Home from work, our Juliet...

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Back when Scrobs was a working man, the three days beween Christmas and the New Year were always spent back in the office!

It was a simple equation, I wanted the three days holiday to be spent, well away with my family in the Summer, when they were younger, and not sitting huddled around the fire in winter with the presents, the blasted BBC etc.!

So, I always elected to go into the office, and prepare for the coming year, by organising diaries, programmes, work charts etc., and spend - oh - about an hour doing this until my Senior Partner would always pop into my room and ask if it might be a good time to sidle next door for a snifter or three!

And so we did! Every year!

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We did more work then that we ever did during the year, what with planning, working the details of the development sites, getting paid, getting sloshed, and we always felt an achievement from those few days of calm and introspection!

I somehow miss those days, as we were very good friends, and he was a generous man who appreciated the graft I put up for our business. 

I wish you well, Roger!

Dear ol' Christmas...

I guess it was always going to happen...

I even planned a spreadsheet to work out the best days to go shopping, to get the best discounts etc., and all looked well - on paper...

So, after getting the worst cold I can remember, plus the mother of coughs, I generously passed this on to Senora O'Blene. Luckily, I managed to get the antibiotics (Wendy, you're a Starlet, and I owe you), to allay the infection which normally occurs after three weeks, and yours truly was well away, but not the Senora! She succumbed major-big time and was very, very poorly.

Just about then, the washing machine succumbed to the 10 year stretch, and after finding the kitchen with an inch of water all over the tiles, a quick investigation showed a leak in the water feed, and I assumed everything would be okay after getting a new hose.

A management Guru once told us that, "Assume means 'You make an ass out of me'" And he was bloody well right, as the water leakage had plunged the electrics into inconsistency, and kicked the whole shebang into touch!

So...

Senora O'Blene had a fall and landed up in A&E with the nasty infection, I stayed at home with the detritus resulting from no washing facilities, and now the dear little dog has the squitters, and refuses to eat!

Scrobs takes charge - well, something to ease the pain, and a new washing machine is planned for delivery on Saturday. Senora O'Blene is at home again, but Lily is still being sick everywhere! And to add insult to injury, I decided to clean the carpets with the Vax machine. The downstairs carpets are ravishingly beautiful now, without a stain! The decision to use the stairlift to get the Vax upstairs (it's a bit heavy), proved to be quite wrong, as halfway up, the handle hit the ceiling, (building regs for staircases were not as good back then), and cracked the handle very badly...

Out into the shed, and a bit of Heath Robinson glueing and a splendid Jubilee clip, and somehow, it seems, (the operative word), to be OK! I sodding well hope so, as two big appliances being fucked up in just a few days is a bit of a bugger to be honest! And I have all this soiled stuff, cushions, rugs and the carpets to clean and wash on Christmas Eve - if the new washing machine works that is, and the Vax still does the business?

And ED, (Elder Daughter) is supposed to be coming over tomorrow, we're so looking forward to seeing her, and all the food and drink has to be lined up by 11.30am...

Bugger!

Spike to Ned...

During WW2, Spike Milligan often wrote to Harry Secombe, and as usual, his manic humour filled every paragraph!

Here's a taste of just one of these short passages, which still brings tears to the eyes!

April 22nd

Invited to cocktails with the Captain. He's a real son of the sea. He first became interested in ships when his mother approached him.

"John, your father wants you to build a boat at once!" She said.

"Where is father?" Inquired John.

"In the middle of the lake, drowning." Was the reply.

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It's not difficult to imagine the great man telling this story, and I wish I could see him now, with that fabulous grin...

The football racket...

During dry weekends, there's a sort of baying sound coming from the football field a couple of hundred yards away. It means that the game has started...

I don't really mind it much, because, after all, I used to turn out on a Saturday but made a smaller noise, rather like muscles being stretched, legs being bent the wrong way, the occasional tearing of the blood-soaked shirt etc., but that's rugby for you!

One issue I have though, is the way that every player on both sides starts yelling and shrieking from the whistle! Up close it is a cacophony of curses, yelps, and worst of all, the awful bedlam coming from one player, who is possibly the captain, as he keeps it up for the whole eighty minutes!

A good friend near here is a rugby correspondent for a national newspaper, and he writes particularly well too! I'd like to think that the following statement describes Mr Noisy in the most acceptable way for readers...

"Team Captain Sid Bloggs continually displays a gutteral, staccato monotone of 'advice', assuming a surmised managerial presence in some imagined state of the moronic interrogative"!

There - what about that!

The ice age cometh...

 

Thanks to all the scaremongers about 'globule worming', we are sitting here, and feeling bloody cold!

Thank goodness the awful BBC are getting it all wrong yet again - do we really need them?

Scrobs' Paso Doble...

 

I've never been a big fan of ballet.

In my somewhat bewildered mind, watching something about a scenario which was always going to be beyond my comprehension or enjoyment, seemed a bit of a waste of time! When I was much younger, there were more important things to think about, like beer, fags and Annie in Ashford!

But only last evening, watching a DVD of 'The Vicar of Dibley' on the show where Darcy Bussell was the star guest, I realised how much I should have admired such grace, such beauty and such charm when I was swilling pints at the rugby club and telling jokes about men's tights showing a huge bulge which their partners could use as a step to get up into the air!

How many years does it take an ageing old fart to appreciate what gorgeous, skillful dancers can do to one's chromosomes - those that are left that is...

Nest feathering...

Scrobs has discovered the way to obviate the food 'crisis'!

Buy a decent chicken!

On Sunday, the bird was well-roasted, and served up as it deserved, and all was as expected, except that I roasted it the wrong way up for a while, but no matter)!

The next day was spent stripping down the meat, getting the bones in the slow cooker for soup and making the casseroles for the freezer. The dog also had two meals from the sort of stuff you'd rather not look at...

So, for the outlay of about £10.50, (it was a Tesco 'Finest' bird, so pricier), we had a hot serving on Sunday, a cold one on Monday, soup yesterday, and now have four casseroles and three soups in the freezer! So that's about a quid a meal!

Now what does that tell you?

It tells me that whenever I buy anything new, the freezers become over-loaded and at some stage, we really should stop buying anything and use up what we already have! Surely home economics should be taught to people who think, (or are told by the BBC), that they're in a 'crisis'?

But do we stop buying? Do we heck...?

 

Now and then...

I find the-recently rebuilt song by The Beatles incredibly sad.

