Good intentions...

So, tonight's the night when everyone makes resolutions about something or other...

Years ago, I vowed to give up smoking (again), on the fateful night.

On the bell, I stubbed out a final Gold Leaf, (actually I accidently dropped it in 'The Wellington', Battle, Sussex, so I trod on it and that was that)! The resolution lasted for nearly seven hours, when a nourishing pint of beer at my elbow, in my old local, on New Year's Day needed a mate!

    

I once worked with an old boy who admitted to smoking two ounces of Gold Block, and forty fags in a single day, every day, before his doctor mentioned that he had not long left, so he'd better give it up! And he did, but he was still a cantankerous old bugger; 'vitriolic' was another description...

Mrs O'Blene and I actually gave up for good in March 1986, after monstrous hangovers. It wasn't easy to start with, but we eventually helped each other, and saved a load of dosh in the process!

Tonight, just after midnight, I'll start my forty-eight hour non-alcoholic break again, and seeing a good chum in Waitrose this morning, we agreed that this was a good idea for us three-score-years-and-tens...

Sod that though, going for a whole bloody January, off the sauce!

Quandary of emotions...

The awful situation in Australia prompted me to collect all my chums over there for a message of whatever support I could muster.

David Duff has a post here and the responses show such resolve, I can only commend the great spirit shown by all these good people.

It's a mixed day really. The despondence of such a calamity 'Down Under', compared with the total joy of reading all the positive comments on Guido's latest post about Boris's Brexit Bill,      Here - Woo-Hoo! leaves Scrobs somewhat bewildered, but at least the next few days will see some sort of recognition that even when we are getting the Scotch bottles polished, the turkey stuffed (through its beak - 36 hour job that), and the rest; well, life just goes on...

And 'My Dave' is arriving at eight o'clock this morning to fix the kitchen taps, hence the early-morning post!

Go Bozza...

Scrobs has decided that he will not contest another General Election.

The man himself needs a period of reflection, dithering, obfuscation, fake news, support from a failing BBC, support from anyone else, some sort of tonic wine, and also the purchase of a bullet-proof vest, to be worn back to front while the knives hover...

So we can all breath a sigh of relief, and look forward to a great year!

The Senora O'Blene has supplied the title to this post, and has been suitably rewarded!

Bob Willis R.I.P....

Just a playback from last year...

http://scroblene-webley-bullock.blogspot.com/2018/09/

Beer and cheese and a snag...

Her Fragrancy, the Senora O'Blene and Scrobs were partaking of a liquid lunch recently, and a casual remark rather hit home during the conversation, which normally accompanies such delectable actions...

'Why do pubs try too hard to become 'restaurants', when only a few years ago, they were doing very well on more 'basic' comestibles, with decent ales and wines, and the occasional G and T!

When Mrs O'Blene's mum and dad ran a very successful pub - so successful that a) I married their younger daughter, and b) they made enough dosh to pay cash for their retirement home, the key answer to providing basic lunches and suppers was exactly that, 'keep it simple and basic'!

When Scrobs was a mere stripling, aged about twenty, a good lunch was one or two halves of best bitter, or a couple of bottles of Guinness, and a cheese roll or two, preferably with a banger on the side, depending on the level of breakfast, and also whether a previous site visit in the freezing cold had formed an appetite normally attributed to a hungry leopard.

This was always fabulous fare, especially in the future Mrs Scrobs' pub, and the next fifty years were probably drafted about then, but nobody knew then of course.

Nowadays, the fare offered by pubs has to include some jollop which is called 'jus' or something similarly stupid, a concoction to make cod seem more likable without beer-batter, and an unidentifiable slop with an unidentifiable name, which might just be minced turkey...

The Senior Mrs Scrobs (my Mum) always maintained that a good pub lunch should be something with cheese, and a bottle or two of a strong ale, and she should know, as her dad also ran a pub in Campton, Bedfordshire, when beer was four old pence a pint...