'Bye 2022, s'been nice knowing ya...

 

We'll be tucked up nice and warm by 11.00pm, and hopefully won't be woken up by the fireworks...Happy New Year One and All!

h/t Tomo on BBBC...

Yoo-hoo-hool-tide Greetings...

There was uproar at the Council meeting of Sodden Prickney Village Conurbation last week, when it was realised that the annual Christmas tree celebrations had been sadly mismanaged, mainly on account of Ron Groat forgetting to order one from the local grocer, (Miss Newt).

A substitute was found, and is in the middle of being transported to the village hall, where delivery is expected some time in Late January!

The Council send what they can, as best felicitations and goodwill, (except Edwina Baggage, who has been 'at it' since Sunday last), to every member of the community, and hope to have the drainage system in the village hall up and running by the New Year

Charlene Faqdefarno

Ms Emily D'Artagnan-Minge

Senator and Senora O'Blene

Quentin ffoxley-Cabbage

Miss Amelia Newt and her partner, (or was until the disaster was uncovered)…

...Ron Groat

Basil Kalashnikov

Sid Trumpet

PC Lumbersnatch

Ms Billery

Willy Clinchton

Edwin A. Loser

Tone 'Dodger' Tossier

Elias Sagtrouser

Gloriette Sagtrouser

Meccano Sagtrouser

Toniatteline Nibbler

Norman Wibble

Edwina Baggage

Dr. Norbert Iodine

Kyoto Kalashnikov.

.......................................

Dr Mayhap-Cuddler, Count Fruning Graplecard and The Beast are absent - sadly...

Unusual guitar sound...

Is that a sax or a guitar in the 'middle eight'? 

Scrobs is confused...

Better than 'Calamity Jane'...

In Frank Muir's hilarious autobigraphy, 'A Kentish Lad', he regales the reader with so much information, one has to stop reading and collect one's thoughts on regular occasions, and this is no exception!

One marvellous passage appeared last night, where he tells the story of  fans suddenly appearing at the restaurant table which was occupied by Ethel Merman and a friend. One such admirer was a 'filthy-rich elderly Texan, with the big hat and thin tie and bits of silver all over him'!

Our lady commented on his silver cuff links, which turned out to be real, tiny pistols, and which actually worked!

'Try one' said the Texan, so she carefully took hold of one of the pistols and pulled the trigger! 

There was a sharp crack, a little smoke and Ethel's best friend let out a loud yelp and clutched her large bosom! Miss Merman, who thought it was a live round, (it wasn't, it was just the wad from a blank), let out an enormous shriek and howled, 'Shit - I've just shot my best friend in the tit with a cuff link'!

Collapse of Scrobs in tears of uncontrollable laughter...

 

Scrapper Blackwell - 'Nobody knows you when you're down and out'......

 

Nobody knows you when you're down and out.

I first heard of this song way back when Radio London was pirating off Frinton! I think it was either Ed Stewart or Paul Kaye, who mentioned that in the very early days, on the small boat taking them out to the broadcaster ship, they'd take up a guitar and sing these marvellous words!

A few years later, I paired up with a lovely jady who was one of the singers in the Hastings Jazz Club in The Regent Hotel, on the front! She had a fabulous jazz voice, and Billie Holiday was her shining performer and she made superb copies of all the great lady's songs, one of which was this one!

Although I only had a fairly cheap six string guitar back then, the simple chords of C, E, A7 would resonate to perfection and we'd often do the song together at parties, pubs etc.!

There are so many versions of the song, it's impossible to pin down the original, but this version is just fabulous!

(Just as an aside, a friend told me that when my lady singer friend began to turn a few heads in later years, she was offered a song to record, but Shirley Bassey decided that she wanted it, so my chum lost out sadly! 'Big spender' was an immediate huge hit...)!

The prayer and the postman...

Scrobs was idly wondering what to do with about half an hour before lunch, as Senora O'Blene had gone off to visit a daughter, and there wasn't that much in the fridge for lunch, so after a nanosecond of thought, a visit to 'The Bells' was decided upon.

