Travellin' man...

Quite a few years ago, Scrobs was about eleven years of age (You're telling me - Ed).

I was living at home with my family, and was everywhere in the village when it suited me and my friends - making camps in the woods, biking for miles, making rafts etc., like all the things that kids used to do back then, and we were all proud of the scars as well!

One day, I was wandering around near the crossroads of the village, having been somewhere or other, and spied a rather odd contraption, which can only be described as a sort of bicycle with a long, low cabin in tow. It was silver, had a few portholes, and was being driven by a chap who seemed alright, having a friendly smile, no aggression, and also a small puppy inside the tiny caravan, chewing on a Bonio biscuit!

Being nosy, and also more than curious, I spent a few minutes chatting with the chap, and learned that he was just a bit of a traveller - not a gypsy, just an eccentric loner, who liked riding this contraption around the country, getting a little notice here and there from kind people, and offering absolutely no threat to anyone at all!

Back then the village was always looking out for children, old people etc, and even the local shop keeper noticed me chatting to this chap, without any concern, because that was the way it was!

So, after a few minutes, and me even noticing that his bike had a three-speed gear change - a rarity that I craved for, but understood that towing this machine would need some 'oomph', he explained that he just went here and there and everywhere, annoying nobody, and minding his own business! I felt absolutely no threat whatsoever!

As he moved on, he politely asked if we could spare him 'a few spuds' etc, and I dashed off home to collect these! Mum was a bit perturbed, but even then, villagers looked out for each other, and the chap thanked me and went on his way! I never learned his name!

Some time afterwards, dad called me through to the TV, where he'd seen an article on the same chap, somewhere miles away, and we all marvelled at what he was up to, and the 'fame' he was getting, purely by riding this unusal bike around! I was pleased to know that somehow we'd helped him a bit, and all was well, although my mum said once, that I shouldn't really talk to strangers, as he might have, 'asked me if I wanted a ride in the thing'... I can see her telling me that now!

Time passed, quite a lot of it actually, and because I spent many hours as a lad reading 'The Eagle' comic, promoted by the superb Rev Marcus Morris - I had relished in the Dan Dare stories, the real investigations on the back pages, etc, and, now, purely by accident a year or so ago, found that every issue was now available for a few pence on a CDRom!

Well, of course, I had to get these precious disks, and began to trawl through them to see if I could remember anything from all those years ago! I then forgot them entirely...

Just today, the envelope with the several CDs emerged in an old pile of papers, and after a bit of research, I eventually got them to work! That comic was such a great adventure back then! It was the only one allowed by my Headmaster, because the others weren't good enough for budding scientists and brain surgeons, and they really did have an impact on this young soul!

Looking through the issue of January 1958, (when I was revving up to fail my eleven plus, I lost a year in hospital - not worth relating, but it mattered a bit), I found the Letters Page, and blow me down with a copy of 'The Eagle', there was a letter, from a chap who'd noticed my 'friend' near Bognor Regis - a good couple of hours away!

Here's the letter he wrote: -

Now doesn't that little yarn gladden the heart more than somewhat...?

Shifting sand and shingle...

On the coast hear here, is a largish marsh, with an old castle plonked in the middle - Camber Castle - and which is topped up by a lovely small town, Winchelsea.

The old town was lost to the sea in the late 1200s, and apart from that, the existing town reigns supreme as a very pleasant place to visit! I'm always fascinated by stories of vanished towns and villages, and while I revere Winchelsea - partly because I proposed to my Senora soon after a 'session' in The New Inn, and also spent most of my hoeymoon money on the stag party in the same place, the story associated with the demise of the original town is still intriguing!

For some reason though, I stumbled on another tragedy of a lost village the other day - Hallsands, in Devon.

The short film explains the story, which today, would signify a travesty of injustice, but back then, we had a Navy which actually went out from huge, well-organised harbours, and did the business...

Bass is still ace...

Quite a few years ago, Scrobs was beginning to enjoy playing his guitar to anybody who could be bothered to listen, and being a huge fan of The Shadows, of course, all their music was to the fore!

