Monday, 25 April 2016

The Five Pennies...

When the film came out in 1959, the family all trooped down to Hastings to see it, as Danny Kaye was the sort of chap we all liked to see and hear back then!

I was eleven or twelve, and although I knew the basic tune of The Battle Hymn of The Republic, I remember to this day, that when Danny Kaye took his cornet out and started the swing version of the music, he immediately did a 'twiddle', which I didn't understand...

Of course, it was jazz as grown-ups knew it, but not Scrobs at his tender age!

I've only just found this clip, and the bit I still whistle from all those years ago, even having heard it only once, is when he's walking across to Louis Armstrong (presumably sober by now...)!


Wednesday, 20 April 2016

ScrobsOUT...

As we live in Kent, we're usually in the firing line for all sorts of dodgy practices to make illegal immigration not much more than a casual pastime, and the old M20 gets lorries and vans full of the unwanted, charging along it's tarmac every day.

I happen to be paying for the police presence here, and realise that while most of these illegals get up north to some hell-hole, or maybe West London for all I know, whenever I want to see something positive done by the police  and the KCC for residents round here, the resources have all dried up, as some place in Dover is being searched and temporary accommodation is a matter of urgency. Hospitals and schools just cannot be expected to take in all these people, and I definitely can't afford to keep them here.

It ain't good enough, and the sooner that we leave the blasted Brussels charade the better.

If failed politicians like Kinnock, Mandelson, Osborne and Cameron want us to stay attached to that Godawful establishment, then it is time to kick the whole bloody lot of them into touch!

No! Out! Exit! Brexit! Piss Off the lot of you, I want my county and my country back.

Monday, 18 April 2016

Dog crap...

Who the hell really gives a f***...

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-australia-36052243

Saturday, 16 April 2016

Floor-length mirror...



About forty-three years ago (that's too accurate - Ed), Mrs O'Blene and Scrobs were safely wedded and living in a small flat in Hastings. Scrobs used to work in Brighton back then, catching several trains at unearthly hours and not really enjoying the job either, but that's what life's all about when you're starting out, isn't it!

One of the kindest men you could wish to meet shared an office with me at the time, and he was an inveterate hoarder of all sorts of objects, as he used to get down to the Saturday market at crack of dawn, and purchase bargains galore. He also knew where to pick up other bargains all over the place, and would get these items back home in his old Morris Traveller.

One thing we didn't have in the flat, was a full length mirror, and we'd just hope that any wardrobe malfunction wouldn't be displayed before we got to work. (Mrs O'Blene was teaching in the town back then).

My chum learned of this non-ability to reflect ourselves, and offered me a solution, which, after discussing with Mrs O'Blene we decided to follow up. He had learned that The Grand Hotel in Brighton was being refurbished, and rushed down there to see what he could find. The wardrobes were being ripped out, so Chris toddled off home with one of the gigantic wardrobe mirrors, which were going for a song. And his wife got very annoyed at all this stuff appearing all over their house too, I suspect...

So,  money changed hands, and Chris helped me to rope up some sort of handle for this enormous, heavy monstrosity which I could only just lift, and dropped me off at London Road station. Scrobs then had an hour holding the thing steady on those awful old rattlers they had back then, and also a half-mile uphill drag to get home from the station. It wasn't easy...

That Sunday, we were still moving the thing around as it was now getting in our way, and in desperation, I had leant the blasted thing up against the front door just to get rid of it.

The dead tree press has a lot to answer for, from then on.  We used to have the Sunday papers delivered (must have been super-rich), and after the usual lie-in, a trawl through the news and several fags and coffee was the norm.

The paperboy then provided a new way to make the earth move, as he found he couldn't get the two Sunday rags through the letter box, so he gave them a gigantic shove, which pushed the blasted mirror back, and immediately afterwards - down...

Crash...

So that was the end of that little escapade; bummer really as it was a superb piece of work, and I'm sure we would have still had it to this day...

Saturday, 9 April 2016

Sanders of the Thames...

Scrobs Senior spent several years with The Royal Engineers in Nigeria after the war, presumably to create a place where they could build bridges, and get ready for independence.




Here's the old boy in his canoe, and the caption which goes with the second pic says 'CSM Nana Columbus, the best African I ever met'!


Just because I well remember him wanting to settle in front of the television to watch 'Sanders of the river', here is Paul Robeson singing the canoe song, which was apparently filmed at Shepperton, hence the lack of crocodiles and big snakes...

Canoe song.

More pics as requested by The Venerable Thud...










Friday, 1 April 2016

Chewings...



Scrobs has had a few problems eating of late, whereby swallowing was becoming a bit of a chore, and it was making both Mrs O'Blene, (and also Scrobs, who was trying to do the actual swallowing) somewhat upset and side-looking  at the consequences.

Scrobs' good business/friend chum, had also experienced these symptoms some time awhile back, and he'd had a rough time getting to grips with the reality that something wasn't quite right, and being the lovely bloke he is, he soldiered on.

While good chum was going through this turmoil, Scrobs found that he was getting the same symptoms, and yeah, it ain't pleasant...

Scrobs' chum was 'seen to' by a special surgeon and is - apparently (in his case, just bloody right), in fine fettle, as I hope to find when we order several glasses of vino in a few days time, and we'll compare notes!

Funny old thing, ain't it? You've got this far, (68) and have escaped the awful nasties so far, but then a silly old squeeze occurs somewhere down the gullet, and then you think, 'well, why the f*** did this happen now'!

Reevers (RVI) has posted that he's recently been through far, far worse, and I'm so relieved to hear that he's still OK, so there's a great result for everyone!

Hey-ho and off we go - it's all ok now, and the subject can just about rest...

The pic is a recent view of Scrobs interstices, and I hope will become a David Bailey icon - one day!

Wednesday, 23 March 2016

'Turrets' to Brussels - about three hours max...

I listened to the local Kent News this evening, to hear what the immigration people in Dover were doing to ensure that all my County's people were safe and not facing any threats, due to the proximity of the murders in Brussels. I expected to see the officers on duty in Dover, and other places like Ashford, The Channel Tunnel, Ebbsfleet and yup, even St Pancras.

Nope! The 'reporters' or their autocue zombies, just spouted out inane comments on animal welfare, and hospitals that don't come up to standard! Oh yes, and some poor sod in Biddenden was killed during a burglary, which isn't right of course, and I actually know where he lived, poor chap, There are still plenty of feral thieves in this neck of the woods

What a pathetic, ill-informed, local news service we have, here in Kent. They have the usual 'Darwin slot' when some fat useless idiot is denied treatment for an excessive obesity condition, and muggers in Folkestone aren't allowed to be foreign.

But, we have to pay for Operation Stack, when the Frogs deny access to Calais! Our roads are stuffed with trade-losing lorries, and we have to cough up for all this, as - wow , do you believe it -  there's no budget for a new place to chuck all those juggernauts into, while Europe festers in such disarray.

I can't wait to get out of the disgraceful blasted EU, which was foisted on us all by that bloody man Heath. We were all sold a pup, and now the consequences, for this Kent man, are - Piss off!