As it was a Wednesday, there was quite a crowd of pensionable age lunchers, because Jamie offers a cut-price deal on that day and of course, several tinctures of various hues are consumed by these fortunate citizens, to accompany these delicacies, so all is really quite well on such occasions, and the noise from the restaurant is quite raucus!

It didn't take long to recognise the familiar trilby hat of my good friend Elias, and his ever-more radiant wife, Gloriette, mainly because they were the only two people perched next to the bar, where they can command a view of everything that is going on in the place. They like doing this, as their largesse is renowned, and their business of selling brass grommets, tons of bricks and manhole covers maintains a continual flow of various customers after they've been nurtured by such liquid refreshments paid for by Elias, with the nod from Gloriette of course.

"Set you down next to us Scrobs", commanded Elias, after my compulsory peck on both cheeks of the vision known as Gloriette, but with a foregone squeeze, as Elias was watching me very closely, and anyway, a large pint of Sheps' "Old Autumn Bastard" - 6.9% ABV, was also going to get in the way of a much more, so the glass mug won out by a nose after a close finish!

"We have an extraordinary tale to regale you with", he started, and Gloriette started to giggle immediately, so I was all ears, and eyes as well, because when Gloriette giggles, the world becomes a better place all round, and even the pensioners sitting nearby detect a certain friskiness in the atmosphere, mainlly from the chaps, as Gloriette's giggles emanate from a section of her body about six inches above her waist, and the concomitant wobbles cause many men, young or old, to fervently wish they were Elias in more ways than one!

"Well, here's the craic", he started, "you see old Mrs Bannister sitting over there, with another old lady, well, she's really gone and done it with the post office"!

I was somewhat bemused by this, as although I vaguely know Mrs Bannister, I thought the opposite would be the case, as she banks there, and often pays her bills and takes a few pounds of cash from her pension, so this was indeed something to ponder!

"Wait till you hear this", he added, "The old doll got a bit confused the other day and posted a letter without anything more than the word 'God' written on the envelope, they found it down at the sorting office, and had to open it to see who it was from, so they could return it. The letter read something like, 'Dear God, I'm at my wit's end as someone stole my purse the other day, and it had the money I needed to buy my friend some lunch as it's her birthday! I lost £100"! 

Elias continued."The guy at the sorting office recognised the address, and told his mates down there, and they all showed so much sadness and indignation that they had a whip round and managed to collect £95, put it in the envelope, and sent it back to her, with no letter or anything"!

"The following week, they got yet another letter addressed to 'God', so they opened it to see what she'd said! It read, 'Dear God, thank you so much for answering my prayer, and sending me my money back! I was able to take my friend out to lunch after all, but I noticed that there was a five pound note missing! I bet those bastards down at the post office nicked it'"!

Bloody fireworks...

 Couldn't find our dear little (big) dog just now - looked everywhere.

After a fretful ten minutes searching, I found her cowering right back behind and under my desk, frightened to bits.

Gormless bloody idiots wasting their sodding benefits.

Sheer joy...

 

By coincidence, Scrobs was making a special soup this morning with lamb stock, leeks from the garden, carrots, potatoes and pearl barley, and as he was on his own in the kitchen, the Airpods went in for a bit of  'Alchemy'!

This has long been a favourite from some time back, when Canterbury Public Library gave all their old cassette tapes to a charity shop to sell for a few pence, and as luck would have it, Scrobs was meandering by and spotted this huge heap of classic rock memorabilia, and bought the lot!

They're still safely ensconced in the attic, shelf 3c, sub-section 4a, but Spotify has changed all that and the earplugs and the soup manufacture made for a fabulous half-hour of melodic interlude!

This copy just popped up on a list a few moments ago, so someone at YouTube possibly has my number, but 'By Jiminy', that soup didn't half hit the spot after listening this morning and now watching such a fabulous performance...

Flat bottle, pleasant surprise...

Senora O'Blene and Scrobs are rather partial to Aussie wines, especially a nice oaky Chardonnay, and it was indeed an eye-opener when these particular flat bottles appeared on the shelves of our grocer!