I understand that the latest equipment to separate a voice from an instrumental addition was a huge display of excellence, and full marks go to the people who did this, but listening to John Lennon's voice with some pretty enigmatic chord structures added later, is - to me - a bit disconcerting, and I feel a certain amount of melancholy creeping in when I hear it all. 

I love the song - it hits a spot which is so similar to the way they used to produce songs like 'Girl', 'It's just another day', 'Things we said today' and many others. I wonder if there are any more, because there was a pretty good re-structured rendition of 'Free as a bird', which I still love, and like many artists who recorded their music whenever they could, there have to be a few tapes lurking somewhere dusty...

Some years ago, when I was clearing out my dad's office after he died. I found a small Dictaphone tape from one of his talks about hop-picking for Guinness, back in the 'sixties. It's quite a long piece, and is the only recording I have of his voice! By chance, my office used to use these machines to write letters for the typists, (pre-email this), so I can still listen to a friendly family voice from all those years ago, and I should really record it onto something else, in case the machine breaks down...

A car is for life, not just for Christmas...

There's an article in The Daily Mail, which states that the second-hand price of some cars has beaten the price of gold, and also most of the stock market, in recent years!

Here it is...

Now, Scrobs is in his middle seventies - late middle age one might say - and we own a perfectly acceptable VW Golf, which has done only 17,000 miles in ten years.

It failed its MOT last month, because the rear suspension springs had broken - presumably thanks to Kent County Council's policy of encouraging potholes everywhere, and it now needs some new tyres, as we only do around 3,000 miles a year, and while they look good from the outside, at ten years old, they're begining to rot. The rear brakes need some TLC as well!

So by my calculations, I wonder if it's ever worth changing the car for a newer model, as this one does exactly what I need, the design is pretty timeless and it's comfortable, has a few bolt-ons as it was a Motability model, and it goes as fast - or slow, as I can cope with!

I could even walk to the shops a mile away, or better still, go by bike, so is there really any need to replace it - ever? The costs of servicing etc., are pretty static, it uses decent petrol as I only do short journeys and while a couple of things go wrong occasionally, the cost for repair didn't break the bank, and to quite honest, I really like driving it!

There must be some standard calculation somewhere, which tells us what the options are, and doubtless I'll get a call one day from the garage to suggest an upgrade, so that'll be fun as I like the owner, so I guess the best bet is to hang in there, and save the old pensions for a bit longer - maybe forever...

Five old boys...

Apart from the title of this post being the same as a new novel I saw on the shelves, I'm meeting four old friends and colleagues from my schooldays back in the late fifties and early sixties, so we'll all be in our seventh decade and there'll be a good deal of banter about the 'good old days...

I still have copies of all the old school magazines, plus some other material which I will take along, so at least we can check up on all the outrageous claims that will undoubtedly be made after a couple of pints of Harveys Best Bitter and a nourishing chilli con carne!

Fabulous red-headery...

Just clicking around the old Amstrad the other day, Scrobs found an amazing short article here: - 

National Redhead Day

Found In: Tilburg 
Est. Cost: N/A 

The last weekend in August is a fun time in the Netherlands, especially if you are a redhead. National Redhead Day is a major festival that draws in thousands of people to the city of Tilburg. The festival began as a small event in Asten, and it grew when more people got wind of it.

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National Redhead Day @r/mildlyinteresting/Reddit

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People travel from all over the world to attend National Redhead Day, and the festival features games, prizes, food stalls, and more. Events include workshops, “Find The Name Of Your Hair Color,” “The Power of a Redhead” lectures, bouncy castles, and other fun events dedicated to the beauty of red locks.

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I have several genuine redhead friends around here, and just love to see these delightful sights, especially around now, in the Autumn!

Winter, of course, with all that snow and ice, fits Scrobs' hair colour to a tee...

It is written...

Chatting with a daughter the other day, she mentioned a term I'd not heard before! Her new contract with her firm required 'a wet signature'! I'd never thought that such an issue would need to be explained to me, but it's quite simple really, (now she's told me in words of one syllable)! 

With so much digital traffic flying around the ether, a firm written indication of intent or proof of a document is a necessity, so one has to write one's monica on the dotted line at some stage, and not just bung off a three word text message!

You learn something every day, so please accept this hand-written post with my compliments...!

Craggy Island threnody - the grand, (!) finale...

Father Ted : - "Ron, my dear chap, you've settled yourself then - I hope Mrs Doyle has shown you everything"!

Father Ron : - "She has and that's a fact Ted, y'know, seeing you all here sort of reminds me about some of the earlier days before the priesthood..."!

Father Ted : - " You mean when we were at training college, Ron, when Father Bigly ate a whole sandwich before mass, and was ticked off for not fasting"?

(Father Ron looks at Ted somewhat bemused at his naivete about such an insignificant issue).

Father Ron : - "No Ted, I'm talking about the riot at the Trinity Rugby Club, where we beat St Clonach's and celebrated far too much after the match"!

Father Ted : - " Oh that time - er - we won something like 58-3 didn't we? I remember the Bishop watching and yelling at everyone to get stuck in and 'beat the shit out of the cheating bastards', but surely we deserved a little respite after such a hard season"?

Father Ron : - " Oh yes, that was a night to remember, but you'll have to ask Mrs Doyle what happened as well"!

(Father Dougal has just skipped into the room like a small kid)

Father Dougal : - " What's this about Mrs Doyle, Ted? She's upstairs, rummaging around in Ron's luggage and muttering something about a photograph or something"!

Father Ron : - " Well she did say she'd get my washing stuff done, is that what you mean Dougal, but the photos aren't in the case"? 

Father Ted : - " Er, what photos might they be then Ron, you know we gave up all that girly nonsense when we took our vows"!

Father Ron : - " They're from the Trinity night, Ted! Mrs O'Shaughnessy was in the kitchen serving up the Colcannon and Mrs Doyle was helping her; surely you remember Mrs O'Shaughnessy, the gal with a real punch..."?

Father Ted : - " Oh - er - yes, as a matter of fact I do, and her old man, Pat! He spent half his time hiding from her when she was on the stout..."!

Father Ron : - " Ah yes, and the other half round at Grainne's place, putting up a few things"!

Father Dougal : - " What was he putting up then Ron, was it shelves or something"?

(Father Ron rolls his eyes and jerks a thumb at Dougal)

Father Ron : - (peering at Ted)," Is he for real Ted...! (back to Dougal) No Dougal, Pat O'Shaughnessy wasn't a carpenter, he was a bricklayer, and did a lot of laying down and pointing up"!

