The Zetland revisited...

I was intrigued to learn about The Zetland Hotel in Saltburn-by-the-Sea, on the North Sea coast...

Key Historical Details

Purpose: Built by the Stockton & Darlington Railway and opened in July 1863, it was one of the world's first purpose-built railway hotels designed to attract wealthy visitors. 
Direct Access: First-class passengers and distinguished guests could disembark from trains right at the hotel's back door under a protective glass canopy and train shed, shielding them from the weather. 

Current Status: The hotel closed in the late 1980s and was converted into private apartments, but the historic platform edge, buffer stops, and train shed structure still remain!

For some grim reason, I was reminded of the Necropolis Railway, which ferried the deceased to Brookwood Cemetery in Surrey, because there was no more room in London graveyards!

This is yet another British symbol of a past era, and probably, the station platform provided one heck of a selling point, when the great and good decided to pop out for a weekend family jaunt, or maybe with a chum for a few discussions concerning Uganda if the time permitted...

(Cllr. Edwina Baggage was consulted on the issue, but was unavailable for comment. No doubt there wasn't room in the goods wagon for bicycles).

Mare's tale...

As was probably going to be expected, there was uproar during the council meeting at Sodden Prickney, which was held last week in the football pavilion, as the normal Community Centre was being assessed for nuclear attack, and a concrete bunker was being installed.

As Cllr Basil Kalashnikov had been forced out as Chairman, because far too many residents and members of the committee thought he was a absolutety useless, apart from several 'Sod everybodys', which was his usual way of going off in a sulk and whining at everyone, there was a sigh of relief, when he squawked that he was returning to the folk from whence he came, (mutterings of 'Well folk off then' were not reported apparently), and a new Chairman was going to have to be shoved in somewhere at the table. (Said table is exactly the 'correct height' for some 'issues', as once described by Councillor Baggage, but the rumours were unsubstantiated), and votes were sprayed far and wide to find anyone stupid enough to take on the task!

After much infighting (?) between Cllr Newt, Cllr D'Artagnan-Minge, (twice), Cllr Dr Norbert Iodine, once with the afore-mentioned, thrice with Cllr Baggage), and a small person believed to belong to PC Lumbersnatch, the result came as a huge surprise to everyone in the village, even the district, possibly the county...(Get on with it Scrobs - Ed), and a rather oddly named Mr Sidney Bapman was chosen to become the first Mare of the village! This came as a huge surprise to everyone, because Cllr Molestrangler had been stocking up on Victoria's Secret apparel for weeks, in preparation of 'entertaining' her favoured councillor, Cllr Sid Trumpet, and she was sure, or had been assured, (quite a few times), that he was going to get the job!

Mr Bapman suddenly turned up in a motor caravan one day, parked in a layby near Amelia Newt's 657,000sf Retail Emporium, and proceeded to hand out posters to everyone, saying that he was going to take over the village!

Well, this was a surprise, as nobody had ever heard of this individual, but stranger things have happened here, (who by - Ed), and after a rather unpleasant round of voting, he appeared to be taking over the council! Everyone thought that Cllr Amelia Newt was going to be Chairman, or similar, and she immediately rang her solicitor, Tarquin ffarquin-Larquin, who was out playing golf in North Korea, so was unable to help!

The coincidence of the new atomic bunker in the community hall had not gone un-noticed by Cllr Baggage, as these rooms are equipped with noise-cancelling equipment, which can drown out even the loudest of shrieks, when the hastily-assembled personal 'meetings' after the business are 'de rigeur', especially if such dalliances have affected the vote in someone's favour, and the continuing practice of such incidents is well-founded on many occasions, such that the caretaker, Mr Nadger has to hang around for ages after each meeting to lock up, and keeps moaning between roll-up fags! But of course, the football pavilion doesn't have such amenities, although there is a plaque on the kitchen wall, signed by eight members, defining a Bicycling Event from a few years ago!

