My first cousin...

I've just lost my first cousin.

There are (were) five of us, and we rarely chatted.

At my age, (72), I love family more than I ever did. I can remember times, regret times, recall times, but that won't bring back Mo.

I wish I'd met her more, laughed with her more, watched and heard her fabulous humour more...

Bye, Little Mo.

The people who will stuff you...

Corribin (Tax-paid, for quite a long 'career'), Lady Nugee (millionairess, sneeringly useless as well), McDonnell (Union beauty).

Luckily, this motley crew will be devastated soon, and we'll be spared their stuff, as by then, hopefully, the BBC will be toast as well.

Cox at me (6,3,6).

For some time now, as most chumly posters here know, Senora O'Blene and I are somewhat addicted to Sudoku. As another test of Scrobs' rapidly declining intelligence and awareness of anything much, other than pokes at remoaners and spongers, I've returned to the Daily Telgraph Crossword compilation for light (heavy) contentment and a way to alleviate insomnia!

We used to take the old rag daily, but found that it took several trees to satisfy our yearning to read about politicians, failures by them, disgrace by them and utter exasperation with them, so we now get all our news online, and pay not one jot!

But the old crossword habit, while dormant for a while has resurfaced with a vengeance, and I even look forward to each one in the book when I have a few moments to spare.

In the old days, I'd try the DT cryptic every day, but after losing the daily paper, I lost the habit, and it takes some considerable time to get back into the swing of things!

Writing in answers is a special pleasure, and we both want to have a suitable writing implement nearby, for numbers in Sudoku, and three down in the DT challenge! So we've reverted to the gorgeous feel of a damn good 4B pencil for these tasks! It seems strange today, what with biros, sharp clutch pencils, felt nibs, roller balls etc, the one item which remains sacrosant is a decent lead pencil, and we have several dozen dotted around The Turrets!

Just doodling through some YouTube, I found the above clip, and it is utterly fascinating! The manufacturer is Faber, but our collection is Staedtler and I buy them online for a tiny amount compared with the retail price!

(Goosey, I think you know the answer to the title, so can I ask you (as nicely as I can when you're all those miles away), to keep it to yourself until the others have a go please? There's a tincture in it for you too)!

About this time of year, Scrobs occasionally (usually), has recall of a time back in the sixties, when a fourteen-year old boy was whisked away to the valleys in Wales, to undertake education in various pursuits, such as rugby, Latin, chemistry etc. It meant that I rarely saw my family for about ten weeks each term, which wasn't easy at first!

On the rare occasions that my dad could come up on a Leave Sunday, he was usually shattered about now, because the hop-picking season was just beginning to start, what with all the machinery servicing being finalised, the oasts having a last check-over and all the hops in the gardens in Kent and Worcestershire had to be checked for disease etc.

So, if a trip to the middle of England to one of the farms was on the cards, then dad would pop over and we'd go out for lunch somewhere.

On one occasion, he was so tired, that after lunch, he parked up in a leafy glade, grabbed a blanket and went for forty winks on a mossy bank a few yards from the car. Back then, a radio in a car was quite rare, and he even had to 'make a case' for one as he often drove for eight hours in a day, to visit farms everywhere, and a bit of light entertainment would help more than somewhat!

The powers-that-be eventually let him have an early Motorola installed. This was the wireless which he said I could listen to while he had a kip, and so I did.

It's funny really, but I still remember two of the songs which were played that afternoon. Up to recently, I never really bothered to get copies, and in the case of one of them, nobody had ever heard of it!

and...

 

It was these two songs which eventually turned up on YouTube, and they just take Scrobs back all those years to a Vauxhall VX490 and a mono radio, in the dappled shade...

Infiltration - an expose...

Scrobs has spent the best part of several days recently, getting to change his anti-virus prog.

For some time now, AVG have come up with the goods, and for better or worse, a few money notes via electronic diversion seemed to be appropriate, when these items are considered!

But let's face it, when another bill of sixty splonders plonks onto the email stuff, one wonders whether this is the right way to stop getting Russian beauties grasping my tentacles! They can try all they like, but they'll never ever be as good as Her Fragrancy, so that's it!

And so, as we're with Talk Talk, a company with an odd name, but useful because they seem to do what we want, and in a pleasant way - so far, we decided to change... They do a version of anti-virus, and for a couple of quid a month, that beats the AVG stuff, so I decided to get in there are change over to them.

Our home PC has now undergone eighteen restarts, forty-five scans, three-hundred new curse-words, a glass of red, three punches, a shriek which set off the alarm in the house next door (while she was on the nest and 'at it' I believe), and I still can't get rid of the Russion lovely who is desperate to see me as soon as possible for the rubles I promised her in 1986!

I reckon all this virus stuff is a bugger, to bugger up any bugger who wants to bugger your system, and do bugger all to help in the end.

Ergo, buggeration is the answer!

...or sod is... (what's the difference, I may arse)!

The off-side rule explained in several easy lessons...

While repeating Scrobs' all-time mantra of appreciation of the female form, this little clip has brought much happiness to these old eyes...

The Luscious Senora O'Blene, in her prime, was teaching tennis, hockey, netball and that evil 'game', lacrosse, to all sorts of school children, from the sophisticated ladies at private educational establishments to kids enjoying a knockabout in Hastings.

I showed her this, and we both agreed that just maybe, they could leave football to the lads, and get on with wounding their own opponents in games where males would certainly get hammered at every turn!

Pegasus Bridge revisited...

Some years ago, 25 in fact, we went on holiday to Northern France in a Gite near St Pois in Normandy. There was the four of us, Mrs O'Blene and two daughts and we were going for a long fortnight, (because we'd had a huge refund on the previous year, as the drains all blocked, the gas shower nearly killed a daughter, and the place was a shambles so we had a huge refund, but that's another story).

As the D Day events were in full swing, we were watching quite a lot of TV which showed the Pegasus Bridge celebrations, and the Landlady of the Cafe Gondree was on the box most evenings before we embarked via Newhaven for Dieppe.

When we visited, we noticed that the whole area is in fact quite low-key, even quietly reverent, and the sight of the old swing bridge parked in a field close by, almost as an after-thought, made us wonder at the way the 'invasion' was accepted, and that the good people of France had noticed that the Brits and the Yanks were indeed pretty adventurous people after all.

We felt uncomfortable at the museum in Caen, because that was a bit too navel-bliaring, (sic) but the simple narrative coming from the Pegasus Bridge, and the lovely lady, Arlette Gondree whom we immediately recognised, was that this was all a simple anecdote to a huge event, but a signal warning to oppressors, that nobody ignores the 'state' of the nation, however their duplicitous 'politicians' think otherwise.

It's a delightful place, and well worth a few minutes reflection on bravery, strength and fortitude; not the layabout-leftie-loser renta-mob trash so loved by the bbc, corbyn etc.

I saw two Spitfires overhead yesterday morning. It was a sight to be bottled and kept for ever, and the sound of the Merlin engines just crackled the heavens. A neighbour was inside her house, and she even heard it all and rushed out to cheer!

What a sight to behold!