Father Dougal : - " Aaah, that makes sense then Ron, I always liked the building! Father Jack was often visiting schools and..."!

Father Ted : - " Dougal! That's enough of that! Jack's family were all in the building, he just took an interest in the plumbing and the windows an' that! His dad often took him to the building sites when he was very young Ron! The men would often give him small jobs to do and he'd help them out so much they gave him his own hard hat! Ha - once when he got home, his Ma asked him if he was going to 'work' next week, and d you know what he answered? 'I hope so Ma, so long as O'Maras get the fecking bricks on site in time'"!

Father Ron : - " I only met Jack once or twice, which was enough for me back then! But he was certainly there at the Trinity game and kept yelling 'Feck-arse-girls' every time St Clonach's had the ball"!

Father Ted : - " Aaaah yes, that was some support we had that day, the clubhouse ran out of Guinness before the match, and Michael had to drive down to the depot to get a load more"!

Father Ron : - " There was also a lot of support from the town ladies too...(short reverie peering in the middle distance), but that is where I now remember about Mrs Doyle and Mrs O'Shaughnessy! YES! That was it! Mrs Doyle started taking photographs of everything that was happenin' that night! Mrs O'Shaughnessy kept badgering her to get back to the washing up, but your lady took no notice, and - and - and - took several shots of the singin' and the jigs, and also, me doing 'The Zulu Warrior'! She recorded the whole routine, and what's worse, she was still flashin' away at the final bits, where all the kit and cassocks are flung in the air, and one is seen - TACKLE OUT"!

Father Dougal : - " What's that about the fishin' then Ron"?

Father Ted : - (gently) "Dougal, Father Ron is referring to the fact that he was standing on the table, bollock naked, and Mrs Doyle took several photographs of him up there"!

Father Dougal : - " Ted, that can't be right, (it dawns on him then), Aaaaaw, I see now - Father Ron didn't have his cassock on, and Mrs Doyle needed some sort of picture of him - or something..."!

Father Ron : - (exasperated) " Ted, is this eejit for real"?

Father Ted : - " I'm afraid he is, Ron, we're getting there, but he's got quite a long way to go before he's let back to Blackrock"!

Father Ron : - " Well that's a relief, we can't have anyone letting the Bishop know, now can we"!

Father Dougal : - " Know about what, Ted? Wasn't the Bishop at the game"?

Father Ted : - " Well, yes he was Dougal, but he had to leave early - something about a chat with - er - a lady at Mrs O'Shaughnessy's or sometin'"!

Father Ron : - " We'll keep quiet about that Ted, there's no need to keep bringing up the past, and I still have the photographs so it won't go any further - look, here they are"! (rummages in his cassock, brings out a well-thumbed package, and shows them to Ted and Dougal).

Father Ted : - " Ron, I don't think you should be showing these things around, y'know, young minds an' that"!

Father Ron : - " Surely Dougal's seen another man's winkle before Ted - er - hasn't he"?

Father Dougal : - " Awww yes, but only in the magazines, in the kecks an' stuff! Oh yes, I know all about that sort of thing"!

Father Ron : - " Well that's a relief! Dougal, you can have a quick look and then we'll keep quiet and not tell Mrs Doyle a thing, right"?

Father Dougal : - (peering at the photos) " Aaaaargh, it's like a prick, only smaller - how did you get the photos back anyway"!

(Mrs Doyle rushes in with a tea trolley and a huge teapot before Ron can put the photos away, and starts pouring out the cups, peering over Ron's shoulder at the same time, sloshing tea everywhere)

Mrs Doyle : - " I see you've still got the photographs then Father"! (blushes, simpers and flusters around, bleating as usual).

Father Ron : - " Ah, yes Mrs Doyle, and wasn't it worth the good time you had that night! And do you really want to know what happened to the other photos which Father Cormac took of you, doing another sort of dance, eh"?

(The room goes deathly silent and then Mrs Doyle starts to fidget and show shock and horror, bleating and sighing at the same time)

Mrs Doyle : - (dreamily) " Those days, I could do the Fandango like nobody else, Mrs O'Shaughnessy got me to do it for all her friends! I was the star of the show, and had Mr Doyle been around, he'd have clapped and cheered! But he wasn't, so he didn't - that cheatin' bastard, leavin' me all on my own at Mrs Shaughnessy's place"!

Father Ted : - (impatiently) " Mrs Doyle, you really don't have to go through all that again, it all happened years ago"!

Mrs Doyle : - " I know Father, but seeing Father Ron again after all this time, has got me in a bit of a tizz, and I'm gettin' the palpitations, and the memories are just too much for me to stop me doing this..."! (Mrs Doyle rushes over and plants a huge slobbery kiss on Father Ron's face, then stands back, panting a little, and simpering).

Father Ron : - " Ah, Mrs Doyle, that was just lovely! You can have the photos on one condition..."!

Mrs Doyle : - (still panting slightly) " And what would that be Father"?

Father Ron : - " You give me the negatives ... AND also the other pictures of Father Ted, Father Jack and Father Dougal doing the Can Can at the Trinity Club"!

Mrs Doyle : -  (snarling in her fiercest way possible) "DONE! And as for you, Fathers Ted, Jack and Dougal, I also have photos of ALL of you in the bath, so you'd better sit up and listen to Father Ron! (She pauses, puts on a wheedling face). Ron, I'll make you a Canon, a Cardinal, anything you like, but please, please PLEASE take me away from this place"!

(Silence all round as Mrs Doyle bleats uncontrollably, Father Jack snores, Dougal stares at nothing in particular and Ted fumbles a cigarette from the packet on the table).

(To be continued...)

Oh sod it, let's finish the bloody thing now, and we can all get some sleep...

SCENE - Ted's and Dougal's bedroom. They're both sitting up in bed)

Father Ted : -  "Dougal, what do you really think of Father Ron? He used to be quite a joker back at the college, but would you have thought that he and Mrs Doyle were 'an item'"?

Father Dougal : - "Ted, I really don't know, and what's 'an item' then"?

Father Ted : -  " Er, well, Dougal, it's when a lady and a man are attracted to each other, so they get married and have children and stuff"!

Father Dougal : - "That's grand isn't it Ted, they can get married at one of our masses"!

Father Ted : -  " Dougal, you've never really grasped the importance of our faith have you"!