The bottle is all plastic, and the contents are hardly Grand Cru, but somehow, this packaging seems to suit the style and taste of a half-decent bottle of wine, which sits very comfortably in the fridge! In fact two bottles take up the same space as one glass bottle, and we rather like that idea!

We've never been expoments of the snobby ABC crowd , (Anything But Chardonnay), and the grape is a mainstay of most champagnes anyway, but somehow that little fact seems to be ignored!

Years ago, we went across the pond to the USA, and spent a couple of weeks exploring some delightful vineyards, and our favourite at the time was Fetzer, which was totally new to us! Having remembered laughing at the original concept of New World wines way back in the sixties, the new versions became our favourites, and still are! The Australian styles are still high up on our lists, and long may they flourish, flat-pack and all!

 

50 years...

 About forty-eight years ago, Scrobs was surveying a building in Church Square, Rye - No 50 actually. The owner was a well-respected musician and conductor, and a great bloke all round! His wife was charming too!

In the first floor bedroom, overlooking the square, the dimensions, joinery, decorations etc., were pretty well unchanged from what they would have looked like in the 17th Century, and the one abiding detail I remember so clearly, was that the window seat in that bedroom was extremely worn down, because if one mistily recalls early drawings and paintings of life back then, there was always a face at the window, probably to gain the fresh air, or just to chat with passers by, or even to get away from the kids and I still retain a vivid memory of what that person would have seen outside, while perched on this robust and slightly uncomfortable seat!

They would have seen St Mary's chuch, which is right in the middle of the square!

By coincidence, had the young lady looked a little harder several hundred years later, she would have spotted Scrobs with his new bride, standing in the October sunshine, relieved to have got out of the church after several hymns, seeing lots of happiness at us being married and signing the register to prove it!

Yup; It's our Golden Wedding Anniversary today, and our celebrations will be at home with a special hamper and Prosecco!

Seems like only yesterday...

Provenance of pic -

Arthur and Helen Grogan

Eras come and go...

 

This just amazes me!

Such tranquility and charm, and so it seems impeccable manners from all the actors! The whole cast would be well over a hundred years old today - I wonder how they felt!

Cloud nine...

 

While delving a little deeper into the local weather report, Scrobs was amazed to see that proper meteorologists can identify so many cloud formations!

My 'Boys Book of Just About Everything', which was a present when I was about six years old, showed the basic cloud formations like Cirrus and Nimbus, but until now, as I'm seventy years older, the revelation of so many more formations has taken me somewhat by surprise - and at my tender age, a few surprises are very, very welcome!

In order from the top, we have Asperatus, Mammatus and Iridescent, all found here: - 

http://www.astronoo.com/en/news/asperatus.html

...and a fascinated Scrobs is still marvelling at such beauty, especially as around this time of year, some early morning views are just spectacular anyway...

Soon to be in the sky...

 

https://www.yorkshirepost.co.uk/business/over-200-jobs-to-be-lost-as-vale-of-mowbray-pork-pies-closes-after-energy-price-rises-3861325

It was Frankie Howard who once joked that he could join the gentry as Sir Melton Mowbray, and my Mum laughed at this forever!

I'm sorry to learn that yet another delicacy of British repute will not be around much longer! There again, we loved Lymeswold, which was a cheese built on a desire to create a distunctive comestible for everyone, and that never really took off...

I guess that the style of Melton Mowbray pies will continue with another producer, and I've been instructed to visit our local farm shop, where I seem to remember that they sell a local variety, probably for twice the price, but that's life!

Hospital corners...

Back in the old school days, one of the first tasks a small chap had to learn, was how to make his own bed.

Up to then, Mothers used to make beds at home, deal with the untidiness etc., and generally make the bedroom tidier than an eleven-year-old would leave it, so it was a bit of a shock to be told how to make my bed on the first morning away from home!

Apart from disentangling various sheets and blankets, rugs and sometimes slippers, socks etc., the job was a necessity, as the tidiest dormitory each term was rewarded with a special tea - including sanwiches made with the delicacy if the year, sandwich spread!