The band had a few personnel changes, with Jet Harris and Tony Meehan leaving, and being replaced by Brian Bennett and Brian Locking, then John Rostill, and all seemed fine with the new line-up, especially as my Uncle Bill gave me his copy of 'Diamonds'...

The seeds of bass guitar playing began a sort of fantasy in this post-adolescent mind, as to persuing the opportunities of playing one of these huge behemoths. The six-string versions had become more available, and I long wondered if a whole set could be played with - say - two or three six-string basses and some percussion thrown in as well!

I never flourished on bass-playing, as first, I never owned one until https://scroblene-webley-bullock.blogspot.com/2007/06/rhythm-stick.html, and since then I've added a few alterations, including a sort of wooden fly-piece attached to the body, so I can play sitting down, and also I've taken the frets out as, I just love that particular sound, especially when played by serious musicians like Del Palmer or Norman Watt-Roy!

Poking around on YouTube when it's raining is a pastime which sometimes takes a few minutes longer, especially when something really good just jumps out, and I am amazed at how this chap manages to play such a fabulous version of Toto's classic, 'Africa'...

I don't think that the gnarled fingers typing this, will ever get to this playing standard...

Mistaken identity...

 It had been quite some time since I'd caught up with my old friends, Gloriette and Elias...

Since the covids, we'd occasionally waved at each other across the road, but as the timing was never right, the liquid offerings of 'The Bells' were really out of bounds - especially at 8.30 in the morning, and anyway, Elias was always on his errands to either collect and bank money, or create mayhem in the builders' offices where they were a bit slow on dipping into their meagre incomes!

So I was delighted to hear the booming voice of Elias,  and also notice the slow, sensuous waving of the undoubted accoutrements of the delicious Gloriette, as I wandered past the pub last Thursday! A quick glance around was all I needed to see the church clock, and realise that tinctures were going to be in demand, and I entered the bar for some magnetic reason!

Shep's 'Spitfire Ale' is one of the best beers in the world, and as Elias knows full well that without our combined intake over the years, the Neame Family might well have given up the ghost, but thankfully, this is not the case, and the success of that fabulous brewery is assured! Actually, a small local brewery has also sprung up, offering 'February Bastard' 6.6% ABV, but we needed the depth of flavour and substance, as well as the conking out of the brain cells, therefore Shep's it was!

So, approaching the gorgeous Gloriette with some speed, I might add, as a warm, luxurious Dior hug on such cold days is always a requirement, the necessary squeals and sensuous movements were accomplished, while the giant paw of Elias was extricating a twenty-note from a wallet the size of a Chinese Filofax and passing it to Archie the barman for the day!

'So what's been occurring, Scrobs', interjected my builder's merchant comrade? 'We haven't seen you for ages, and wondered if the stupid 'Giveuptheboozeanuary' had swept another prisoner into the dungeon of despair'!

'Elias, I've been working on recycling projects at 'The Turrets', and forgot the time', I lamely replied, but as your daugher, Toniatteline will tell you, I did call by your emporium for some brass screws only last week, but as Meccano was also in the shop, she was in her usual 'wonderment' stage, and didn't recognize me!

'Not good enough, Scrobs', emitted Gloriette, 'we miss your company, so forget lunch at home as we're going to do, and stay here for the duration'!

Now what could be better - a crisp ploughman's, several Shep's and the company of a trilby hat and two splended accoutrements for a couple of hours! 

I accepted...

'Now', started Elias, 'I have a short story to mention to you, and you may find it amusing'! Elias' stories sometimes continue for some minutes, even on occasions, up to an hour, as nobody ever gets a chance to ask him anything because his detail is longer than the huge catalogue of his wares, such as WC pans, smoke alarms, brass spigots and plasterboard!

'You know that thick twonk who's our Councillor, who lives the other side of the village, don't you'', he started.

'Well, yes, he's not very bright is he, despite all that money his mummy left him', I replied. Gloriette sighed and nodded, much to the concern of the various local drinkers, who take in every wobble, or rustling leg-movement my gorgeous friend ever does!

''Oh, yes, he is a bit lacking in the bonce department', conjoined Gloriette, 'but he does have some sort of soft spot for people, which is why he's some sort of Lib Dem, or something Green', she finished, glancing at Elias, who wanted to continue his story unabated!