Father Dougal : - "Oh yes I have Ted, there's those photographs to prove it all! Mrs Doyle took them and it looks like Mrs O'Shaughnessy knew about them all the time, from the Bishop, who was round there after the rugby, and seeing all sorts of shenanigans going on between all her girls and the Cardinals an' that! Father Ron went round later after the Zulu Warrior, and - and - and..."!

(Father Ted stares at Dougal in amazement, shakes his head then gives up).

Father Ted : -  " Say goodnight Dougal".

Father Dougal : - " Goodnight Ted"!

(silence for several moments after lights out)

Father Dougal : - (waking up and shouting) "TED! Mrs Doyle saw our winkles"!

(Fade out - and thank God for that, it's been a long hard slog, and if anyone has a better ending then good bloody luck, 'cos I've had enough of all this caper)!

D!

Art for art's sake...

 

Still a classic, and going around this ol' grey head for some reason...

Craggy yeah whatever...

 

The story so far...

Father Ron O'Blene has been sent to Craggy Island by Bishop Brennan with hilarious consequences!

Mrs Doyle has prepared three tons of egg sandwiches with hilarious consequences!

Father Dougal and Father Jack both say 'Feck' at the same time with hilarious consequences!

Scrobs is still in a mild panic because he's forgotten the original plot which was meant to finalise the saga with hilarious consequences!

(To be continued after the break...)

Craggy Island threnody - an intermission...

Scrobs is still drafting the exciting denouement to the rather tiresome episodes about the shenanigans on Craggy Island.

The characters of the story are still in a stage of inter-minglement, and while a much more important issue is being raised concerning the disgraceful attempts to silence the brilliant author of the original series, Mr Graham Linehan, any Google search might throw up a connection to this site, (do you really think so - Ed), and I would much rather that he was afforded the proper focus on his plight, which appears to be organised by those who perpetrate the general ability with the caber in The Highland Games!

The eventual story will squeak and bang to a conclusion when the writers' block has been eliminated or whatever it's called...

Senor Conrad Roberto O'Blene.

Craggy Island threnody - Pt 2...

(The 'story' so far: - Father Ron O'Blene has been sent to Craggy island by Bishop Brennan, (Len), for an unknown reason. Mrs Doyle knows something, and the plot thickens, rather like the arteries on Father Jack's drinking arm...)

Father Ted : - (answering the door bell, which is sounding continuously as though someone is leaning on it), "Ron! My dear old friend, bring yourself inside and come and make yourself at home"!

Father Ron : - "Who the feck are you..."?

Father Ted : - "Ron, it's me, Ted Crilly; we were at Theological College together"!

Father Ron : - "Now where was that then - was it near Athlone, Co. Westmeath? Or was it somewhere else then..."?

Father Ted : - "No, it wasn't Athlone, they barred us from there after the incident at the hurling, so we finished up in Galway, where nobody knew us, thank goodness"!

Father Ron : - "The hurlin' you say? (drops fag end on the floor, and Mrs Doyle immediately rushes out of the kitchen with a dustpan, making bleating noises), I don't remember no hurlin', just getting beaten up by the Garda once..."!

Father Ted : - "That was the reason why, Ron, we were playing their local team, and you smashed your stick over the head of their number 5, then their number 3"!

Father Ron : - "I was never much good there, Aaah yes, I remember now, I was aiming at their number 4"! He once booked me for driving wit'out lights on! The bastard! I didn't know it was his car"!

Father Ted : - "But you went on to play the rugby though, surely you remember that Ron"!

Father Ron : - "Aaah, now you're talkin'! The Rugby! Now that's a man's game! Plenty of beer, action and the girls..."! (Stares into the middle distance, wistfully.)

Father Ted : - "Er, Ron, we were training to be priests, and, the opposite sex wasn't - er - part of our vocation now, was it"!

Father Ron : - "You speak for yourself Crilly, me and Father Oisin had several visits to Our Lady's Convent after lights out! You should remember, you came with us once and we got through two whole bottles of Bushmills one night! Sister Assumpter did the 'Dance of the Seven Habits' on the refectory table..."!

Father Ted : - "Oh my Dear God, Ron, you musn't mention that to Father Jack, he'll go mental"!

(Dougal is listening at the door)...

Father Dougal : - "What's this Ted, dancing without the habits? Jack's asleep anyway"! 

Father Ted : - "Dougal, not a word of this to anyone, especially Father Jack"!

Father Dougal : - "Len always banged on about bad habits didn't he! Then we saw the video of him bollock naked...."!

Father Ted : - "Dougal, SHUT UP! Father Ron and I need to discuss a few things before Jack wakes up! Mrs Doyle, will you show Ron to his room please"?

(Mrs Doyle wanders around in a daze, with a stupid grin on her face).

Mrs Doyle  : - "Will you come this way, Father O'Blene? I've made up your bed, and put a spare bottle of whiskey on your window cill for medicinal purposes"! (She bows and scrapes as Ron O'Blene staggers towards the stairs belching loudly)! "I know you'll like the scenery from your window, Father! If you look carefully, you'll see the gardens of the local girls' school, and they're out there now, playing their little games in their gymslips! Father Jack used to like this room, but Father Ted banned him a few months ago, as he bought a telescope from Exchange and Mart, and spent all day up here! We had to tell the Garda that he was a keen astronomer, but they took away his telescope all the same"!

Father Ron : - "Mrs Doyle, I seem to remember you from way back, did you ever know Mrs O'Shaughnessy of Newbridge Road"?

Mrs Doyle  : - "Now Father, why would you want to know that then? (she flutters her eyelashes, and starts bleating again). Mrs O'Shaughnessy was a good friend, and it's only through Pat O'Shaughnessy that we'd have ever met..."(looks wistfully into the middle distance).

Father Ron : - "Ya' see Mrs Doyle, she came to confession one day last year, and afterwards, mentioned that you and Pat used to visit the rugby club bar when they were playing at home, and that he was getting a bit keen on the stout one evening, and needed some other sort of recreation, and some eejit mentioned doing a 'Zulu Warrior' on the bar table, and he pointed at me...! D'ya remember that then"?

Mrs Doyle  : - (wringing her hands and simpering wildly, staring in all directions). "Oooh, I can't remember that far back Father, you'd best forget all about it, and I'll fetch you some tea"!

Father Ron : - "Mrs Doyle, it's all coming back to me now, you were there that night, weren't you..."!