So the Hospital Corner was geometrically engineered to the Nth degree, with an angle of exactly 45 degrees at each bottom corner. The counterpane, (Bill Bryson's nemesis), was then left to hang loosely along each side of the bed, until it reached the pillow, where it was folded neatly down.

This ritual stayed with us all in each dormitory for several years, until emigration to another place at thirteen years of age meant that all those skills were lost forever, as the new regime demanded a full side tuck-in, and the elegance was lost forever!

 

Remembrance...

Grieve...

 

So how do you grieve?

Senora O'Blene and I were just discussing this. One needs to grieve a real person's passing, but without the dross of all the hangers-on being exemplified by the awful BBC and other channels.

We don't need to hear about what the peripherals get up to, our late Queen is the star of the show!

We wonder where her statue will be situated? Outside Buck House maybe?

Rain at last...

Remarkable likeness to Ron Groat...

 

Old Nick on the grasp...

It's been quite a good year for blackberries, despite the hot weather and very little rain, and I've picked around six pounds and they're being carefully fermented in the time-honoured way!

There is a downside to these 'profits a prendre', as on the first foray into a new area covered in brambles, I crashed my bike on the rough track, and received several cuts and bruises for my trouble, but the effort was worth it, and only the mental scars remain...

At the end of the season, the berries start to fade and drop off, and it's the time when my mum used to say, 'The Devil's got them'! So we're about there now!

 

Tools for comestibles...

 

About this time of year, the hop industry gets into top gear, and arrangements for the harvest are pretty frenetic!

When dad was engineer for a huge hop farm there were several other managers going about their various tasks, and one of these chaps, Ernie G, was in charge of providing everything needed for the various hop-pickers' camps dotted around the countryside, and there was a lot of catering eqipment needed for the hundreds of people who were bringing in the harvest.

Ernie and dad were special friends, and could banter away for ages, and I have an abiding memory of him telling dad that he was currently working on sourcing the 'Crockerware and Cuttleware', which made for much jollity all round!

And he gave me this serviette ring for my christening, so that was a nice thought wasn't it!

Covers unavailable...

There's some sort of pop festival going on near here, with names of bands I've never heard of, but the kids might have...

After three days, I've only recognised one song, 'Pinball wizard', and that was pretty dire, and it struck me that the sort of music I enjoy is never covered by any of the squealing/yelling lot, as : -

1) I like proper pomp rock played by real pros like Rick Wakeman or Steve Hackett!

and 

2) they couldn't play it or sing it...

As we've had to have the windows open because of the heat, we've had the full nine yards of rubbish, so I can't wait until 8.30 tonight when they all bugger off home.

Hats...

 

Apart from this being a damned good album, the current hat is becoming very useful as the hot weather continues!

My favourite is a straw trilby, which I bought in the US several years ago, and is styled in Australia but manufactired in China - so work that one out!

As the top foliage becomes sparser, a decent 'titfer' is a must these days, but I don't want to think about the tweed winter cap at this moment...

All those questions from the committee...

 

So the grilling continues...

Ron Groat and Amelia Newt are in constant battle with the members of the committee, and the pressure just doesn't let up!

Scrobs is reminded of the delicacy shown above, and remembers quite clearly how delicious it all was, especially after six pints of Young's Best Bitter! Nowadays, kids and some odd people choose a kebab or other such stuff which resembles an elephant's leg, to soak up the residue of cheap lager but the West End Grill was just fabulous!

When Liz Truss is crowned, I may well try and emulate the concoction - I tried to do this when Pan Yan Pickle was discontinued, and made up a batch of chutney using the exact proportions shown on the label, but it didn't taste anything like the real thing!

Battle for the keys to the broom cupboard...

 

So it's official!

The race to become Chairman of Sodden Prickney Parish Council has begun in earnest! In a few week's time, Norman Wibble and Cynthia Molestrangler will know who gets the keys to the village hall, well, in fact so will everyone else, as the final two Councillors in the vote are Ron Groat and Amelia Newt!

