Screws and a barrow...

Just recently, I needed something which would normally be stocked by an ironmonger.

We used to have a shop near here where you could buy just about anything in that line of business, and if I went in and discussed my requirement with Peter the manager, he would listen intently, and head off to the dark corners of the shop and after a few thumps and squeaks, he would reappear with the said item.

But then he'd start to chat.

So, after clutching the small item, say half a dozen screws in a paper bag, I'd be subjected to a discussion on life as we know it, and also, after another half hour, I'd emerge from his shop with a wheelbarrow, three packets of weedkiller, a plug for an electric fan I didn't own and a gallon of parrafin.

I really miss that chap. We all liked him in the village, and I'd vowed that when I retired, I'd go and work for him behind the counter, but it wasn't to be...

1947 was a good year...

This is the day when the Senora O'Blene and I adjourn to the pub to celebrate Scrobs' big day...

The Great house at a village not far from here...

Thanks to the 71 place in Ilfracombe, I can post a nice picture of the actual age of your correspondent!

(Ilfracombe is a rather genteel place, known for its caves and tunnels - a bit like our garden in all this heat)!

Anderson v Isner...

There must be a country, somewhere, where someone went to bed just before this match started, and when they woke up, it was still going on...

What a fabulous match! It should have been a draw, and both of them could have played with some of those sponge balls and a black plastic garage racket on Sunday, just to relive a bit of the six and a half hours of pure sporting pleasure!

Over recent years, Her Beautality the Senora O'Blene and I have tried to relive the days of Rod Laver, John Newcombe and Ken Rosewall, but much of this was squashed when some of the earlier Americans muscled in, and brought arrogance and unwelcome aggression to Wimbledon. Our interest waned...

Isner has changed all that, and Anderson has proved to his own country what a real game should be like. They both deserve a huge accolade for their strength, skill and guts.

We can't wait for next year!

Tartan cackleberries...

Senora O'Blene has been busy manufactruring these delicacies, and most have vanished already...

Back when her family ran a successful pub, at this time of year, Scotch eggs just flew off the shelves, and she and her mum spent most afternoons making a load more for the evening rush!

We're trying to remember how much they charged, but one thing is for certain, a lot of the profit from sweltering in the tiny galley kitchen for several hours, probably paid for their retirement house...

There's just one left, and there'll be a fight as to who gets it...