Stick your own...

This morning, Mrs S and I took JRT for a long stroll in the woods, as we usually do on a Sunday.

About this time of year, we have pangs for the cherry season, and we deliberately avoid buying them before, when they seem to come from Uzbeckistan or perhaps Cuba, because, where we live, there are cherry trees coming out of our ears, and they are beginning to look great in the local orchards.

So after the walk in the woods, at about 9.30am, we decided to pop down to one of the local farm shops for a cherry panic-buying spree...

After a few miles, we had passed three stalls, all closed, and had people waiting outside. The garden shop was open but only sold them loose and they were looking pretty much like they were last week's old tat. The next two roadside stalls were shut too!

So we said "sod 'em" (actually we said "F*** 'em", but this is a family show...), and went home to pick our own wild strawberries, raspberries and blackcurrants and that's what happens when lazy sods can't be arsed to get up early on a warm day in the best season of the year, and sell their own crops for what they want to charge. We'd have happily paid a few quid to get the fresh stuff, and the season is only a few weeks long.

No wonder the supermarkets get them by the throat.

1 in 5; Borough chaos...

http://tiny.cc/P8geJ

My ludicrous local council, Tunbridge Wells has recently been in the headlines for the above policy. I personally wouldn’t have thought that there was a collection of brain cells on anybody in the council that was even capable of spelling ‘brainstorm’ let alone getting involved in anything which smacks of innovation. After all, these are the people to whom I am paying about five quid a week for their pensions and benefits, not mine! (£1 in £5 that is…)!

As ‘Brainstorming’ is now deemed to be discriminatory against epileptics, they have decided to employ the term ‘thought shower’.

Great.

‘Absolute shower’ is a good description of course, (especially if spoken by the chap in Idle’s avatar – maybe Idle even, but I’ve yet the pleasure of meeting him), but they are forgetting that the actual name of the town, Tunbridge ‘Wells’, discriminates against ‘Ills’, i.e. people who are not well. This cannot be surely? And ‘Ills discriminate against ‘Dales’, and Iain Dale lives in Tunbridge Wells, and he mustn’t be discriminated against either!

So, we’d better drop the second part of the town and just stick with Tunbridge. But this discriminates against the good people of Tonbridge, which is just up the road and sounds very similar, and, the good people of Southborough (who live in between), usually want to be associated with the southern end of their location, not the northern end.

So we’d better just chop off the first three letters then, and just call it ‘Bridge’! Bugger, just remembered – there’s a village near Canterbury named ‘Bridge’, and they won’t be pleased about being passed off either…

So we really can’t have a name at all! We’ll be known as ’ (blank)………. Borough’, and this is good news, as the next poll tax cheque I write will leave the top line empty, and some other sod lounging about in the basement at the town hall or standing in the shower somewhere near the bicycle racks can sort it all out.

1 in 6; the new village...

We’ve just returned from a few days away in Cotherstone, right in the heart of Teesdale. It still amazes me that only a few hours driving can let you arrive in a place which has beautiful natural stone buildings, rattling water courses and rivers, bustling towns which somehow remind you of the sixties, and above all – wide breathing space and a big sky!

As some of the footpath directions, near-vertical slopes and high stiles defeated even the eight legs of our party (Mrs S, JRT and me), we started driving/walking a couple of hours away in the hills each morning, and the same in the afternoon, but staying local.

And that’s when I learned something.

The walks and footpaths round the village are numerous and rewarding. The dismantled railway track (minerals – not people), still has the levels, the stone arches and the gates and you find yourself imagining the rattle and steam; even looking behind occasionally – just in case...
But it is the small lanes touching the boundaries of all the houses which are absolutely charming. Hardly any traffic; hundreds of sheep and lambs; and the occasional row of vegetables.

Occasional!

On one day I took JRT, and we did nearly all these lanes. (please understand that this walking was essential to counteract the huge hospitality of ‘The Fox and Hounds’), and after a few yards it was clear that nearly all the houses were empty. Not derelict, well maintained actually and achingly beautiful to look at. But unused during the week. I reckon there was only about one in six which had a sign of life. Some gardens are tended with loving care – as they should be, but most were patches of grass, weeds and no colour.

In June?

The village is spotless, has a buzzing local school with squeals and bikes, and of course, the local housing will always be full, because buy-to-let just doesn’t go there. There used to be about fourteen shops, but now there is one struggling post office with a charming welcome but an anxiety which can be felt. Our chosen pub ‘The Fox and Hounds’, is legendary, and the hospitality enormous.

But a village which has so few people making it thrive is in a sorry state. Oldies need to see company in the streets, children need to meet other kids, and we were contributing to all this, a fact that made me slightly uncomfortable.

