Wednesday, 27 August 2014

Mad architects spend all their time on dreams...

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2735522/City-sky-Ambitious-tower-block-house-thousands-people-schools-offices-shops-parks.html

I've spent much of my life coping with architects. I've sold ordinary building stuff to them, worked with them in designs for serious projects, like prisons, (the design of the gutters on Elmley Prison, is all down to me, so beat that), had to put up with their silly ideas, laughed at some of their jokes, listened to their odd foibles, but on the whole, they're a good bunch of guys and gals, and we've normally got on pretty well.

This idea for London does give me palpitations though. Thinking of those monstrosities just North of the Blackwall Tunnel, reminds me of the awful arrogance of serial designers, who should really have been taken away long before they learned to use a pencil. I think this is s similar case for treatment!

Wednesday, 13 August 2014

Bantam relation...



Scrobs attended the funeral of his last living relative from the previous generation, a few days ago. There were about twenty there, and most were from 'the other side' of the family, which is fine by me, as there aren't many left from my lot anyway!

But I heard an interesting point from a cousin's husband, who is well into writing the family tree, and is now back into the sixteen hundreds, (what ever good that will do, I don't know, but there you are, it's his pastime)!

My Great Uncle John wasn't allowed to join up for the First World War, as he was too short! Presumably he was less than 5'3" in his socks, but he was a miner, and therefore a damn sight better equipped than a bloke a foot taller in that job, but there you are, the powers that be decreed that such people couldn't enrol to fight for King and Country!

So, when they got a little short of numbers in France, a call went out to relax this height restriction, and get more numbers in the ranks! They were called Bantam Regiments, for obvious reasons, and while I'm so proud to know that another member of the family answered the call, I'm saddened to learn that he fell in 1916, and never returned. Apparently, he was supposed to be going to Africa, then the regiment suddenly turned back to northern France and he died there.

I'd like to think that a tough little bugger like my Great Uncle John, would know that after all these years, we'll know that his height was never as big as his heart, and that this year, we're remembering people like him!

Wednesday, 6 August 2014

Another centenary...


My dear mum would have been a hundred today, so we're popping a few flowers on her grave, saying hello to dad as well and also stopping off for a couple of celebratory embrocations at the pub, which I mentioned recently, and is very close to the house which she loved!

I always think it's much nicer to celebrate someone's birth, rather than their death.

Here she is with ED, just a few short years ago!

Thursday, 31 July 2014

Fannit and the poo scandal...



Scrobs and BP had another meeting in Broadstairs yesterday. It was in the afternoon, so there was no question of getting there for a leisurely lunch and strolling in to the clients all relaxed and happy!

Ooooh no...

BP always manages to drive several miles an hour faster than the speed merchants, and yesterday was no exception. I suspect that some of the trees and hedgerows are still waving after the passing of a great big car at breakneck speed! My left hand still aches and is stuck in a claw shape from holding on to that funny handle up over the door! The trip took us less than the past record of one hour forty minutes...

The meeting went off OK, and we may be able to get back there again, but the real issue is more basic! Will the sewage still be flowing in the bays around the island?

Apparently, as the story goes, there has been a monumental back up, or cock up, of the brown stuff, which meant that the council or the utilities, or whoever is trying to shift the blame, have to release the latest amounts of pure unadulterated turds etc, directly into the sea!

Now everybody who has seen a seaside, knows that citizens rather like to paddle, or swim in the gently lapping water, and some go surfing, or sailing in it as well. But the holidaymakers, who have saved all their pennies for a week in Margate, Broadstairs, or Ramsgate, have been advised not to go in the water!

What a fiasco! It seems that they either let the sea fill up with detritus, or some basements nearby would get the same turdal treatment, so the former was chosen by the powers that be, and now, right at the beginning of the holiday season, the simple pleasure of swimming with fish, is replaced with the reeking distaste of  the breast-stroke with bonsters!

Of course, no heads will roll, council pensions are still piling up, holidays elsewhere will be the norm. The council are a funny bunch up there, and still trying to work out why Manston Airport - the other name for the ridiculously named 'Kent International Airport', has gone pop, and nobody wants to fly from there.

I can solve all these quandaries at a stroke!

There are several old but airworthy bangers still parked on the runways, waiting for a job, so load them all up with the effluent, and take the stuff further out to sea! Simple! They could drop it all over the wind farm to disperse the pong! At least it'll keep the eco-freaks happy for once!

Saturday, 19 July 2014

Formative drinking and one heck of a thunderstorm...

Last night's storm was really an eye opener!

Back when Scrobs was around the magical age of eighteen, the family lived in a village, where Dad had built the house in 1952. (See Scrobs passim). The house was well up on a natural ridge, and the views to the south were incredible, with Fairlight to the left, Hastings in the middle, and Battle to the right. All of these are several miles distant.

Whenever there was a thunderstorm - like the one last night, Dad used to get up and watch it all happening, because you could see lightning for miles in all directions, and it was one of his abiding pleasures! In true form, I heard the first roll of thunder at around 2.30am, and went into YD's old room to see lightning flashing in all directions, including some superb forked strikes nearby! It really was spectacular, even though the views from The Turrets are more limited because of the churchyard trees!

And to complete the yarn, as it's my birthday today, Mrs Scroblene is taking me to lunch at the very pub a hundred yards away from the old house, where all my formative drinking became a pleasing pastime!

We used to know it as The Broad Oak Inn back then.

The Landlord was a funny old boy back then, and could either be grumpy or very kind, and you probably wouldn't really have noticed the difference on some days, and his beer came from barrels stacked behind the bar, and the only food he sold was crisps and arrowroot biscuits! It's changed  now, and there's a car park, a big room and a great garden for children, but the lure of the possibility of meeting an old formative drinking chum from the sixties is an additional aspiration...!

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

Credits where credit's due...

With Dame Janet Smith's enquiry into sex scandals at the BBC being published later on this year. it struck me that this must be the easiest investigation ever, for one simple reason!

Everyone sits back at the end of a programme and ignores the screen, even if it is a dire 'celeb reality' waste of money, or a weedy modern play, but still the credits roll up the screen and every name of everyone involved in the production reels off. So we have the director, the producer, the gaffer (ha ha ha), the dogsbody etc, all emblazoned for the world to see!

So it must be the easiest job in the world for Inspector Knacker to come along and ask all these published witnesses in a serious voice, what they were up to on the day children and vulnerable youngsters were molested, and what they did about it! What did they see? Were they in the dressing rooms at the time that it was all a bit quiet? Who was the chap sidling along with a fake clip-board? What did the parents say? Were the parents even there?

I'm sure the BBC inquiry will be aware of this, and hopefully, we will not get the whitewash which is expected! It's bad enough expecting politicians to cough up when they're cornered, but there must be several names on the TV credits, who may be just more than a little worried by now!

But we have their names eh..?

Sunday, 29 June 2014