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...
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.
13 comments:
Hmm.. I had completely forgotten about that and had to go back to the archives.
Does your "foresight" stretch to posting next weekend's lottery numbers perchance?
Another 12 goes!!!
12, 14, 17, 23, 40, 43.
If ('when' you win), Goosey and I will fly out to you, business class, and buy you a slap-up lunch, just a few minutes after you give us half your winnings!
Goosey, don't forget the Kwells, and half of what we get is yours to keep, well, until we meet on that deserted beach you've been promising after reading about Ms Snow...
Never having had the privilege of viewing previous scribbles by Scrobbles and the only archives I've ever seen are located in Preston Records Office, I can only assume they were written in Latin on an old bit of dusty and water-marked parchment he discovered by chance in the loft whilst trying to fix the leak coming through the bathroom ceiling, anyway back to topic. "Kent Themerama?" Someone's been having you on! Did you not realise it is an anagram for a secret and hopefully) lucrative competition called "Name the Market?" Oh honestly - what are you like! All the physical shenanigans were just a smokescreen created by Mr.Norman Wibble, the failed producer of Ben Hur (to be pc nowadays it should have been Ben His or Brenda Her) plus not only did one of the chariot riders forget to wear his watch but also the cost of repairing the village hall floor after the race was not covered by their insurance policy as it was deemed an Act of War. Norman Wibble (alias Bates) wanted revenge for being made to look like a fool so he planed to scupper the "Name the Market" competition by contacting certain friends in high places whose rather naughty indiscretions had been secretly photographed (and he still had the negatives) in order to fund the establishment of a chain of motels. He's even going to consider employing a certain person whom we both know well (he also has his negatives) so the future looks rather bright considering the recent rise in interest rates!
BTW - Just to tell you a little-known fact I've recently come across. When Cockersand Abbey was dissolved in 1539 the canons were so angry that set fire to their entire store of alcoholic beverage so Henry VIII couldn't nick it for his own delectation. You could see the flames for miles! This extremely great sacrifice had to be revenged, so they devised a cunning plan written and mapped-out on parchment which was carefully guarded by one of the inhabitant's descendants. This plan was to be carried out sixty six years later by a band of chosen rebels. Unfortunately, apart from the fact the rebels were illiterate and couldn't read it, they also had the plan upside-down which is why they decided to dig a tunnel underneath the Parliament building instead of firing a rocket down through the roof. One could almost say the Abbey was responsible for this particular celebration, but I couldn't possibly comment!
Goosey - love of my life as it were - you only need to scroll down on the right-hand side of all this drivel, and see the various posts that your great and lascivious chum has presented over the last ten or so years!
Just click anywhere, and the list appears, so you'll be able to read so much more, and it'll keep you asleep for a long time as well...
Just look out for the mentions of Gloriette, and Elias, as they exist - somewhere, and you tip the scales on Gloriette on quite a few points! (Did I say points)?
You have been warned, and Reevers will stand up for me - if he ever gets back to this country in one piece after meeting you at the airport...
Be kind to him please!
Dear Hostperson
LET ME MAKE IT CRYSTAL CLEAR, I AGREE TO YOUR PLAN WITHOUT RESERVATION.
Now get down to Mr Patel's corner shop and buy that ticket. When it wins, you can keep your half (to be shared 50/50 with your gardening friend after having retrieved you initial 2 quid refund)) and send me the balance by international postal order. Let me have your travel plans and I will arrange to meet you both personally at the airport in the biggest limo in the country. A scrumptious 10 course meal will be waiting at the most expensive Chinese take-away - so don't eat breakfast on the plane.
Of course, should your projection turn out to be complete eyewash, then you will have to make up some JK Rowling type story to your better half on why you wasted 2 quid on a raffle ticket offering odds of something over 15 million to one.....
Talking of gambling, a few years ago my other half and I paid a brief visit to the good old U S of A. We spent a day or two in Los Angeles and had really seen all we wanted to see. As we arrived back at our hotel, a bus pulled up with Las Vegas on the front indicator board. We asked the hotel receptionist how far it was and she said "Three hours that way >>>".
After a very brief discussion we decided to get the next bus. The receptionist had booked us a room on The Strip and we checked out and boarded the bus. We hadn't gone more than half a mile when the "conductor" took out a gaming board and asked who wants to play! We declined.
Three hours later across the barren Nevada desert, we arrived and checked into our hotel. After unpacking etc we wandered downstairs to the casino - basically just to be nosy as we had still to cash some travellers' cheques (this was before the days of international credit cards) to get some spending money. However, I had just 2 dollars in my pocket and Madame said, "Donnez-moi. I want to try this one armed bandit thingy in the hotel lobby". She put the first in the slot and pulled on the arm - ...plop... She put the second one in and the machine went crazy with bells, whistles, sirens and the seemingly endless supply of one dollar coins clanking into the metal reception bowl and splashing about all over the place!!!
