A garden centre not called Alta Rica...

"Well, here's a turn up for the books - I only wish I knew which comic it was", as Rachel Reeve's boss might have exclaimed when she was promoted to Senior Stapler Monitor at Sodden Prickney's village sub-branch visiting caravan on the 'Basil Kalshnikov Field of Glory" car-park, (2.00pm - 4.00pm, Wednesdays and Thursdays)!

Yes, the Earth has moved, Saturn is in the Despondent, Mars has Groils for each strumlical legend, and Jupit...(get on with it - Ed), and Scrobs has started partaking of coffee again!

Yup, it is a new era!

Some years ago, around March 2015, Senora O'Blene and I had taken to the habit of visiting a large garden centre just outside Tunbridge Wells. They were in the process of refurbishing and extending, and like a lot of them now, they were intruducing the through-wave of having to walk round every single section, to arrive, tired and exhausted at the exit with a plastic gnome, some fake snow, and a pot plant of dubious quality, but at least it had Latin name!

One day, the GC decided that all loyalty card members could have a free cup of coffee, which was normally a couple of quid, and as we'd been there for some time, buying an electric fence cable, some barbed wire for the garage roof and the plans for an air raid shelter, we decided to succumb to their brand new speciality coffee, which had some sort of Italian name, but I can't remember it.

Resting tired rear paws against a blue plastic-sided raised rose garden, I risked a sip of the stuff, then another...

At that monent, I gave up drinking coffee for nearly ten years! It was utterly disgusting, with a sour, unpleasant smell coming from a turgid grey/brown slurry surrounded by a rather weird looking foam which seemed to creep everywhere over the cup, down the sides and dangerously close to Senora O'Blene's handbag! The taste was nothing like coffee at all, and was downright foul!

It wasn't worth complaining, it went to feed the plastic roses, and we left soon afterwards, with me quietly exhibiting the occasional shiver and whimper! I haven't touched a drop since then, well, one very small Gold Blend, but it just reminded me of the nasty stuff!

So there you have it! Coffee has just made a comeback today, as several dietary issues demand a bit more diversity, and that goes for drinks etc., as a scoop of chemo every three weeks for myeloma makes partaking of comestibles go somewhat awry, but we're winning, and thanks to Mr Alta Rica, it's been an even better day!

A new era, and hope for the residents of our favourite village...

 

There was indignation and uproar at the voting table in Sodden Prickney Parish Council hall last Tuesday, (reports Tarquin ffarquin Larquin of 'The Bugle').

In fact, it was more like a battlefield scene from Henry V, or The Crimea, or the Som...(get on with it - Ed), as the several piles of votes were clearly showing one outright winner, with Cllr. Amelia Newt carefully holding the stack down with a house brick!

The entire committee had assembled in the hall to find out who was to be their next chairman, and recriminations between the various parties had already begun, with Cllr. Cynthia Molestrangler, fresh from an assignment with her gardener, who has been putting up a new pergola in her arbour, (so that what it's called - Ed), and feeling slightly flushed, announced her arrival by banging the door back with such ferocity, that the picture of Queen Victoria's Coronation, situated close by, fell with a crash, and sent glass shards everywhere, much to the annoyance of the caretaker, Arthur Grumble! 

She immediately accused Cllr. Basil Kalashnikov of cheating by voting for himself three times,and began to harangue everyone she could see through her bloodshot eyes, which, had they not been seeing double would have noticed only a dozen or so bored citizens of the village, sitting around and gawping at their mobile telephones!

It was clear that Cllr. Trumpet was going to be the winner, as the small pile of votes, with fifteen spoiled papers paper-clipped to last year's calender, was the sum total of his nearest rival, the redoubtable but statuesquely diminishing figure of Cllr Molestrangler!

Cllr Norman Wibble, together with Dr. Iodine, began to try and placate her tantrums, which had now risen to a sound resembling a turkey farm around Christmas, and her harsh cackle began to reverberate around the room, to the point that two citizens left in disgust, and visited the local pub to wait for the result!

It didn't take long, before the vote was finalised, and the 1,245 votes for Cllr. Sid Trumpet made a welcome fanfare to a new era of Sodden Prickney Parish Council's hopes and. aspirations, and all he got was a great clonk in the face with a bejewelled left hook, before his beaten opponent stormed out of the room, shrieking obscenities, and by slamming the door, knocked the painting of King George VI to the floor, causing great shards of glass to fly everywhere, to the continuing intense annoyance of the afore-mentioned Arthur Grumble!

It was a night to remember, and to celebrate, someone produced a bottle of Asti Spumante for some odd reason, as it hadn't ever been entered on the inventory for the council expenditure, so the recriminations had started almost immediately, with Cllr Basil Kalshnikov sidling towards the door to escape, and uttering only the mildest of ,'Sod the lot of yous', and scrunching the broken glass at his feet, causing Arthur Grumble to throw up his arms in utter despair...

Down - and up - the tube...

Chatting with ED last evening about this and that, she came up with the sort of fact that you hear, and somehow want to marvel at, but for no other reason, than it's just, 'very/quite/somewhat 'interesting'!

In a previous life, she used to travel extensively in Europe, and usually went by Eurostar from here. It was much easier for her, as they lived in London, so the terminal was not far away.

As the train would slide into the tunnel, she was in the habit of turning on whatever musical extravaganza was available at the time, and playing the classic song - still one of my absolute favourites - 'Supper's ready'...

Apparently, the length of the song, which is one whole side of the album 'Foxtrot', is almost exactly twenty-three minutes, and from going into the tunnel to getting out the other end was the exact duration of the trip, give or take the occasional puncture! So she would emerge near Calais just as the...

'Lord of Lords, King of Kings, has returned to lead his children home, to take them to the new Jerusalem'!

Sometimes these revelations just need recording!