Bognor b******d...

Ernest Sewell Marionettes

Wallis Arthur came to Bognor in 1900 and subsequently turned the coal yard at the sea end of Lennox Street into the "Olympic Gardens" after neatly boarding it in and roofing it with canvas.

He and his business partner Paul Hill were presenting Pierrots at other seaside towns. Unfortunately he lost money in his first three seasons until he joined the programme himself and helped to make his first profit.

Members of his companies were interchanged and consequently the people of Bognor saw many young performers on their way to fame; Gillie Potter, Ernest Sewell and his marionettes, Milton Hayes with his usual monologues such as “The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God”, and many others.

One day a short good looking youth in a rather shabby blue suit and a straw hat came to see him. He wanted to be a Pierrot and appeared extremely nervous, pressing his light cane into the sand causing it to flick up into the air and then adeptly catching it.

Wallis Arthur who had always had such a good judgement was sadly lacking it that day for he told him that he needed a light comedian – not a low one.

So the young man went to America and the Cinema gained what Bognor had lost, for the man who wasn’t good enough to get a job in Bognor was Charlie Chaplin.

I'll get my coat...

Elias Sagtrouser, Meccano and Simeon O'Blene were leaning up against the bar of the 'The Eight Bells' the other day, and while Meccano guzzled at some yellow drink with a chunk of lime stuck in the top, scoffed pork scratchings and incessantly babbled to some idiot on his mobile, Elias leaned across to me with a twinkle in his eye and told me what had happened that morning.

Three rogueish 'painters', who always paid cash, were doing a lash-up job locally, (for cash only again) and would call by first thing in the morning, to collect several gallons of the cheapest paint that Elias sold, white, and in big drums. Sometimes they even bought a paint brush, but not very often...

Elias is a lovely man; a stalwart to the construction business in times when pompous politicians and bankers waste precious resources, and cause great misery to a whole generation of good builders. However, times are tough, and Mr Sagtrouser will sell to anyone, as long as they pay.

Dave Ferret, Wayne Haywain, T-jay Noggis, and one of their brood, were picking up their paint for the day, and paid Meccano in the shop. Meccano is not very bright, in fact, he's as thick as two short planks, and while taking their money, he was also gibbering on his mobile phone to one of his squawking girlfriends, and didn't notice that he'd been given a fiver short.

Nevertheless, T-Jay, who was driving, decided to take the easy way out, rushed out to the waiting car, threw the paint containers in the back seat and drive out of the yard at some speed.

But he didn't see Mr Sandy Bletherington-Carstairs driving carefully into the yard, to buy a few nails for the barge boards on the stables...

Proper brickwork...

When I was staying at ED's place a few weeks ago, I had an hour to spare before the phones would start to ring, and I took a stroll round Crystal Palace, primarily to shake off the dust after a multitude of tinctures the previous night.

In the road which goes up to the east of the park, there are some beautiful old villas, which were built around the turn of the century.

This particular house, probably now several apartments, just leapt out as a fine example of the most beautiful brickwork I have ever seen. That chimney would have been designed on cartridge paper by a draughtsman using a dip pen and Indian ink, and a skill which is lost to most designers these days, with their CAD systems with enough power to light up a small village.

I felt so inspired by that chimney breast design, that I wanted to share it with as many people as possible. This elevation, apart from the clutter of satellite dishes, is probably unchanged from the original design, and even the pipes add some interesting lines and shapes. Everything is relaxed and seems to fit so comfortably.

If you zoom in on the brickwork, you can see so so many added details, and I could stare at all this for ages, as indeed I did, at least until I felt that there might be a siren or two approaching to apprehend a somewhat dishevelled Scrobs, taking suspicious photos of someone's private house and muttering incoherently...

Yes...

5.15 does it for Scrobs...

here it is.

The rock machine turns you on...

I borrowed a copy of this years ago, when I was just a new arrivee on the London scene, and one of those twits who had no money, but a penchant for learning what it was all about...!

It's still a very special listen. I've still got a worn out copy in the roof, having paid a quid for it in a second-hand record shop in Canterbury. I reckon the bloke saw me coming...

This was an iconic album back then

...and I can still hear the tracks in this ol' head...

And my days definitely ain't numbered...!