'Anyway', he continued,  'Councillor Smith-Smythe - whatever - was wandering by The Shop Parade the other day, and a kid came up to him and begged him for some 'change'!   

'Smith-Smythe took one look at him, nearly walked off, then remembered that as he's a local councillor, he'd better actually do something'! so he turned back and this is apparently is what he said...'    

'My lad, I don't give out money like that, but if you call around to my house, I'll give you some work, and pay you for the privilege'!

Now the kid hadn't ever worked, and was unused to these discussions, but eventually, after taking the address card, agreed to do just that, as lager isn't cheap these days and the same goes for hand-rolling tobacco.             

'Anyway', Elias continued, while two more pints of Spitfire for us blokes, and a large G&T for the more attractive element of their partnership, appeared in front of us, and it seemed that half the pub was also listening in, as Elias has quite a large voice, and at 6ft 3ins, maintains a commanding and occasionally aggressive presence, especially where bundles of fivers are required to settle accounts!

'Surprisingly, the lad turned up at the Councillor's house that weekend! Our worthy benefactor took him around to the garage, and gave him a pot of unpleasant brown paint, saying, 'If you'll paint my porch, I'll pay you a decent wage in cash'!

After only an hour, the lad was back, knocking on the Councillor's back door, telling him that he had indeed finished the painting job!

The councillor was somewhat surprised at the speed of the work but as he'd made a promise, he handed over a couple of tenners, and the lad seemed quite crestfallen at the amount but eventually accepted the money, as he was slightly hungry and needed some sort of nourishment!

'Well', said the boy, that's OK I suppose, but just to let you know, that you cars' not a Porsche, it's a Ferrari'!

Those bloody photographs...

As to be expected, with tiresome regularity, there was uproar at the Special Community and Environs sort of Meeting, hastily held at the village hall by Sodden Prickney Village Council, about the revelations of the contents of PC Lumbersnatch's saddle bag on his police bicycle. 

On inspection of the said container by two worthies of our village, Cliff Dumpling and Wayne Boggis, (no relation), several photographs and cuttings from a rather nasty, locally distrubuted periodical, 'Cor - bigguns', there were some recognisable faces to be viewed by one or two, (bollocks, it was everyone in the sodding village - Ed), citizens who are rather more involved with tea-time discussions on knitting, and cookery from Indonesia.

Cllr Basil Kalashnikov, who is well-known as an exponent of bicyclism whenever he gets the opportunity, had been found to have slipped a certain member of the council a few quid to keep quiet about the emails and hard copies, but to no avail! The secret was out! Cllr Baggage had indeed been involved with an inebriated game of 'Twister' with Cllrs Groat, D'Artagnan-Minge, Newt (twice), Dr Norbert Iodine and also Molestrangler and Wibble! 

These sepia-enhanced photographs had now disclosed the disgraceful behaviour of all councillors, and the question remained as to why the others on the panel, Amelia Newt and Sid Trumpet, weren't invited to the charade!

Ms Baggage denied any involvement, although it's well-known that her proclivities tend to demur otherwise, (so Cllr Wibble maintains), but resigning matters for gross impropriety in office are now being considered by PC Lumbersnatch's superiors on the evidence of his bicycle being seen outside Ms Baggage's maisionette, with an open flap over the rear mudguard!

Is that all there is...

It occurred to Scrobs, while driving home from an errand at the Hospital, (just a test, not a lobotomy) today, and thinking of not much, that the monthly target of four 'posts', was in danger of being eroded - by the figure of two...

The recall of the immortal sketch by Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, coerced a wilting Scrob-brain to actually do something, while waiting at the traffic lights at Flimwell...

So...

Seems so...

The power of advertising...

Despite the wailings and gnashings of gums by the climate scam plonkers, Scrobs occasionally gets bewildered by the clickbait about electric heaters that appear on the pages of the online rags...

I've given up using an open fire for the time being - it's a real hassle making it all work, and clearing ashes etc., is a hurtful chore these cold mornings, as, after all it is January! The fuel is so expensive nowadays, thanks to the mad issue of importing the stuff from Australia, and it is in fact cheaper to use an electric heater, albeit more wisely and where and when appropriate!