Cut to our own village in Kent. For one thing, it is definitely not a holiday destination – it has some great attributes, but you don’t stay here on holiday unless you’re keen on castles or the sea. On my first foray out to buy our last Sunday paper, (we’re abandoning much of the dead tree press, most of it gets binned unread these days, and that’s just the good news...), I happened to pass a member of a local feral litter with his car radio booming out some rubbish at full volume. He was gawping around expectantly, hoping for someone who cares to comment, which is easy to ignore anyway. And inside the shop I noticed what turned out to be the runt of the same feral litter, with a hairline about half an inch above his squitty eyes, feverishly scratching at a clutch of lottery cards, and of course, leaving as a loser. They revved their noisy little car away and the ‘conversation’ of loud ‘f***s’ transcended the foul music.

Just for a long, long moment; I wished we were one-in-sixers.

Sailing to Philadelphia (not)...

Travel beckons this w/e. We are pointing the Scrobmobile (freshly oiled and watered) North for a few days in Teesdale.

I have a long list of lead mines, water engines and engineering project visits lined up. Mrs S has already vetoed all of these so we are planning endless walks (to counteract 'Intensive Hostelry Investigation') with JRT to ensure that we eventually return with a net weight loss...

Mrs S has a birthday while we are away, and I’m not entirely sure whether B and Q will be able to deliver the 14inch angle grinder and accessories on the day. Perhaps the other suitcase full of bits and pieces will make her day!

We’re going to leave the greenhouse door open at ‘The Turrets’, so I hope that next door's bloody cat doesn’t come in and piss on the cucumbers...

Lake -Tat...

“The Lakelander Emporium of Tat PLC is pleased to announce that, with immediate effect:

Di Trubes has been appointed Marketing Director.

Grumpy Granny has been appointed Director of Corporate Communications.

Kevin Electro has been appointed Director in charge of Logistics.

S C R O'Blene has been appointed Property Director”.

(Note to Mr Lander, Chairman - or can we call you ‘Lake’),

Having visited the offices of ‘Shaddup and Lissen’, (Estate Agents) yesterday, I have been given particulars of the above property, which I recommend to the board.

The rent on this building is within the guidelines as set out during the inauguration meeting. For posterity, the photograph of the meeting is also attached. This was taken at the exact moment that we heard that our newest supplier (‘Beast an’ Pieces’), had opened a small business in Tuscany!

Can I respectfully suggest; 'Lake' (!!), that we invite other suppliers to offer items to the 'Emp'.? I'm particularly interested in some of Miss Binstock's special photographs which she has kept hidden for many a year. Also, a certain Doris Webley-Bullock is threatening to sell us several five-litre 'cubis' of Chateau Dieppe. She is not a person to shake a stick at I understand...

Simeon Cardew Ricardo O'Blene

Director of Property

For Philipa (from a cell in Tenterden nick...)

Extract from an interview in Tenterden Police Station…

Inspector Knocker (IK)
S.C.R.O’Blene (Scrobs)
Constable Onnstable (CO)

(IK) ‘So; you’ve been spotted taking photographs of jewellers and other shops in the town then… SIR?’

(Scrobs) ‘Well, err… yes, but all pretty harmless stuff Officer’!

(IK) ‘But these shops contain valuable items of an expensive nature Mr Blene…!’

(Scrobs) ‘Er…O’Blene if you please Officer…’

(IK) ‘Make a note of that Constable…’

(CO) ‘Right Sir’.

(IK) ‘So why the photographs anyway?’

(Scrobs) ‘They’re for a friend Officer…’

(IK) ‘And your friend’s name is…?’

(Scrobs) ‘”Philipa” Officer!’

(IK) ‘ And where does she live then Mr Blene?’

(Scrobs) ‘Er…O’Blene if you please Officer…’

(IK) ‘Make a note of that Constable…’

(Scrobs) ‘Well, er… I don’t actually know Officer…’

(IK) ‘Don’t know! Don’t know! Well, where do you not know her from then…?’

(CO) ‘Ha ha ha – very droll Sir!’

(IK) ‘My little joke you understand…! So how do you know her then Mr Blene?’

(Scrobs) ‘Er…O’Blene if you please Officer. Errr, from the Internet…’

(IK) ‘Make a note of that Constable… So you know her from some website on the Internet eh?’

(Scrobs) ‘Er, yes Officer…!’

(IK) ‘Hmm…this seems somewhat fishy to me…’

(Scrobs) ‘Oh no, that’s Merms’ website’!

(IK) ‘Merms’?

(Scrobs) ‘Yes, she’s a Mermaid, used to live in Moorgate!’

(IK) ‘Do you mean Margate?’

(Scrobs) ‘No MOORGATE – are you deaf or something?’

(IK) ‘That’s enough of that, bloody sauce! You have this girlfriend whom you’ve never met and she knows a girl who dresses up like a Mermaid? Seems a bit odd to me… doesn’t it you Constable?’

(CO) (sniggering into a piece of kitchen roll) ‘Heh heh… Yes Sir!’

