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...

Dial 'Ellie' for 'M'...

 

Scrobs has been re-watching the whole series of Foyle's War of late.

We bought the entire box set some time ago, and always felt enthralled by the performance of Michael Kitchen, Honeysuckle Weeks and the supporting cast with some excellent names and acting in several excellent stories.

Watching the various films again has been a bit of a revelation, as the plots have become clearer, the narrative more understandable, and generally, they're all still a superb example of excellence from ITV!

I'm near the end of the series; Foyle has left the police force, and one of the occasional names from previous programmes is taking a major element of the stories - Ellie Haddington who has a amazing part as Hilda Pierce of MI5.

When we first watched the series years ago, and Hilda appeared on the scene, we almost felt a shiver at the depth of a brilliant part played in an amazing style! Now she's a 'regular', after ending one of the films last evening, I mused as to how she would have made a fantastic 'M' from the Bond films...

Judi Dench was indeed excellent, but now she's 'retired', I'm going to vote for Hilda Pierce - Amazon MGM please note!

Nigh is the end...

 

The failures of the committee of Sodden Prickney PC continue to fester...

Reports are coming in of Clr. Basil Kalashnikov's third day being locked in the office in the hall, which used to be used for injecting citizens for rabies, the covids and other - er - transmitted diseases. He refuses to come out, and the occasional yelps of despair, together with a profusion of Guinness fumes emanate from the room, from time to time.

The entire committee are in turmoil, with Clr. Edwina Baggage desperately being exhorted to climb in through the side window, no doubt aided by Clr. Norman Wibble, who'll do anything to get his hands anywhere near her Janet Ragers, and for that matter, anything underneath! Our intrepid lady tried to lean her much-maligned bicycle against the wall to peer in at the Chairman's hideaway, but at the last moment, the front wheel slipped sideways, and had PC Lumbersnatch not been passing at exactly the same moment, she would have ended up in disarray on the decking below! The familiarity of the way our village policeman managed to take several minutes to lower her to the ground, by grasping several sections of her body at different times, was noted by Clr. Wibble, and he wrote a few words in his fading 'Boys Book Of Bicycles', for future reference.

Meanwhile, the few councillors who were left, including Clr. D'Artagnan-Minge, Clr. Dr Norbert Iodine, and Clr. Amelia Newt, (accompanied by her erstwhile companion and bag-carrier, Clr. Ron Groat), all sat around the coke stove in the hall and wondered what to do next! A motion of 'no confidence' was proposed by Clr. Cynthia Molestrangler, and seconded by Clr. Sid Trumpet. A request to 'third' the vote was sneered at by the whole committee, as PC Lumbersnatch had caused quite enough trouble already, and there was talk of Clr. Baggage reporting him to MI5, or some sort of place where errant policemen  get their comeuppance!

So, with the reporters from the Bugle, including Clr. Baggage, and also comprising Torsten Smell and his assistant, Charlenerama Grainer both from the City Desk, (and occasionally 'up against it'), taking various notes on their electronic Filofaxes, and snapping a few pictures of the locked door, there was a commotion from the door, where an enraged Kalashnikov family member - believed to be his wife, or similar, stormed in with a Tupperware box of Ryvita and Kraft cheese slices. 

On being questioned by Clr. Iodine as to why she had brought along such comestibles, she explained that it was the only food she could slide under the door, to be consumed by her debilitating 'husband'! This gave Clr. Iodine an idea, and he immediately unpacked a foil wrapping on a selection of beta-blockers, some gamma-blockers and for all they all knew, the rest of the bloody Greek alphabet-blockers, which he proceeded to blow through the keyhole with a disposable ear syringe!

After several minutes, a thump was heard from within, and it was assumed that Clr. Basil Kalashnikov had at last tired himself to oblivion, and the situation would enable PC Lumbersnatch to just unlock the door, with the key he traditionally keeps upon his person, next to his whistle, in case he 'gets lucky' after any of the steamier meetings of our despondent Parish Council.

America...

Back when Scrobs was a very late teenager, he had a huge crush on the daughter of a Baronet of the County, who was just a stunning beauty, and the sort of girl you'd just love on sight, when she even walked into the pub. We were 'just good chums', and it stopped right there.