So apart from the very gratefulness of the gift of an electric throw from a daughter for Christmas, I use an electric blower heater to complement the 1,000 year old SEEboard storage radiators, which still somehow work - occasionally. All in all, with a bit of exercise, survival is OK even in these temperatures, which are of course, ignored by the Co2 manics!

Thus, on the pages of the erstwhile online Daily Express, I spotted a rather neat deal on a rather neater ceramic blower heater, at a knockdown price! It looked like a real bargain, as because one small blower here is showing signs of age, and going a bit brown at the edges, I sought to investigate further! 

Several advertisements later, my mind was almost made up, and the Amazon button wasn't far away from a tentative mouse-finger! All I needed to do was to see if I could find another heater in The Turrets, to see the wattage, and how big it needed to be for a quite large room! I thought that the model I'd seen was pretty swish, and how nice and warm I'd be at the flick of a switch! So I searched for the offending soon-to-be-retired machine, already thinking how perfect a shiny new dark grey, ceramic heater would look!

Bugger me, I already had one - we'd bought it a couple of years ago and I'd completely forgotten about it...

Alabamy bound...

A lovely friend has been regaling me with stories about her ukelele group. She is clearly an accomplished player, and my instructions have been to watch several performances of various bands, and these have been a delight!

Many years ago, I always wanted a ukelele, a good friend owned the first ukelele in the school! He played it with a green felt plectrum, and I was more and more envious, and used to make my own sort of stringed instruments with any old plywood etc I found in dad's garage, but they rarely worked! Eventually I earned enough hop-picking money to buy a real guitar, several years later! I think it cost £7.0.0, and I remember having a choice of just two instruments in a music shop in Queens Road, Hastings. The other one was around £5.10.0 and wasn't that well made...

Fast forward to the recent Christmas...

One of my grandchildren was give quite a nice instrument, and on the Big Day, my first job after locking up the car and placing one foot inside the house, was to tune this little chap! (Senora O'Blene had given one of her nephews a ukelele back in 1972, and he played it incessantly, whether it was in tune or not! It had cost 50 pence, and was his 'best ever present')!

So my job was to hold this tiny instrument, while the big eyes of the grand daughters drilled into my soul, and I tuned it to the top four strings of a guitar - D,G,B,E. That was my first mistake... We did get some sort of sound out of it anyway, until other interests of the day sort of took over, like a huge lunch, and the ukelele was forgotten for a while, although we'd scoured the net for advice!

Back in the nineteen-fifties, we had our first television installed. It had two channels, the BBC and the relatively new ITV, and we were all cock-a-hoop. A great programme presenter back then was Jack Jackson, and in fact he was a really original disc-jockey, putting 78s in their place as well as the new 45s! He often recorded his programmes with his cat on his lap, and indeed continued to be very funny for many years, with intermittent shorts of fabulous humour and fun, as well as being a great musician himself! I just loved his radio shows!

Now, I am sure - yay POSITIVE,  that in those heady years, with me yearning for stardom on a ukelele, or just about anything with strings, (except a violin of course), Jack Jackson presented a band on stage singing a song called something like, 'She was my lover'. They were all my age, and played ukeleles in grand splendour, and my dad had called me through to watch these chaps! They had been introduced as 'The Imps', and all I can find is a Derby-based band from the 1960s, with the same name, but it certainly wasn't them (Mr A.K. Haart may well remember these gentlemen...)!

Of course, I was utterly hooked, and no doubt, several days of 'hump' would have been the norm with this frustrated and expectant David Gilmour champing at the bit!

Back to the future, or now as it happens, I've found the true tuning of a ukelele, and of course, am still getting all muddled up and playing pretty awful stuff! I must ask my friend for more advice...

But those Imps sure could play...

(Note - the title of this rather long post comes from the funniest TV show ever produced - 'Not the Nine o'Clock News', where a Southern gentleman is strolling along, playing a ukelele, singing these words, and suddenly coming across a sign which points to Alabamy being totally the opposite direction! Still hilarious every time I see it)!