It's been a dirty campaign so far, partly due to the lack of cleaners in the village, and Dr Norbert Iodine's dog continuing to bring his collection of fleas into the committee room! But apart from that, the dramatic exit of Edwina Baggage, who played a blinder in the run-up to the debate by appearing in a German uniform and slapping her jackboot with a swagger-stick, and Len Belch, who forgot to turn up for the public debate (attended by seven villagers), with the chairman, PC Lumbersnatch, it looks as though there's a possibility that Basil Kalashnikov will lock himself in the broom-cupboard and refuse to come out!

There is evidence of this, by virtue of an electric bull-horn being attached to the 13amp plug by the water dispenser, through which the standard bellowed recourse of "Sod everybody", will be heard before the door is smashed down by PC Lumbersnatch and his Sergeant, and the offending machine, plus Mr Kalashnikov will be admitted to cell No 4 down at the station!

It's all slightly worrying for the village, as up to now, bugger-all has been done about anything, and if Ron and Ms Newt (Ron's Sunday squeeze) have to battle it out, one of them is certainly going to withdraw those special favours until the next chairman has to be appointed, probably in a few week's time!

Birthday Honours...

Scrobs has just discovered that his birthday (today) is shared with David Lammy and Nicola Sturgeon, as well as PC Lumbersnatch and Illie Nastase!

I don't mind Brian May as we're exactly the same age and I still wish I could play guitar like he does, and I also wish Simon Cadell was still around as we liked him a lot in 'Hi de Hi'!

Platinum, schlatinum, who cares if you'll never see 74 again...

Contrivative Condidates...

• Amelia Newt
• Cynthia Molestrangler
• Norman Wibble
• PC Lumbersnatch
• Pastor Gilbert Flange
• Elder Lungeburt
• Toniatteline Sagtrouser
• Len Belch
• Frambreline Gruntrasher
• Prunella Lunge-Dachsund
• Brunhilde Gunke
• Countess Wilbertine-Starkers
• Nurse Fabriola Cruntstable
• Lady ffiona Horseperson
• Wimbert Lump
• Edwina Baggage
• Basil Kalashnikov
• Ron Groat
• Dr. Norbert Iodine

Hondootedly, the door below will belong to one of the aboves...

Goolies...

 For a regular laugh, we always click on this clip...

It surfaced again only yesterday...

BBC humour was so good back then, useless nowadays of course!

Robbery assault and battery...

I don't know why, but this track seems to occur every time I get into the shed for some serious 'work'...

I have a tape player Sellotaped to the ceiling, and my collection of favourite music is stored in an old briefcase nearby. This song is still a firm favourite after all these years - Elder Daught bought it for me for Christmas ages ago!

Although there's some confusion as to who played what in the final takes, Bill Bruford and Chester Thompson were still in the arena, and Phil Collins was helping out as well, but his singing was magical!

I love the synthesizer break from 4.10, and wonder if Steve Hacket really did contribute as much, or maybe was sounded out, but he certainly does cut the mustard these days - my doctor saw him a few months ago, and he was just fabulous!

A 'Trick of the Tail' is still a seminal album and deserves a listen from start to finish!

Turning point...

Back in the sixties, when I was living in London, I sometimes got a lift into Westminster with my flatmate,who would drive up Fulham Road at a terrifying rate of knots, and we'd arrive in Buckingham Gate about three minutes later, as he was indeed a speedy driver...

One part of the journey, at the end, has always intrigued me though... His office had an underground car park, and the idea was that he would drive down the ramp at roughly the same speed as he'd been doing on the way in, and hit the bottom with a screech of brakes. 

And then, the car began to turn sideways all on its own! It took me some time to appreciate how all this was happening, as I'd be holding my face in my hands, and had both feet jammed in the front of the foot well!

It was one of these...

There was no effort involved, as the momentum of the car arriving on the plate at around 100mph was enough to twist it so that it was easy to drive off to the right without fiddling about with a three-point turn!

Nifty eh?

Thought...

 

I was sent this by an old school friend from years ago. I knew his brother much better, as he was the same age as me, and we were in the same form and dormitory, so I suppose that means we always got on well - which we did!

As Scrobs approaches the Platinum Years next month, it seems right to let the writings of others articulate a few sentiments, and for me to do a bit of listening for a change.

