 23 December 2017

The jewel in the crown...

Off to Waitrose soon to collect one of these...

YD and SIL had one last year, and judging by the size of it, this chap will last us until about April...

The good grocers started by Mr Wait and Mr Rose all those years ago have been doing some pretty good deals this Christmas. There has been a constant stream of 20% off vouchers popping up, and these make the Christmas cheer shelf of various tinctures all the merrier, with some decent single malt appearing, where in the past it's been the every-day tipple!

Which reminds me, Happy Christmas to everyone who calls by here, - we're with all the family on the big day, and it'll be a riot...


Tuesday, 19 December 2017

Here's to a lovely lady chum..

This is for you, Ro.

We worked together, laughed together, smoked and drank in 'The Bell' together, and while you and I were never ever going to be intimate friends, I thought the world of you. I'm so sorry we lost touch and that I found out far too late that you were so ill.

Sleep well.

Whatever happened to Munster...

Many years ago, when Scrobs was at school, this great schoolmaster called Patrick Evans had been at Cambridge University, and often quoted the various colloquialisms and once revealed how a 'sconce' was performed if an undergraduate mucked up the long Latin grace before meals.

One of these 'sayings' was this: -

'Will you lend me your Ulster?

'Connaught, I will never be a Leinster'!

(trans: 'Will you lend me your ..., 'Can't, I don't ever lend anyone anything...') Hilarious in the extreme...

Now, everybody knows that these are Irish Provinces, and only this week, I was reading a lovely book, 'Sorrell and Son', by Warwick Deeping (with a triple-Kleenex ending), but during the yarn, written in the early 1920s, Stephen Sorrell is wrapped up in an old 'Ulster' while working in the garden of 'The Pelican' Hotel.

I always thought an Ulster was a big long scarf, much favoured by students back then, but it turns out to be a big coarse-thread overcoat, with a belt at the back.

Obviously, those bright sparks at university back then, came up with the sort of statements as described, but I've never been able to trace the origin of this particular one and of course, still wonder why Munster wasn't included!

Is there no end to this interminable search for our history...?