(IK snarling now) ‘Don’t crawl Constable Onnstable! Now Sir, what do you ‘imagine’ Miss Philipa looks like then?’

(Scrobs) ‘Well, about five ft tall, slim, lissom even…shapely ankles, very attractive…

(IK) ‘So she does exist then, but you don’t really know her at all…!

(Scrobs) ‘ Errr... well, I know her slightly less than Lilith…’

(IK) ‘Lilith is it now – and who is she then?

(Scrobs) ‘I know Lilith from the same website and she’s gorgeous!’

(IK) ‘Aaaah, so there are more lovely ladies on this ‘website’ are there?’

………….(IK gives a knowing wink to CO, who seems to be fidgeting, breaking out into a sweat and turning red…)

(Scrobs) ‘ Oh yes, there’s Trubes, and she’s got legs that go up to her armpits; used to be a dancer!’

(CO) ‘Gulp…’

(Scrobs) ‘And Daisy, who always drops by when it’s night time…errr… she lives far away you see…and Janers, but I haven’t seen her around recently…and Hatfield Girl, she’s got a PHD in just about everything, and always talks sense…they’re all lovely really…’

(IK) ‘I’m struggling to get the picture here Mr Blene; you’ve been seen, walking around Tenterden, taking photographs of various jewellers’ shops, and you say they’re for friends of yours whom you’ve never met, and…. Ooooh...I say… wait a minute…, there’s one here of a ladies undergarment shop…’ (takes out magnifying glass).

(Scrobs) ‘Err…. yes, that was for Tuscan Tony…

(IK) ‘TUSCAN TONY…is that a man then…!’

(Scrobs)’ Yes of course he is, he used to wear those special rigger boots and once lived near Midhurst, near Idle’! They both like hunting shooting and fishing!’ Tony deals in olive oil. Idle is a gun and wine expert…’

(IK) ‘Bloody hellfire Constable Onnstable, the man’s a blasted lunatic’!

(Scrobs) ‘Oh no Inspector, he’s a chap who keeps changing his website, I think he’s ‘The Beast’ this week… Apparently he’s an awfully nice bloke!’

(IK) ‘You’ll be telling me next that you know someone who gets letters from ten times as many ladies and seems to know all of them intimately…!’

(Scrobs - indignantly) ‘Electro-Kevin is a personal friend, and I won’t hear a bad word said about him! He’s very fortunate that’s all!’

(IK) ‘So these people exist in your mind, as well as on the Internet then? Seems odd to me, but…errr… any chance of a few addresses then?’

(Scrobs) ‘Of course Inspector, just Google ‘Verity’ and you’ll get the best answers of the lot!

(IK) ‘That’s very good of you Mr Blene…

(Scrobs) ‘Er…O’Blene if you please Officer…’

(IK) ‘Make a note of that Constable…’

(CO) ‘Right Sir’.

(IK) ‘You’re free to go and return to your car Sir, thank you very much for the addresses; a plain brown envelope would have been be better, but they will suffice…’

(CO) ‘He can’t return to his car Sir, he’s been clamped…’

(IK) ‘Not really your day is it Mr Blene!’

(Scrobs) ‘Er…O’Blene if you please Officer…’

(IK) ‘Make a note of that Constable…’

(CO) ‘Right Sir!’

Immediate update for Philipa: -
I think the jeweller shop you went to, was ‘The Silvermine’ (bottom pic) – or possibly ‘Eaton Jones’, (second bottom pic, gold stuff in window) both on each side of ‘Peggoty’s tea shop which is between the two. The other two shops; ‘Whites’ and ‘Norman Holmes’ are more dressy stuff – very nice, but more formal. Arrazzo is more funky – quite nice though and conveniently close to Waitrose…The lady in ‘The Silvermine’ told me that her manufacturer/designer made special stuff with pearls etc. She wasn’t sure about hedgehogs etc, but there were several silver pieces which had all sorts of small animals etc…and at this point she began to look at me with more than a little suspicion, especially as I asked if I could photograph them…hence the post above ;0)

New word description...

You know how it is; you suddenly recall for absolutely no reason, an acutely embarrassing personal situation or statement you may have made, perhaps many years ago, and your frail, slender, human body instantly exhibits an involuntary, possibly spasmodic, but definitely recognisable jolt; perhaps accompanied by a jerking sensation to some/all of your limbs, or your face or complete head and possibly emits a small pathetic squeak - totally unrecognisable in your personal vocabulary...

Do you? Well, I do!

Oh come on! You do, you do, you do...!

I believe it should be called a 'SHUDDEN', but I bet someone out there has a better word...

(PS. This post is actually dedicated to Idle, who has provoked such lateral thinking on Merms' site concerning new words, that it was all I needed to prompt me to ask this simple, but very deep and worrying question above). Thanks a bunch Iders!

Update...Merms is back from her French wedding now, (hmphhhh) so we've all got to tidy up...