Here's the piece: - 

What Will Matter? (by Michael Josephson)

Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.
All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten
will pass to someone else.
Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.
It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations
and jealousies will finally disappear.
So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire.
The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won’t matter where you came from
or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.
It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant.
Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.

So what will matter?
How will the value of your days be measured?

What will matter is not what you bought
but what you built, not what you got but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success
but your significance.

What will matter is not what you learned
but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity,
compassion, courage, or sacrifice
that enriched, empowered or encouraged others
to emulate your example.

What will matter is not your competence
but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew,
but how many will feel a lasting loss when you’re gone.
What will matter is not your memories
but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered,
by whom and for what.

Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident.
It’s not a matter of circumstance but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.

That vote on a knife-edge...

 

As was to be expected, there was uproar at the Extraparochial (don't you mean Extraordinary - Ed), (No I don't, mind your own business - Scrobs) meeting of Sodden Prickney's Council, when Dr Norbert Iodine decided that enough was enough, and Clr Basil Kalashnikov just had to go!

A vote was taken on exactly where Mr Kalashnikov was meant to go, and a secret ballot, witnessed by just about everybody in the village, as it was taken on the hottest day of the year so far, and everyone was out and about, enjoying the sunshine and several tinctures in 'The Bells', showed that there were plenty of suggestions, most of them from Norman Wibble, that indeed, he should go somewhere else, which was particularly unhelpful under the circumstances!

Normally, Ms Edwina Baggage would conduct the ballot count in the cupboard next to the coffee machine, and in close contact with whichever gentleman was ready to avail himself of her presence, (PC Lumbersnatch was the latest, (three times), but on this occasion, Ms Cynthia Molestrangler was not to be outdone, well, undone maybe, but she inserted her largish frame behind the small desk and pronounced that she was 'Bloody well going to count the bastards')!

The vote mainly concluded that Clr Kalashnikov would be given 50 lines, and told to do better next time, and he surprisingly took this as a vote of confidence in his ability to muck everything up, and anyway, he wasn't going to take any notice of the stupid vote anyway!

So, after Miss Newt admitted that she had lost the envelope containing the votes, and PC Lumbersnatch was rushed to hospital with a suspected sprained groin, the decision to pack up and go home was made, and everybody forgot about the issues for the nineteenth time this year!

Measure for measure...

 

Scrrobs has chatted about pounds and ounces several times now, and the revelation that we might be able to revert to Imperial measures is a great idea!

For years, there's been a whole building-full of government employees and their under-managers, managers, secretaries, cleaners, tea-ladies, light-bulb-changers etc., 'working' away at continuing the dreaded metric system of measurement under the dead hand of some plonker in Brussels, the identification of which I still cannot equate to (or is it with?),!

At last, Joe Public will be able to see how the supermarkets are ripping everyone off with their confusion on vegetables, like so much a kilo, 'each' or still in pounds and ounces!

I for one will cheer the day of reckoning from the rooftops!

And my pint of Shep's 'Old Grumbler' (7.6%) really will become a pint again!

Here we bloody go again...

All set to bugger up Her Maj's big days...

Edwina makes vino history...

 

The cultural exchange between Sodden Prickney and the Chilean village of Nargsville, had a shaky start, as Edwina Baggage, in her position as an advocate of Bicyclism, began to expound the base elements of the craft with Dr Norbert Iodine almost as soon as the plane left the runway, and the air hostess had to provide a blanket!

The various receptions given by Senor Shamus O'Blene, (no relation), in Nargsville prompted several impromptu outbursts of the niceties because Ms Cynthia Molestrangler decided to try and espouse the craft under the influence of several bottles of the rough, local wine (above), and nothing was going to stop her!

Councillor Basil Kalashnikov managed to down four bottles of the stuff before collapsing mid 'Sod everybo...' and had to be carried to his boarding house on a door, appropriated from the men's convenience in the village hall.