Mrs Doyle  : - (wringing her hands), "Well maybe just a little bit of the time, I was only - er - helping Mrs O'Shaughnessy wit' the pots and pans, but I did have a little peep..."!

Father Ron : - (looking mystified, then happy, then grumpy), "Well, it all happened a long time ago, so we'll forget all about it shall we then..."!

Mrs Doyle : - "Best forgotten, yes"! (she does one more glance in his direction and escapes out of the bedroom door, bumping into Dougal, who is listening at the keyhole).

Father Dougal : - (grinning inanely) "What was all that about? You and Father Ron? But you're fine Mrs Doyle, I'll not tell anyone - not a single soul"!

(Mrs Doyle yelps and rushes away down the stairs, bleating and generally dusting everything she can see).

----------------------------

(Dougal enters the sitting room).

Father Dougal : - (grinning inanely), "Ted, what's all this about Father Ron and the rugby at Trinity? You were there weren't you? Was Father Jack? and who else might have been there...(thinks, then brightens up with a shriek). "It was Bishop Brennan, wasn't it, It was Len! Len the priest with the love child"! (Dougal scampers around the room with joy).

Father Ted : - "Dougal, SHUT THE FECK UP and sit down! We're not supposed to let all this scuttlebuck get out of hand! (fumbles a cigarette from a pack and lights up nervously, then quietens down a bit). "It's all complicated you see, Father Ron, Bishop Len Brennan and I were all old mates back then, but after the - er - issue with the 'Zulu Warrior' episode, there was a certain amount of friction, and no mistake! But we decided to put all that behind us, and here we are, all good friends again - er - except for Len Brennan that is..."!

(The door opens and Father Ron enters).

(to be continued)...

Craggy Island threnody - Pt 1...

Craggy Island - Breakfast time.

Father Ted : -"Morning Father Jack"!

Father Jack : -"Feck off"!

Father Ted : -"Oh, well, yes, of course, - er - Dougal, what are you doing with that magazine? We don't take that sort of thing here you know"!

Father Dougal : -"Awww, I know Ted, but it's all about these people who are told to go and stay on a small island, and fend for themselves! It's a brand new experience"!

Father Ted : -"Dougal, you don't actually realise why we're all here on Craggy Island do you"?

Father Dougal : -"Len told me I had to come here Ted! I never did find out why, but it's better than Blackrock and no mistake"!

Father Ted : -"Dougal, 'Blackrock' was the main reason why you're here for God's sake"!

Father Dougal : -"Father Jack wasn't at Blackrock, but he's here"!

Father Ted : -"I know Dougal, but Bishop Len wanted him to be among friends while he - er - recovered"!

Father Dougal : -"What does he need to recover from then Ted?"

(Ted is just about to answer, when the door opens and Mrs Doyle enters pushing a trolley with an enormous two gallon teapot and some breakfast things.)

Mrs Doyle : -"Morning Fathers; time for breakfast, and here's the post! Tea"?

Father Ted : -"Aaah, thank you Mrs Doyle, nothing like a good breakfast to start the day, is there"!

(Mrs Doyle fiddles around filling huge cups of tea. Ted opens a letter with his knife, and scans the contents).

Father Ted : -"Haaah! Well, this is good news indeed! We're going to be joined by an old friend of mine from Theological College! (he reads on and his mood changes), "He's coming here on Bishop Len's orders, to 'mend his ways', and start taking life seriously again! Hmmm, you knew Father O'Blene didn't you Father Jack"?

Father Jack : -"That fat arse! Feck off"!

Father Dougal : -"There was something about Father O'Blene in my magazine, Ted! I'll find it for you"!

Father Ted (hastily, and hiding the letter from Mrs Doyle): - "Father O'Blene has - er - been - er - caught - no, no, he's been seen - er - in a place where he might have been - er - best not seen..."!

Mrs Doyle : -"That wouldn't be the incident at the Trinity rugby club now would it Father"?

Father Ted : -"How did you hear about that then, Mrs Doyle"?

Mrs Doyle : -(patting her hair and simpering)"Oh, just - er - rumours, Father, nothing more"! (exits, making sheep eyes to nobody in particular).

Father Dougal : -"Did Father O'Blene do the same sort of thing you did before you came here then Ted"?

Father Ted : -"Dougal, I've told everyone until I'm blue in the face, that the money was just 'resting' in my account, for God's sake"!

Father Dougal : -"So Father O'Blene won't know about that then Ted, will he, although he knew you from College"?

Father Ted : -"Dougal, I've had enough of this, now get on with your pop-tarts"!

Father Dougal : -"I wonder if Father O'Blene will like Mrs Doyle's pop-tarts, Ted! What's his given name by the way"?

Father Ted : -(chuckling in recall) "It's Ron O'Blene, Dougal, and he was the life and soul of Mass every Sunday, always whispering during the sermons, and farting in the quiet bits! Of course, we were all very young then, and wouldn't dream of doing that sort of thing now"!

Father Dougal : -"Jack farted during Mass last week, and the week before! And he belched several times too"! (waves hand in front of his face).

Father Ted : -"Dougal, Jack has a serious problem, and we don't make light of his bodily functions! I know he likes a drink, but he was once a staunch believer in looking after the fallen men and women, and it seemed to Bishop Len, that he'd begun to like them just a little too much, so he came here for a short three-week stay"!

Father Dougal : -"When would that have been then, Ted"?

Father Ted : -"About seven years ago now...! Time flies, doesn't it Father Jack"!

Father Jack : -"Feck off"!

Father Ted : -"I see Father Jack has got out of bed the wrong way again, Dougal"! (chuckles)

Father Dougal : -"Jack didn't get to bed last evening Ted, he slept all night in his chair"!

Father Ted : -"Now Dougal, we shouldn't judge Father Jack like this, those stairs are a challenge to anyone who is - er - tired, he probably decided to watch some late television, or something"!

Father Dougal : -"Ah, so that's why the remote shows one of those Polish channels then, I wondered what there was to see in a programme which has girls dancing with just Poles"!

(Mrs Doyle enters with yet another huge teapot, and begins filling several cups which are placed all over the room).

Mrs Doyle : -"There's a car outside, Father, it's been driving back and forth for half an hour now, and the driver keeps swerving towards the gate, then driving off again! I think he might be lost"!

(Ted rushes to the window, followed by Dougal. A car screeches to a halt in the drive having hit the gate post, and a dishevelled figure emerges, looking decidedly the worse for wear).

