Medical, intestinal, whimsical and true...

One of my birthday cards from last week was from a good friend, and it has a comment well worth spreading to the nation!

Put my back out sleeping, and pull my neck sneezing, 

so...

I'm probably just one fart away from total paralysis!

Amen to that...

Lineker and the 'rich'...

So Lineker wants 'rich' people to pay more tax to the 'government'.

My charity of choice is the Hospice in The Weald and they have just sadly announced, that because of the drying up of funds, government support etc., they'll have to close their children's unit.

It's an absolutely heart-breaking decision for all these good people who tirelessly look after such vulnerable, sick and dying children. They were fabulous in looking after my dear Senora, and while I support them when I can, the lack of cash for such a well-run local institution is just disgraceful.

Can I suggest that all these virtue-signalling 'millionaires' could just keep their traps shut, quietly pop a few cheques in the post to good places like my local hospice, and just feel as though they've actually achieved something, not conflated their rather ugly existences.

Our Ann...

Ann was our MP for years until boundaries changed and we finished up with the debacle which is Tunbridge Wells. (Lib Dem now…Paaaah).

Very early one morning, many years ago, I arrived at Staplehurst station for my trek to the original London, before it was wrecked by arrogant socialism, and uncontrolled infestation.

I’d just parked the car in the gloom, and was making my way over to the ticket office, when a young, pleasant lad thrust a pamphlet in my hand, which gave me all the information on the great lady just before her re-election.

Of course, as ‘the perfect gentleman’, I replied ‘Oh yes, and God Bless the lady’, to which came the carolled unmistakeable voice in response from way over beyond the 4 x 4s, ‘Thank you’!

It made my day.

I’m so sorry she’s gone, far too early really; she was only on Talk a few days ago – it may still be on ‘catch-up’.

RIP.

Nobody takes the stage at Sodden Prickney...

So, there was the usual turmoil at Sodden Prickney's meeting, to advise Cllr Basil Kalashnikov that he was a waste of space and had to be replaced A.S.A.P.

It was a pitiful gathering, the windows had been painted shut by Nibble and Co, during their five-year maintenance programme, so the room was stiflingly hot, and Cllr. Edwina Baggage decided to strip off to her 'intimate' bicycling attire as the temperature reached nearly 90 degrees! Cllr. Ron Wibble decided that enough was enough, and slackened his braces by three notches, which was viewed with some concern by his main squeeze, Cllr. Amelia Newt! The two events were not necessarily connected, just that such moments of inert passion, had been observed before in different circumstances!

'So', as politicians always start their excuses, the requirement to elect Cllr. Kalashnikov's successor had to start, sooner or later, and immediately, Cllr. D'Artagnan-Minge shot her hand in the air to demand a recount, much to the annoyance of her companion for the evening, (among many), and as nobody had actually voted, there was a certain amount of confusion...

'So', While Cllr. Ron Groat was fiddling about with his smartphone, he muttered an obscenity, which rocked the meeting! He was asked by another Councillor present, Cllr. Dr Norbert Iodine, to explain himself, or subject his body to an internal inspection via a Victorian Anal Inspection Device! Cllr. Groat immediately apologised, but in his defence, there was no indication as to what on earth they were all doing here, apart from telling Cllr. Kalashnikov that his reign of terror was being terminated forthwith!

So, a panicked phone call to a relative of Cllr. Molestranglers' third husbands' mistress, produced the telephone number of a rather callow youth, who had apparently been some sort of councillor in an unknown village somewhere in West Wales.

'So', the 'saga' of the arrival of a foreign nonentity from an unknown country will continue, probably with tiresome disinterest from everyone in this sainted village!

Sixty-five years on...

It's been a hot day, I've been on the phone to a Daughter for an hour, discussing this and that, and while a sandwich is brewing, Scrobs has this funny feeling that he'd like to hear this track yet again...

It might have been that a drum solo was being interpreted with a knife and fork on the table top, or just another quirk of listening to the rhythm of life, the birdsong outside, the yelp of the hound and wanting to hear something from the past...

Sixty-five years ago, Scrobs had been packed off to a foreign country, (Wales), to be taught this and that. It was a frightening experience, and still occasionally needs some sort of discussion, but from a successful, if eventual product, it was probably worth the trauma. 

During the first year, The Shadows were in their ascendancy. 'Apache' was safely purchased for 6/4d and the first - maybe the second as I always liked Johnny and The Hurricanes and played Reveille Rock incessantly - but I digress.

At the end of Summer Term, 1961, the Headmaster 'sanctioned' the school guitar band to present a concert to everyone in The Memorial Hall. The HM was a good old stick, fierce but fair, and indeed, the band played their music to everyone in their well-organised concert close to the end of term. They brought the house down, although, we'd been ordered that there would be no cheering, shouting, clapping etc., other than gentle applause by the HM!

This was the star of the show, and with John Dummer on drums you'd know why...

I don't remember our men doing 'The Shadow Step', but a few others joined in with  this...

It was a fabulous evening, I'll never forget it all, so thank you guys - you led the way back then!

Girls' songs...

Scrobs is really an old softie some of the time...

The Alexa machine in the kitchen is always on when I'm around, either listening to Talk Radio, or, if I'm feeling a bit 'anyhow', a few well-chosen songs are conjured up. 

Just the other day, I realised that nearly all the songs I'd been listening to, were by some great lady singers. I did a quick mental count, and four immediately came to mind as they'd been played over the last few days! I guess I really started the enjoyment of some great singing, when a flatmate used to play his collection of LPs by Judy Collins. This one is an all time favourite: -

Here's another: -

Another: -

Last one for now...

I guess that there's some sort of theme running through all these songs; they're beautifully presented and performed, so maybe just taking in the sentiments and enjoying the production of each song is the answer...

Only funny thing...

Yesterday, Scrobs had an appointment for a regular jab in our local hospital, and as is the norm, I arrived early enough to spend half an hour driving round and round looking for a parking space!

As 'luck' would have it, within a couple of minutes, I'd engaged 'Parking Observation Technique 5a', which means that when looking for a space in a hospital car park, drive as slowly as possible to let the others get away, then keep peering at the entrance for an ex-patient scuttling towards a car nearby, stop, and either ask if they're moving, or wait for the magic indicator signal that they're leaving!

And it worked! So I was 3/4 of an hour early!

Thus, the reception room awaited, which is not too bad as it's a small clinic and there are only a few people waiting, and anyway, I always take my trusty Telegraph Cryptic Crossword book with me, and the time flies! 

But this time, the 'worst' thing happened, when a gentleman arrived, smothered in tattoos, and immediately started to talk to the chap next to him about every ailment he'd had. (having tattoos cleaned off clearly wasn't one of them)... Luckily, 17 across was giving me some anxiety, and I could easily stare down at the page for the next ten minutes, while he droned on about each incision, tablet, operation etc., and I was pretty relieved when he was called in before me, and peace reigned!

But, being led into the 'big chair' they use for such jabs, I heard him close by carrying on the boring inanity at the nurse, not unfriendly, but utterly tedious! I wished I'd brought my earphones!

After about fifteen minutes, thankfully, he was ready to go, and the only mildly funny thing he'd said as he was leaving was, 'I'm retired, and the sad thing about retirement is, that you never get a day off'!

I guess I forgave him for that...