And of course,there were many more blokes having the same intestinal discord...

Anyhow, a usually devastated Scobs would repair home, to the various bosoms of the family, and when they'd all gone to bed, he'd play the seminal album by Simon and Garfunkel - Bookends!

Lying on the floor, with my head on a cushion, between the twin speakers of the very softly-playing radiogram, (remember those),  and smoking the final Players Gold Leaf of the day.

I was in heaven...

Petroleum spirit extravaganza...

Just this morning, Scrobs was doing a bit of tidying in the boot of the Scrobmobile, in preparation for taking a load of stuff to the tip etc...

In the boot, is a varied collection of shopping bags from various stores - some gone now, and old coats etc., and it was one of these which I'd bought some years ago, and have hardly ever worn, but it was kept in case I had a puncture or someone might nick the catalyser, or similar, and I had to walk home!

The pockets also contained the usual dross, but one bit of paper turned out to be a receipt for some petrol, I'd bought from a local garage almost exactly four years ago to the day!

Back then, I paid £1.779 per litre for Ultimate, as I rarely do long journeys, well, back then we didn't go far, and the old engine never really warmed up enough, so the advice from a petrol-head friend was to go for the best - so we always did!

I'm somewhat surprised at the cost, as even now, with Starmer and Reeves totally wrecking the finances of our cherished country, I'm paying that much even now!

Surely, the Hormuz was open, Sunak was indeed wreaking havoc etc., but what was the reason for the high cost back then?

Farmer Hoggett strikes again...

Just today, Scrobs was in the garden, starting the new crops, etc.

As we are next to the church, we hear the hymns and dirges every Sunday, and today, one hymn just got me going on my favourite episode in any film, ever made... 

And I started to hum it, with the inevitable drop in countenance and arrival at a solemn realisation, that it still fills me with tears...

I just don't kow how these short scenes just reverberate, but they damn well do, and with the setting, the realisation of animals and their carers, etc., the music just melts me to a gibbering wreck - every time!

It gets worse...

By now, Scrobs is even more of a blathering wreck, and these scenes are just fabulous...

The demise of a British institution - care of Labour ...

The disaster for British pubs, characterised by the manic tax-theft by the far-left 'administration', we are suffering under, is showing its face in quite a few directions.

Being retired and more elderly than 'yer average spring chicken' - ahem), I tend not to spend too much time in our local hostelries for the simple reason that it costs too much! However, when a good chum decides that we need to explore the delicacies, and Harvey's fabulous beer, in a pub a few miles away, and offers a ride in an open sports car with the hood down on an idyllic Spring day, then the tempation to join in is never a problem, and so, four of us ventured forth yesterday!

One chum has a 1963 Austin Healey 3000, which is in superb original condition, and the other chum has a Honda 2 litre, with pocket-rocket tendencies, and so we ventured west for twenty minutes to find the pub we were aiming at!

On arriving, the car park was full by 12.30, and the bars were doing a roaring trade, which was happily gratifying, and provided much jollity all round! But, isn't it signal, that nowadays, the only pubs which are just thriving, are the establishments which have an extensive menu of 'restaurant' food, good ales and wines, and a lot of staff with the eagerness to make everyone welcome?

When I started off in the big wide world, in Ashford, Kent, in 1965, I lived in sordid digs, and escaped on some nights to visit various pubs where I could at least find some company, and a genial atmosphere. The grotty pubs were well documented locally, but I can still remember one in Ashford, on the corner of a bomb site just off the main street, which was packed every evening! It was awful inside, but the chat was lively, the clientele was elderly - probably war veterans etc., and respect was paid to all new visitors like me.

Food in these great establishments would be crisps, arrow root biscuits, and maybe a year-old packet of KP nuts or cheeselets, and that's your lot! But my landlady had provided some sort of peculiar dinner, so extras weren't really required!

Compare the pub we visited yesterday with the great old boozer I used to pay 1/4 a pint for in 1965...

I'm so lucky living in a part of the country, where we aren't tarnished by the dreadful degradation of traditional British customs and values - but 1/4 a pint would be laughed at now...