Errr... Bugger?...

I've noticed that I haven't posted anything for two weeks.

This is a travesty of opprobrium, and, mortified as I must feel, I can't think what to say!

As Winston Churchill (or was it Harold Macmillan) once said, 'Oh bugger, I can't remember', so be it thus that this is a fill-in until I can summon enough of whatever I use to complete a post, and - er - that's it...

Bummer isn't it, blighter's rock...

Alice and the lumps...

Back about 1970, soon after Christmas, I caught a bout of mumps. I was twenty-three then, and at that age it's not really a good idea to acquire this little issue...

My flatmate had got it first, just before the party season, and he came off pretty bad because of the complications which mean that the old system gets attacked from all angles if you're not careful! He just went out on the razzle, and told me later that 'they turned black'... 'Nuff said!

So of course, because we shared the same flat, etc, I was bound to get the lumps on the neck and sure enough they arrived with a sickening prospect. In those days, family doctors actually made house visits, and my doctor confirmed that I was in for a few days of unpleasantness, but if I was careful, and didn't move around any more than I had to, I should be alright. We even discussed whether I could watch the Barbarians rugby match that day, and he thought it would be a risk, so I missed that.

I suppose most kids get mumps early on, but I was terrified of the potential consequences, and stayed immobile in bed at home, looked after by doting parents. To say immobile is an understatement. I can remember lying still for the whole of each day, just getting up for necessities, but eating was jolly painful and so was drinking - especially sharp things, so life wasn't a bowl of cherries.

My dear mum collected a load of books for me to read, and one of these was 'A town like Alice', by Nevil Shute. I read the whole book, cover to cover, in one day, and was totally immersed in such fabulous writing. I'm sure reading such a gripping story made me feel better at the time too - something about others being worse off I suppose!

I ordered it from our library recently, and a brand new copy arrived after some time - surprisingly, but in brand new condition, so I wonder if they can get these reprints of classics done as a matter of course - I'll ask them!

I started it late last evening, and within seconds was totally hooked again, just as I was all those years ago! It's an incredible story and as I'm a slower reader now, it'll be a couple of days this time, but at some stage of reading it again last night, I just considered a quick peep under the clothes to make sure that - er - the extremities were still unaffected...

What a Gal...

One of my loveliest chums in our village was gently sent off yesterday.

I'd known her for many years as she always cut a swath though the village with her handsome living and presence, her gorgeous affection for fast cars, love and friendship, and a wave at everyone!

I'd usually see her on the way back from the allotment on a Sunday, me being all sweaty and dirty, she in her rorty car and we'd chat for ages. We remembered days when I sold her concrete for her husband's building company, and my own business partner used their firm to build developments all over the Tunbridge Wells area.

Sheila was a fabulous woman. I want to replay the music that we heard yesterday during her send-off, because it was played here by someone about her age, and made Scrobs try and find a handkerchief without much success...

Oh... goodbye Sheila, we all loved you so much...

Abbariginal...

So they're all getting it together again then... I wonder if they'll start marrying each other again as well!

Good luck to them anyway; some of them are worth £100 million, so it'll make a nice change to hear them instead of the mindless dross like rap, grunge etc', which is so crap!

As someone said on the wireless this morning, he'd never ever bought an Abba record, but knew all the songs! Amen to that, and we didn't mind a bit either

Legs and lights off...

Quite a few years ago, before Her Ultimate Fragrancy the Senora Chiara Robertine O'Blene deigned to be my loving wife, she had a green Austin Mini.

It was a great little car, the doors opened with one of those cords, and I think there were three switches and a speedometer on the dashboard and little else. You started it with a tiny key, and from then on everything seemed to work.

Miss O'Blene (as she was then) would sometimes pick me up from Etchingham station, from where we'd dash to my parents' house, grab a sandwich, then start a round of all the pubs - because that's what you did on a Friday, Saturday and a Sunday.

Now, the legs bit first. This was in the early seventies, when short dresses and skirts were all the rage. Miss O'Blene has fabulous legs, so was able to show these off at most opportunities. Changing gear meant an inch or more to see from the corner of my eye, and I was delighted of course!

But one thing happened with the Austin Minis back then. Whenever you drove through a puddle, all the electrics packed up! The lights went out, the engine stopped and there was nothing to show you up on the road! Her Mini often did this in Whitbread Lane, near here, and it was a frightening experience. Although I was never with her at the time, it might have been even more exciting with all the lights off, and everything damp...

Anyway, it was a common fault with these cars, and was sorted out in later years, such that we bought three more Minis. The first one was a Clubman which went like a rocket. I made a profit on that after a year or so. The second one I bought with £350.00 from an Access cashpoint, and the first thing I did when I got it home was put my hand straight through the wing and right onto the front tyre, so that meant a bit of fibreglass and a spray can. The old door was replaced with a scrapyard one for a fiver, and looked like new!

We p/exed that one when I noticed some shiny metal underneath, and it definitely shouldn't have been there. It smelt too, but was a great workhorse.

So all in all, what with legs that made being a passenger so much more fun, especially in the hot summer evenings, and lights going off at the wrong moment, life couldn't have been more varied back then...

London, bloody London...

I first went to live and work in London in 1969. I shared a flat in Ealing with an old schoolfriend for a while, then met up with another crowd, on the edge of Chelsea including lots of great Aussies.

Never for one moment did I regret the good times there, although I became fed up with the job, but that's another story. The pubs were great places, especially on Sundays, when I even played rugby for The Scarsdale Tavern with a monstrous hangover from far too many pints the night before...

Later, my various work was centred on London, and I usually drove the sixty-odd miles there and back on a daily basis, as the companies provided a decent car, and I was nearly always on the road!

Since I retired three years ago, I think I've been back once, to help a chum out with some work, and it really isn't the same any more. Successive liberal-left policies have strangled the place in my opinion, and when you consider the insane stance from maniacs like Ken Livingstone in the seventies, and now that silly little guy, Khan, it's much nicer to say 'no' to anything on offer in our once-proud capital city. Blood pressure remains normal, and I breathe fresh air all day!

It's becoming a badge of success that I don't ever have to add to the income of any shop or firm up there, and travel remains purely local with a happy Senora O'Blene in a small VW Golf, a small dog, and an electric bike.

So well done, London liberal-lefties, you can keep your benefit scroungers and serial stabbers, I don't need you any more!

Ball-tampering Analytica...

It has come to the notice of several gentlemen in the parish, that ball-tampering is becoming rife - especially at council meetings when feelings are high, emotions stretched, and the sap is... (get on with it - Ed).

Of course, one would wonder if there is indeed any reason to complain if a few seams are lifted, and substances used to roughen the surfaces and the fingers spin a Chinaman's googly down the aisle of the village hall!

Certainly, it has been known in the past, that Ms Baggage has bouncers which are deemed unplayable on occasions, and the Baroness Elect, Cynthia Molestrangler, has deployed the screens on many a tense final engagement with a fulfilling finish, so there's a sense of wonderment that three Senior (not you Dear) council members were sent home in disgrace!

The upshot of all this (wrong word - Ed), is that cameras are definitely deployed for the next council meeting, when Mr Iodine is called to explain his conduct in providing the necessary materials such as Elastoplast and Anusol Tablets. (WHAAAT - Ed)!

To be continued ad-infinitum, or at least 'stumps'...