It was agreed that although the twinning visit was a great idea for cultural acclaim, the bicycling escapades were much more rewarding, and in future, when the Mayor of Nargsville was due to arrive, a special reception was to be provided by first, Miss Amelia Newt, followed by Ms Cynthia Molestrangler, and finally, Edwina Baggage, and a photographer from The Bugle.

Norman Wibble was not consulted.

Last man Standing...

Oh bugger...

Gerry...

Senora O'Blene and I have been immersed in the third or fourth series of 'New Tricks' this week, and to learn of this is so sad!

We remember 'The Sweeny' from a way back, and also bought the set of 'Minder' with just him as 'Arfur's' mate, so tonight we'll raise a glass to a great bloke!

I had a chance to meet him about fifteen years ago, when I was working on an event at a golf club with a few well-known names and also clients of the firm! The day was a hoot, and I can still remember him, sitting at a table on his own with a pint, and he winked as though a chat should be in order, and because I really had to keep the buzz going with the event, all I managed was a wave back and I never made proper contact!

Oh bollocks, I really wish I had...

Teacher in the cells...

Scrobs had an email recently, from the Secretary of his Old Boys Membership Group at his old school.

It was an obituary for a master, who was a Housemaster when I was there in the sixties, and although he never taught me, of course, I remember him well! He taught maths mainly, but some other peripheral subjects, and also was in charge of the Naval Section of the CCF, so was quite a busy bloke.

I didn't go to the memorial service, as it was a day's drive away, but on reading the eulogy, I was surprised to find out that after retiring, he spent about ten years working with young lads in prisons, to teach them to read and write!

To me, this was an admirable consequence to a life in academia, and I hope that those who managed to learn the basic skills have managed to improve their lives.

I was discussing this with Senora O'Blene, and she, as a retired teacher, mentioned that it must have been an incredibly challenging occupation, as there's a vast difference in teaching young children to read and write, with books and coloured pictures and trying to do the same with adults, who have already become weary with new tech, TV, films and worse.

Of course, I'll never know how he managed to keep all this going, but clearly he managed to get across the basics, and the lads just may have learned that there's a lot more to life than football, fags and a fight!

That's a worthwhile legacy I'd have never even thought about!

Get yer Cuban 'eels 'ere...

 

Just the other day, the wireless in the car sounded out some spectacular drumming by Bill Bruford, who is one of the best drummers, even the best, I've ever heard! His drums with the main band members of Yes is just fabulous, and I could listen to his playing all day!

Looking at the clip above, one wonders what some of the kids actually thought drumming was way back then, it was a bit 'thick'!

Sandy Nelson's 'Let there be drums' started it all off for Scrobs...

But Tony Meehan's 'See you in my drums' was a classic which I still love...

I won a radio prize for 'knowing ' that solo once, mainly because I spent most nights in 1962 hearing it from the record player downstairs at school...

And I never had a pair of Cuban heels!

Potter of the Rings...

So one of the most successful authors of my generation, J.K.Rowling, is left off the BBC's list of influential books to mark our Queen's seventy years on the throne.

"Suzy Klein, Head of Arts and Classical Music TV at the BBC said: 'Nineteen years on from the Big Read, the Queen's Platinum Jubilee feels like the perfect opportunity to foreground some of the greatest writing from across the Commonwealth in our Big Jubilee Read. 

The list of 70 books - one for each year of Elizabeth II's reign - is a real opportunity to discover stories from across continents and taking us through the decades, books that we might never have otherwise read, and reading authors whose work deserves a spotlight to be shone on it. 

'It's a really exciting way to share the love of books with readers of all ages, and to give book groups and book borrowers a plethora of great titles to try, borrow, share and discuss.' "

J.K.Rowling has done more to get children and the rest to start reading good stories, and her Harry Potter series - although I don't read that 'sort' of book, took the world by storm! I do devour her Robert Galbraith novels as they are a fabulous read, so like a lot of 'adults', I'm attracted to her style of writing, but to apply a typical BBC dictum (retranswokery), is a disgraceful insult.

She's made many film-makers, publishers, actresses and actors incredibly rich from her novels, but, like a lot of one-hit wonders, the bit parts she gave their first jobs to, just go with the flow, and I'm glad I can't be arsed even to look up their names and what they've 'done' next!