The reception kindly changed them up into notes - and we then spent three whole days on the proceeds including shows, restaurants etc. What a memory!
We were heading on to San Francisco and as we checked out, one of those bus-length sized white limos, beloved of film stars and gangsters, pulled up to take us to the airport. When we got there and had checked in there was (of course!) one of those ubiquitous one armed thieves in the hallway. Madam held out her hand for the only two dollars I had left in my pocket - and of course wasted them in less than 10 seconds.
I have dined out for years on this tale of having spent the best part of a week in LV living it up - all on just 2 dollars!!
True story..
Now go get that ticket...
Only 3 goes this time!
Sir Mike - I've clicked everywhere on the right-hand side of this page and had no success finding your previous posts. As I'm left-handed do you think I should try clicking on the left-hand side?? rvi - wonderful story - you couldn't make it up how ever hard you tried! As they say, hindsight is a wonderful thing but foresight is even better! I do wonder if I'm a bit psychic i.e. I always pause when about to go round the corner of a building in town as I always know if someone else is on the other side; procrastinate for no reason then what follows makes me glad I did; about to do something and "hear" a voice saying "that's not a good idea", and when someone's name suddenly comes into my mind I usually hear from them within a few days. Actually reading through this it sounds like a load of rollocks, so I will get a lottery ticket when I go shopping on Wednesday, write down the first numbers that come into my mind, and promise to share my winnings with you both. Before I log off, who is Gloriette? She can't be the antithesis of our dear Angela Snow (i.e. a brunette who wears clothes from Primax, drinks beer out of a plastic mug, carries a spittoon in her plastic "Hermes" handbag, and whose credit rating is even worse than her IQ) so please put me out of my jealous misery!
I have a vague idea that Purple Lace was the name of a seventies pop grope, although I may be thinking of something else.
Goosey,
Archives
When you click to open this blog, you will be met by a green page containing the latest effusions. Move your cursor to the right of the page and you will see a list of other "required reading". Scroll a good way down that list to find "Old Growlers" or similar, the list of all these inane ramblings for the past years. Just click on the year you need and all will be revealed..
Hope that helps. Good luck with your lottery ticket!
Mr H, there is some confusion here, but luckily I can help!
'Purple Rain' was a song performed by a bloke called Prince, and achieved some popularity when it came out! Actually, apart from being a larger than like character, he was a superb guitarist, and still has me mesmerised in his riff with several others on this song...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6SFNW5F8K9Y
The other band you mention was Black Lace, who 'performed' the ridiculous song 'Agadoo', which rates among the most stupid thick bits of noise ever shown to a public of more than three brain cells...
I think I'd prefer to think of Cynthia's hemline - or was it Edwina's...
Goosey, Gloriette is the ever-loving wife of my good friend, Elias Sagtrouser, who runs a builders merchant in the nearby town.
Nobody, and I mean Nobody gets near Gloriette when Elias is around, except me...
You can Google Gloriette and Scroblene and get the whole lot for what it's worth, but you may have more important things to do!
I also understand your premonition mode too. Something clicks very softly between the hairline and the collar, and one has to consider seriously what one is doing at that exact time, because it's probably wrong! If humans are programmed eventually to fail, then why does this happen? Who is pulling the string on that particular issue?
There's a post on similar lines here, which I did also reproduce on the Patch website, but it got just giggles there, so no change...
Marvellous yarn that, Reevers!
I gave up the Lottery several years ago, as the odds are much better on Premium Bonds, and we've won two prizes this year - only £25 each, but better than a kick up the arse I suppose...
I hardly ever won even a tenner on the Lottery! Mind you I hardly ever bought a ticket, so perhaps that's why!
Mike - that's quite a philosophical statement you made. If we never failed we wouldn't learn anything. It's just the same with certain computers or robots because when they get something wrong they have to work out what went wrong, so they eliminate that pathway and kind of re-wire their "brains" in order to avoid further mistakes. The important thing to consider is that humans have free will to choose whether to continue down the same road or choose a different and often a better one and the choice depends on the kind of person you are. If you are a negative type, you'll probably go for self-destruction (unlike robots) but if you believe in yourself (also unlike robots) then you will succeed. Someone once said that "a person who never made mistakes never made anything". Look at Alexander Fleming who left a petri dish unattended and discovered penicillin. His failure turned into one of life's biggest discoveries.
Goosey, my fine feathered friend, here's a link to a take on the subject...
http://scroblene-webley-bullock.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/number-9-number-9-number-9.html
Sorry it's by that same old git, Scroblodanus, but there you go, it still means something to me...
(You may need to cut and paste the link, I don't think Blogger has worked out how to alleviate that particular issue yet).
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