Points of order were ignored from Cllr Norman Wibble, Cllr Willy Clinchton, Miss Billery and Surgeon Hubert Flange, as they were usually clueless about any of the proceedings at any of the meetings anyway!

So Mare Bapman takes the throne in our unfortunate village, and has immediately failed in his very first job of finding out where Cllr Edwina Baggage actually lives...

Lynmouth - a disaster...

Today, seventy-four years ago, the gorgeous chocolate-box village of Lynmouth was devastated by floods of over-full streams feeding the rivers, collecting at the base of the hill by such a beautiful place, and sending devastating floodwater to demolish buildings, roads, and sadly, lives.

I still find the narrative absolutely frightening. The whole Scrobs family visited many years ago, and it is now, indeed a delightful place to visit.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, a man I later became to know well, Charles Dobbie, was staying on holiday nearby. He was also an engineer with Kent River Board, with vast experience in civil engineering projects - especially where river design and restoration was concerned. I remember chatting with him in 'The New Inn' Winchelsea, where he had a country cottage, and he was telling me that (his words), he was 'looking at a scheme somewhere in Persia, where there's a dam or something needed." The 'river man' was indeed by now, an international figure in big civils jobs!

Naturally, Senora O'Blene and I were spellbound, as he always naturally commanded an audience whoever was listening. He was always a generous man with rounds of drinks, and even wanted to buy us a toaster for our wedding present! His next statement about the Persian dam stays with me forever. "Yes, I'm more worried about all the local bandits hanging around the site, but that's the job"!

Charles was on the scene at Lynmouth very quickly. He dealt with the Borough Engineer, Carnegie, about a solution, and eventually redesigned the whole water-flow in the village. The disaster is well-documented elsewhere, but the place these days is idyllic!

When I started out in surveying, Charles rented a room in our offices in Rye, for his mail etc. I occasionally spotted him popping in and vanishing very quickly! On one occasion, I had a nose around, as it wasn't locked, and there were countless books and papers on Lynmouth etc. There was also an old set of golf clubs', and I asked him if I could give him a few quid for them...

He just said, 'They're yours, I hope they work etc etc etc'!

Carnegie got the 'gong', Charles just got the project.

He really was a good man - we need more of his commercial dimension and skills.

Nurses being cheated...

Scrobs had a bi-monthly visit to Tunbridge Wells Hospital today. It was just a regular big jab, and also meant the half-hour banter with the gorgeous staff there in the Day Care centre.   They do a fabulous job, I know that some patients are in there with very little hope, and my issues are laughable against their anguish, but, as Confucius, Caesar or was it Cicero (Get on with it Scrobs - Ed) said, 'It is what it is'!

But one statement sticks in my craw. 

A lovely Sister was actually discussing my meds just as I wandered in, as the reception had closed, and all I had to pipe up and say was, 'I'm here'! So we settled in, after my bag of courgettes from the garden had been safely deposited for them to share out! All seemed at peace, and the meds were injected safely, so I was free to go.

I'd just negotiated the three miles of corridor to get back to the car, when I realised that I'd not logged the car number, because oncology patients get 'free' parking, and I'd been there for a fivers' worth. So, legging it back to the department, to pop my number into the computer, the lovely Sister appeared, and assured me that all would be fine.

We got chatting and she told me that all Staff have to pay £24.00 a month, just to park in the Staff car park! They'll be doing a full day's work, on their feet all the time, have very few breaks, and then being charged £300.00 just to park at work!

This is just disgraceful! I bet other 'government' employees don't get fleeced like this; they can't work 'from home', perhaps on a Benidorm beach, our Nursing Staff have to be present in some of the most distressing areas of the hospital, and are expected to pay for the 'privilege'. It's also a steep uphill slog on foot for them to get back to their cars after a full shift, anyway.

We just don't treat our front-line NHS staff well enough, they deserve much more, and free parking would be a start.

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.