Calvados...

Mrs S and I have enjoyed a few days away from commerce this week; (i.e. I went upstairs to turn off the cellphone and bugger the emails, she stayed in the home more than somewhat, and we have had a great week...).

So we've built a new fireplace after hating the old one for eighteen years, and had the occasional foray into the woods with JRT; just before we open another Chateau Swansea or similar...

But today, we took a small detour (bus passes at the ready), to a small pub near T.Wells, for a big, bigger, huge lunch - well why not? After imbibing several (bus remember - no car...), and taking on the largest portions of fantastic fare, Mrs S decided that we should top off with a glass of Calvados!

Check...

We both love Calvados. Ever since we started French holidays with ED and YD in Normandy years ago, we've gone for the best we can afford, enjoyed the roughest we've been sold, laughed every time we swung the glasses of the 'amber nectar', around the air before collapsing in an aromatic appley heap, and wished we could sit in a Kentish orchard for the rest of our lives, swigging the best of life...

The pub people are lovely - superb at running a pub, (editor's note - The George at Frant...); friendly, very attractive (watch it! Says Mrs S...) but unable to supply the simple apple requirement. (no probs there, something else did the trick...)

But, wait; we live in deepest Kent, where apples are coming out of our ears! We have two apple trees at The Turrets, and they're both Lord Lambournes.

'George' is an 'M27' stock, very short, small branches, but he fruits like a dervish. 'Mildred', close by, is a 'pyramid', and not prolific - probably only just able to keep George in bees and pollen, poor gal..., but she does the job; we love her, and she also provides a few apples.

George (pictured, with Mildred behind), goes bananas every year. He exudes huge apples, throws them all over the place, drops them on JRT, leans over lovely girls like Lils, and above all, makes us both very healthy every time about now...

So my question is; why on earth is there nowhere in Kent which can appreciate and work on the quality of a home-grown apple brandy, in a place where we can grow apples like nobody's business?

Perhaps I'll go and find out...and I may be some time...

Sagtrouser and Bucket...

I've become uncomfortably aware that of late, I've consistently berated the building trade to the point of unfairness...

To put the record straight, I now wish to pronounce Travis Perkins, of Cranbrook, Kent; Builders Merchant of the year!

Why, you shriek?

Well, Mrs S has been asking me to put in a new fireplace in The Turrets for years (18), and so, while taking a small rest from my toil as a generator of hotels, and to do some bits at home, read a few books, check out the family etc etc, I was instructed to 'bloody well get the thing done...please...')!

So of course I did...

Every time I visit Travis Perkins for anything - be it one single nail or a pair of boots (see Scrobs passim; but it wasn't their fault), they treat me with good humour, pleasant chat, a fair price, and above all, a service which makes me think that all these big DIY stores still have a lot to learn.

Yeah, I can still talk the builders lingo when it suits me, (I used to sell concrete stuff years ago; did most of the M25 actually), but in this establishment it is a natural place to talk to someone who actually knows what he's selling, and you get fair trade, satisfaction and, above all, help.

So, for any Lady reading this, and of course Bloke... I'm not going to lay down the law, but I reckon that if you need a few odd bits of wood, a pot of paint, or even just a small paintbrush, the Builder's Merchant will probably make you feel better and also not take so much of your hard earned cash...

(Author's note; Mr Elias Sagtrouser has no recollection of buying Mr O'Blene several pints in 'The Bells', to ensure that his firm was represented in this way...)

Vertigo...

I’ve never actually enjoyed working on ladders, but when the gutters get a bit creaky, or the wisteria has to be given a severe haircut, Scrobs can be seen scaling the Turrets, leaping like a gazelle from one rung to the next, and looking forward to when he can reach ground level again…

When Mrs S and I were wandering around Teesdale recently, we tried to follow an old rail track, (long closed down), and wanted to find the bridge, but gave up because the map didn’t make sense, it was starting to rain, and JRT was beginning to look at her watch as well.

It was just as well, as high bridges have a similar effect on both of us, and long after, we learned that the old bridge over the River had a warning that it might be a good idea not to get too close to the sides, and horse riders should dismount…

So you can probably understand why these pics of the Millau Bridge still keep me enthralled…

The Art of Coarse Sport revisited...

Since giving up the dead tree press a few weeks ago, we've found we have loads more time to read other stuff, and we regularly dip into tomes like 'The Times History of London', (which I recommend to everybody - thanks YD; it is a super present)!

I've also rediscovered some reading that I was given years ago, and just this week, have been laughing uncontrollably at one particular book which is still as funny as it was in the sixties.

I used to have a full set of Michael Green’s ‘Coarse’ books, but have finished up with only two. We actually took ‘The Art of Coarse Sailing’ on a Broads holiday years ago, and had great fun following some of the disaster spots...

But the one here is reducing me to gales of laughter again.

I love the story of why the golf club bar runs out of Guinness, and also how two golfers had to abandon their game, because they were both telling each other sad stories about lost dogs, and finished up in floods of tears!

Well recommended to anyone who has tried to play any game, often came last, but enjoyed the experience nontheless...

Friday, Friday...

So, anyway, there we were, sitting around on the building site, thinking of the weekend just coming up, when Bert strolled into the site hut and mentioned casually that there was a little water coming in and he was going to take the van down to Pugbucket and Sagtrouser, (Plant Hire), for a small pump, just to pull out any spare water which may get in the way over the next few days, and give the place a chance to dry out.


George looked at him through an alcoholic haze and muttered something like 'You do what you want old son; me and Bill are going back round to 'The Bells', for a couple of pints and watch some cricket on the widescreen'.

Well, anyway, the 'couple of pints', turned into a right old session, as the blokes from the tower block came in, and they'd already been celebrating a topping out. Bert eventually got back from the plant hire, (having stopped to buy some fags, The Sun and a six pack of Guinness), and started up the pump.

Well, it was a hot day, and with one thing and another, the site hut was becoming more sultry, so Bert opened another can of Guinness and read the paper for a few minutes, before he dozed off...

There was a slight rumbling coming from the foundations, which seemed to be getting louder, but as everyone was in 'The Bells', and Bert was asleep with the paper over his face, nobody seemed to care. All the crane drivers had gone home early, and someone had taken the site phone off the hook.

It was unclear what actually happened next, but Bert woke up with a start, as the rumbling had turned quite a bit louder, and there was a whooshing noise coming from the founds.

At this point, panic set in, but it was far too late, and all that digging had gone to waste! Bert picked up his mobile, and called his Boss...

George's mobile was on answerphone...

Old joke - new stage...

When I first heard the actual joke, it was funny enough, but this has just reduced me to tears of laughter...

Turn up the sound as usual!

For cat (and dog) lovers...

One of the benefits of having 'Blogger' tell you that you are suddenly 'Spam', and you can't get on to your own blog, is that after initial panic, you have to start to unravel the problem.

While wondering about this today, I went to my work PC, and somehow got onto all the jokes I get sent from various lunatics and friends...

I thought I'd lost this one, but here it is... Turn up the sound of course!

Update...Blogger apologised profusely; so that's one less problem with Mrs S's PC, which seems to have taken on a life of it's own...