Father Ted : -(excitedly) "It's Ron; my old chum from College, He's here already! Come on Dougal, we'll give him a hand with his luggage"! (They rush out the front door).

(to be continued...)

HP Sauce, the French connection...

 

No, not the Private Eye column, but still hilarious!

I can still remember my dad laughing hysterically at this fabulous clip from the sixties! Marty Feldman was one of the funniest performers and writers of his time! Once, when Harold Wilson asked him if he was a member of the Labour Party, he replied, " Blimey no, I'm a socialist"!

Back then we didn't have to endure the dull cranks and 'activists' we now have posing as 'comedians', he was way above all that, and was always very, very funny!

All them trombones and nobody marches in step...

Scrobs leads the way to celebrate another milestone (or millstone)...

 

'That' photograph - a squall in a D-cup...

There was uproar at the Sodden Prickney Parish Council meeting held yesterday, when Cllr Basil Kalashnikov was asked to come clean on who, within the comittee, had phoned up his step-nephew and asked for a picture of his new electric scooter!

The story had unfolded over a month earlier, when Edwina Baggage, who is the Bicycling Correspondent for the 'Sodden Prickney Bugle', (a local newspaper - Ed.), was interested in buying the machine for the son of one of her many friends as a kind of gift for being a 'real sport' at all sorts of things...

To make matters worse, (or more interesting - Ed.), Cllr Cynthia Molestrangler had been photographed visiting the premises of Countess Erasmerama Loingirder, a corsetiere of some Ugandan repute, and who has regular consultations with clients of both - er - sexes, and was wondering why Miss Molestrangler wanted such a large size as, while she isn't as wasted as she used to be, one couldn't class her as corpulent, so the big question was, who was it for...?

The photographs were undoubtedly genuine, as they had a date stamp showing the said councillor stubbing out a Capstan Full Strength on the wall before entering the blacked out shop door at 3.00pm! What was even more damning, was that our intrepid photographer managed to beetle around to the back of the shop, and there, leaning aginst the wall was the electric scooter, with a label saying £35.00 attached to the handlebars!

So after all the tiresome discussions which took up most of the meeting, Cllr Kalashnikov called for a mercy break, and went out for a smoke in the porch, only to see a certain young lad, careering down the street on the very scooter being discussed within! What was also concerning, was that the lad was none other than the wayward son of Dr Norbert Iodine, who practices medicine in the village between 3.00pm and 4.00pm on alternate Fridays! The Doctor wasn't at the meeting, as he had a golf match which he needed to attend as the club's Chief Medical Officer, so the lad had clearly obtained the scooter from an 'admirer' on the comittee, and the revelations were going to start right now...

The meeting broke up in normal disarray, with every councillor looking at each other warily, wondering if it was him or her who was the culprit! Cllr Baggage was being looked at more than the others, but as she normally gets far more attention than others, (and half the male staff at The Bugle - Ed.), despite being ashen-faced, she just shrugged her shoulders and told everybody to bugger off as is wasn't her!

The real trouble is, nobody has the faintest clue what's going on about all this, and why anyone is really bothered at all, except perhaps Mrs Baggage, who may just get a bonus, or something similar!

Betting odds on who it is: -

Cllr Basil Kalshnikov 8/1

Cllr Amelia Newt 8/1

Cllr Cynthia Molestrangler 8/1

Cllr Norman Wibble 8/1

Cllr Dr Norbert Iodine 8/1

PC Lumbersnatch 8/1

Cllr Edwina Baggage 8/1

Cllr Ron Groat 8/1

(Hardly a Ladbrokes layout is it Scrobs - Ed.)

Requiem for a song...

Some years ago, Stephen Pile published this hilarious book, 

                                             

There are lots of instances like 'The Worst Mishap in Stage Production', or 'The Least Successful Detective', but one item jumped out of the page, and here it is, mined from YouTube...

I give you, 'The Legendary Stardust Cowboy' 'singing' 'Paralyzed'...

It seems that you can only watch it on YouTube direct, so if you want a real treat, or have a few minutes of your life damaged beyond repair, then click on the link...

Funky moped...

When Scrobs turned sixteen, his first thoughts were about ditching the Triumph Palm Beach bike and getting engin-ised! His dear sister already used a Lambretta for college, and therefore the only affordable transport available was a moped!

There was one like this available at Styles' Garage in Battle, and it cost £19-0-0, so I bought it - or rather my dad did! The first ride was ecstatic and I must have reached at least 25mph at one stage! I think the insurance was £2 a year, and I grew to love the old thing, even though most of my friends had real motorbikes like a Francis Barnett or a James...

I read recently that mopeds are staging a sort of comeback as nostalgia reaches the minds of many of my generation, and I'd rather like to consider buying one and 'doing it up'...

I say consider, as it won't happen, and I still get the buzz of powered bicycling on my electric bike, which goes nearly as fast as the old Mobylette!

Conundrum...

Scrobs has been thinking quite a lot about a combination of emotions, feelings etc., of late, and while there's nothing concerning or worrying about the collection of thoughts, it's an intriguing conundrum to write down the facts and try to figure out what the outcome will be!

First, the tragedy of the Oceangate loss was always going to be something to take up a lot of time to understand and accept, but I'm reading a great book by Nevil Shute, (see Scrobs passim), called 'An old captivity', which is all about a flying boat's mission to the unknown in Greenland, and the similarities are extant, such that I know that something's going to happen, but I haven't got there yet! The story is rivetting and I look forward to a proper time to read it and not just dip in for just a few lines here and there!

Why the eternal fight by Peter Boggis who is trying to protect his house in Lowestoft from falling into the sea figures in all this, I don't know, but watching 'Coast' last evening, the subject seemed to reverberate within the context of the book as well!

The current earworm is the latest music by Peter Gabriel, with lyrics which an artist could paint within these parameters, and that adds to the confusion too! 

'I walk with my dog and I whistle with the bird; Stuff coming out and stuff going in', all slots in as well so what's next...?

For those you'll never meet, but want to chat with anyway...

Just the other day, Scrobs was peering at his PC screen, blinking at the various messages one gets from the bank, (sod'em), Ebay etc., and a message came up 'just asking how everything was going at The Turrets'! It came from a chum with whom I've had numerous chats, but have never met, and sadly never will - probably...

Well, it's not all bad really, and the heat is hurting Senora O'Blene more than somewhat, but the upside is that for the first time, I let our hound, Lily off the lead for the first time since we got her!