J.R. Tolkien has been treated the same way, and I well remember my dad reading all his stories!

This discrimination is all to be expected from a bloated tax-payer-funded 'broadcaster'!

Salva me...

 

The series 'Shadow of the noose', was a TV series about a barrister, Sir Edward Marshall Hall, and was broadcast in the late nineteen-eighties!

The series was pretty good and dealt with some incredible cases, but the highlight of it all was the theme song, composed by Duncan Browne and sung by Isobel Buchanan. I just love this piece, which is full of the solemn grandeur of the courtroom, and contains so many musical nuances, which some musician might understand - I'm not qualified to, but it is one of my favourite pieces of all time and I adore it!

The Tosscars...

 

There was uproar at the Sodden Prickney Village Hall last Thursday, when the awards for the most uninteresting citizens of the village were announced.

The prize for Bicyclist of the Decade went, of course, to Ms Edwina Baggage, who has been a keen Bicyclist for some years now. It was always assumed that the school bike sheds were her starting point, and occasionally her finishing point a few minutes later, but local worthies know better than that and point with quivering fingers at the various scratches on the bac...(that's enough - Ed)!

However, when the actual ceremony began, with a trumpet voluntary played by Master Tarquin McBarquin-Madde accompanied by his music teacher, Miss Whelk, Cllr Basil Kalashnikov, the compere of the event, took a sprightly trip up to the stage, and immediately started to tell Essex girl 'jokes', and other unfunny comments about various members of the Committee. Ms Cynthia Molestrangler took exception to the story about her and Mr Norman Wibble at her home the other day as she had just finished the ironing when he had arrived, more than somewhat breathless, and stood staring at the pile of - er - Janet Regers, whereupon Ms Molestrangler aimed a punch at the unfortunate Mr Wibble for even telling everyone what he'd seen, let alone informing The Bugle, and other scurrilous rags!

Mr Wibble then took exception to everyone staring at his bruised face, so he went up to the podium and immediately landed a haymaker on Cllr Basil Kalashnikov, who had hardly started to shriek, 'Sod Everybody', which is his normal opening statement at events such as this!

Pc Lumbersnatch was busily taking notes of the commotion so he could tell the others down the station later, and was unavailable to help Cllr Kalashnikov to his feet, so Miss Amelia Newt and her very special friend and conjugal advisor, Ron Groat, started to administer first aid, with the help of Dr Norbert Iodine and Mrs Trumpet, (Sid's fourth wife this year), and while they applied a small sirloin steak to the injured eye, Ms Baggage rushed on to the stage, grabbed the prize, waved it at everyone, and said in a shrill voice, "Stuff you lot, this is my deserved prize, and I don't give a **** if anyone tries to ****ing take it away from me"!

At this outburst, the organiser of the show, Major Bumme-Whole, decided that enough was enough, and pulled the plug on the stage lighting, thereby plunging the whole area into darkness. The only sounds that could be heard above the shrieks of indignation were the grunts and moans somewhere near where Ms Molestrangler and Master Tarquin McBarquin-Madde were apparently sitting in an unusual stridal pose...

Stone-cutters and their quirks...

 

Walking with New Dog through the churchyard the other day, not far from 'The Bells', which was closed as it was 7.00 am, it crossed Scrobs' mind that the abundance of stone everywhere, as on graves, the tower, the nave etc, must have beena monumental task when such items were being constructed.

There is one grave where the blargs are convened to a nadger in all four corners, and these are clearly replicated from the widgers which are complacent to the lunges at the perspect of the bell-tower, thus imaging some detail like the worgles on St Pauls!

It always amazes me that flungers and plindles are so relevant to 18th century stone-cutting! A well-known local historian, Dr. Norbert Sorbert-Flange, has managed to collect many examples of the mason's skills, and indexed them in order, from the Ablocidicle to the Zongular pedestal, and well worth a read at some stage preferably a year or so after death!

Meanwhile, New Dog has managed a huge packet up against the tomb of a local farmer, so I'd better continue this discussion when you have less time...