This morning, as we started off on her early walk, I met two lovely ladies who live just down the road, and they were on a trek around the fields and orchards we are lucky to still have, and I was invited along!

Scrobs never says no to that sort of invitation, and so we ended up in some fields about half an hour away, and just while I was thinking about perhaps trusting her not to run away, the girls suggested that I let her off the lead!

So I did, and she had a whale of a time, darting here and there, playing with the other two dogs all the way, and getting exhausted in the process - as did I!

It's odd really, always thinking she might have just toddled off, but she stayed close, had some great games, and was great company for all of us!

So Linda, it was so nice of you to write and ask how we are; it's prompted me to get up and go forward just a little more now, and we'll certainly chat again soon!

Understanding Sturmey-Archer is next...

 

Instructions for driving normal, petrol or diesel cars...

Fiddle-de-dee...

Off to the supermarkets this morning, to be confused yet again at how they try and cheat their customers...

I need to buy some spuds, as at this time of year, we have Jersey Royals, Cornish Smalls, Mallorcan News etc., plus a load of bakers, 'essentials', ordinary whites, reds etc.,, and they'll all be priced in different ways!

Some of the big ones will be priced as 'each', with no weight shown, some will be priced in ready-packaged bags by the kg, while other similar spuds will be charged in lbs. I even shot myself in the foot the other day, as I saw some Cornish News in a bag, but they weren't priced at all, so I 'zapped' the bag with the little gun, and got a label printed. Then I thought that the deal was OK, so got another bag, and did the same! I didn't see that the packaging was so similar, but I'd bought different bags, and after I got home realised that I could have got exactly what I wanted cheaper had I bought a loose lot...

I know all the habits of market trading back in the old days still control the 'ethics'* of supermarkets, i.e. sell as much as you can fiddle, and I even tried to take a hand-held Ipaq PC with me some years ago, so I could pop in the numbers, and calculate the price differentials, but it took ages, and I still thought I was being ripped off!

We're watching 'Open all hours' at the moment, and Arkwright is in full swing, so that's why I'm going to tremble when that little tin falls off the top of the crashing till, or rather more when the lovely Julia comes across to help me check out on the self-service till...

* There are no ethics in supermarket trading - Ed

Cinema show...

 

I've had several copies of this fabulous song for well over forty years, and it's still as fresh and vibrant as it must have been when it was played in Paris in 1976!

I've always admired Bill Bruford as one of the greatest drummers ever, but he and Phil Collins just bring the house down with this version, and the keyboard work by Tony Banks is mesmerising, especially when you think that this was all 'live'!

Apparently, when the song was first thought of, Mike Rutherford a started a small, simple riff, Peter Gabriel changed the characters to 'Romeo and Juliet' and the end piece was just built on a few phrases, but what a performance!

(The graphics are just hilarious as well...)!

Aunt Doris and the Jennings story...

 

When Scrobs was quite young, around six or seven, he used to know several ladies in the village, who were kindly, generous, good friends on his Mum and Dad - and Sister, and he often popped round after church on a Sunday, because there were always some sixpences in a jar on the mantelpiece for an ice-cream at the local shop for us both...

One day, I was chatting with Aunt Doris - she wasn't really an aunt, but a lovely lady who ran a small guest house, and seemed to have lots of elderly visitors staying all the time, although we never saw them. One day, my dear Sister and I had secured the funds for the ice-cream, and wandered though to the main parlour, which was empty except for a huge ticking grandfather clock!

On a side table was a book, 'Jennings follows a clue', which had been casually left out for me to notice, and Aunt Doris airily said that it was meant as a gift for a 'nephew of hers', but I could read it if I wanted to borrow it and take good care of it!

And so I did...

It was probably the first real full-length story I'd ever read, apart from Rupert Bear annuals, and a few other books which my sister owned and treasured. This Jennings book shaped my whole life for ages, as I was indeed carted off to prep school a few years later, and the tones of these magical stories were ringing in my ears for several months - years even!

Our good friend AK Haart has a comment on here by DAD, and of course, AKH responds as he always does! I eventually bought, or was given, most of the Jennings stories, and handed them on to some other young lads a few years ago, when they needed a bit of advice!

Aunt Doris was the J.K.Rowling lady for me, although she never actually wrote the stories, she just 'got me reading', which was never going to be a bad thing, and a few posts back I mention all the Nevil Shute stories, which are a joy to visit these days!

Thank you Aunt Doris - you watched a young Scrobs learn to understand a real story!

Nine trays in an hour...

At this time of year, there is always a frantic panic about planting flowers and other plants out, and this year's been no exception! 

I always get far too many bedding plants, and grew about 130 tomato plants as well, mainly for chums, but it's been a nightmare this month trying to reorganise everything for getting the garden straight! The weather has been firmly against us.

Having walked the dog after lunch, and rested the inside of the eyelids, it occurred to me around 5.00pm, that I should really get my arse in gear and actually do something! The sun was shining, the weather was kind, and a revitalised Scrobs bounced outside to the green house, and potted on nine long planters in ONE HOUR! This is a record, and is now recorded for posterity!

So the colourful displays are ready for their resting places, and I've used up all the compost, so will have to revisit our lovely garden centre yet again for refills, and a chat with the owners, who are all firm friends!

I really do think I've started the season at long last...

Reflection...

 

It was a touching moment, and by some sort of coincidence, I was playing my favourite track from Peter Gabriel's album, 'Ovo', yesterday, and something really did click!

The concrete and the train...

Somewhat sombrely, a sad and solemn Scrobs watched A.K.Haart's intentionally depressing post about HS2...

I actually like this piece of music for several reasons, but some depictions such as this one really do bring home the disastrous efect that these railways will have on our British countryside!

The shadowy and soulless appearance of a sour grey world, with sorrowful significance and a specific lack of semblence for sunniness, reminds me that I have to queue up at our bloody chemist for three-quarters of an hour again, as I forgot to buy the bloody cough mixture...

 

Outrage...

As Scrobs is always ahead of the news, the bit in one of the rags which tells everyone that Tottenham Hotspur fans have watched their team allow five goals go to Newcastle within ten or so minutes of the match starting has really made this train hit the buffers! Some 'fans' have now decided to go back home immediately after all that expensive travelling, so the cost of living (lockdown) crisis apparently doesn't apply to football... 

I mean, is their football train 'special' still parked at platform 3? Is there enough Stella on board? What about the ham rolls!

Surely we need to get an all-party parliamentary committee to investigate this outrage, after all, there maybe some vulnerable persons arriving at Winchelsea in an inflatable boat, and they might need that train!

Hopefully, there will be a Civil Service enquiry and all will be revealed in due course, probably 2026...

The village bicycle...

There was uproar at the Sodden Prickney Praish Council meeting last Thursday, when Cllr Ron Newt, freshly unhinged from an amorous embrace from his prime squeeze, Cllr Amelia Newt, proclaimed that Cllr Kalashnikov had been seen parking a bicycle outside Cllr Edwina Baggage's mother's house very late one evening. Ms Baggage is a well-known exponent of the art of bicycling, and is indeed the expert on the subject, having experienced countless occasions when such intimate knowledge is important, even gaspingly neccessary!

On learning from PC Lumbersnatch that the said bicycle had been thought to be the property of Cllr Kalashnikov's stepson, Wayne, it turned out that it had indeed been bought by the local political group, the Sodden Prickney National Emporium Party, and nobody knew how the money was paid!

In time-honoured method, Cllr Kalashnikov refused to make any worthwhile comment, except for his time honoured verbal embellishment, "Sod the lot of you", as did his second - or possibly the third - wife that year, Svetlana Kalashnikov, who is a diminutive, unpleasant person and well-known for being as tight as a fish's backside, i.e.watertight, but it was also well known that she would give him one heck of a bollocking when he got back after all those passionate forays Chez Baggage!

Meanwhile, the local rag, 'The Bugle', published several stories about the various sums of money being paid to the whole Kalashnikov family, which included visits to the local gyms, restaurants, massage parlours etc., and that there was a possibility that the offending bicycle might even have been purchased from a member of the same oligarchy, but Ms Baggage declined to comment after a breathless interchange on the telephone with the Bugle's chief reporter, 'Roland' Rat!

So, as usual in the village, nobody really has a clue about what was going on, and speculation continues in the smoky sitting rooms, the stuffy bars, the local conveniences, the public (That's enough places - Ed), and it's probable that after the next elections, everyone will have forgotten the issues, except maybe Ms Baggage, who probably still waits expectantly for the next tinkle on a rather rusty old bicycle bell...

0.769231%...

 

One of these varmints has reduced my tomato crop by the above amount...

This year, as in many seasons past, Scrobs has sown tomato seeds in abundance, sometimes manic, screaming profusion, because we especially like home-grown tomatoes, and the passion also extends to giving plants away to chums whom we particularly like, and they provide a super opportunity for receiving several lingering hugs from the benefactors, especially if they are the local girls!

So the greenhouse has shelving bulging with 130 plants of varying types of tom, 'Shirley' being the main crop, with 'Roma' a secondary sowing, and 'Orkado', which is a new one I'm trying out this year. The 'Roma' seeds were thrust at me by a lady chum last year, as she always had trouble germinating the seeds for some reason, so I acted as surrogate grower for her, and received the obligatory squeeze and prolonged peck for the result, which was jolly interesting, I can tell you!

But this year, the 'Shirley' seeds seemed to go into a sulk, and refused to show in their compost for over three weeks, which is just not normal! The others were also struggling, so in panic, I visited our local garden centre, where the lovely lady there told me not to worry, sit down on a bag of compost to rest, and she would give me three more packets of seed buckshee, as the rep for the seed company was coming in that afternoon, and she'd get a full refund anyway!

So, after her Gladys Emmanuel moment, which is always extremely gratifying, Scrobs returned to sow the new seeds, and pray for a result! The prayers included the wish that at least one or two of the earlier seeds might show, so a decent crop could be managed, and sure enough, about a nano-second after checking the original crop, the whole bloody lot appeared with a symphony of greenery rather like a hundred Kermits on a trampoline!

The new seeds took just a few hours to show, and there was a bemused Scrobs with 130 plants on his hands, and wondering how he could cope with all the hugs, squeezes, pecks etc., which would be due from an increasing list of benefactresses! I began to make a list of names, well away from the interested eyes of Senora O'Blene who would soon be asking certain questions...

But...! Catastrophe!

An early morning visit to the greenhouse turned into an arrival at a murder scene, as one of the dear little Shirleys had been demolished by the very evil sort of mollusc shown in the mug-shot above! The evidence was all there with the slime trail leaping over the edge of the seed tray!

Slug pellets had to be distributed with immediate effect, and sure enough, the following day, the offending little critter had succumbed to the dubious chemical and become a late mollusc, and not before time!

So, there are only 129 little darlings left, and already Scrobs is readying himself to receive the various bodily conversations to be expected in the forthcoming days - one was a phone call, but he is an elderly chum, and the other is an email, but I'll get there sometime very soon, as soon as signing off this post if I'm lucky...

Lost in translation...

 

Fabulous story...

A few weeks ago, Senora O'Blene and Scrobs were discussing various reading options.

Senora is an avid, even compulsive reader, often getting through all sorts of literature in a couple of days, whereas I tend to take much longer and often go back several pages just to get 'things right in my head'!

'A town like Alice' by Nevil Shute was mentioned several times as one of our favourite books, and indeed, a quick foray into 'World of Books' and 'Music Magpie' found a copy, and while we were on, I selected a few more for good measure.

We both went through  the former in a few days, and were hooked - for the second time! 

(I might have mentioned here, that many years ago, I contracted mumps when in my early twenties and back then the doctor would call around, and it was just as well that he did, as I was immediately confined to bed to avoid the dreaded - er - complications - some of which my flatmate painfully experienced as he just carried on carousing - it was Christmas after all! I read 'A town like Alice' in exactly one day, as I'd refused to move an inch in bed - except for mercy visits - to avoid the impending nasties! I'd never read a book that quickly before and haven't since!

So after collecting my breath after the Alice story, the next ones by Nevil Shute have just got better and better, with 'Round the bend' being excellent,'The Far Country' turning out to be a fantastic, emotional yarn, and just last evening, I finished 'Trustee from the Toolroom', which in my opinion must be one of the best books I've ever read! I was even dreaming about the plot during the only night between starting and finishing the story, and while there was the lingering considered inkling of the outcome, there were so many surprises in the second half that I just couldn't put it down!

So it seems that the worthy booksellers above will have to put up with lots of more packaging, 25% offers being taken up, and hopefully they'll get a few more from Walsall Public Library - marked 15p...