More of nothing in our feted village...

As was to be expected, there was the usual uproar at the hastily-engendered and un-announced Council Meeting at Sodden Prickney last Thursday - or was it Friday?

Cllr. Dr Norbert Iodine had been dealing with some warts on the various bottoms of one of his larger patients, and had sent his apologies, although explained he might arrive later, if the lesions had been successfully lanced and the p (that's enough medical reference - Ed), also, Cllr. Edwina Baggage had had to curtail an invigorating exercise in damage limitation after breaking a window in the bicycle shed at The Bugle, by inserting a jewel-encrusted elbow at the curtains for some privacy.

So, the meeting began in immediate disarray, as a commotion at the door exhibited an enraged Cllr. Basil Kalashnikov, who had lost his car keys, and had to walk the three miles to reach the council chamber.

The minutes of the previous meetings, whatever they had been, were read out by Cllr. Amelia Newt, and her regular, but still unsatisfied squeeze, Cllr. Ron Groat, sort of seconded them by raising his trouser leg and waving it in front of the committee! This might have been construed as a reference to his allegiance to a local group, 'The Sodden Prickney Elephants', which seemed to meet on odd occasions at 'The Bells' public house, for murmerings, and strange actions.

However, nobody took much notice, so business was resumed, except for one vital fact - nobody knew why they were assembled!

A sudden report, (certainly not a 'body noise'), from Cllr. Cynthia Molestrangler was mentioned after some confusion, concerning the state of the flower-arranging by the 650,000 sq. ft. buildings of the Newt Emporium, was safely ignored by everyone, and while PC Lumbersnatch happily booked a horse and cart outside, for dropping a considerable amount of manure all over his bicycle, the Charman/person/woman/whatever announced an impromptu agenda, which was meaningless, as everyone had started talking amongst themselves, and making plans for the evening...

So, as there was no indication as to why the meeting had been called, indeed, who had actually called it, the happy throng disbanded, and Cllr. Emily D'Artagnan-Minge departed for a long-awaited liason with Cllr. Surgeon Hubert Flange, with whom she had very recently enjoyed a satisfying lunch with afters, and more besides, and was relishing even more attention and possibly a few tinctures of a bubbly variety, or perhaps anything to get the old bugger to perform yet again!

I was eleven then...

These films are getting better; the reproduction facilities are improving as we speak, and the AI services can transform a faded old photograph into a masterpiece of colour and vibrancy!

One comment I read somewhere, when looking at one of these films made me chuckle...

"Isn't it funny that in those days, everyone drove classic cars..."

 

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.

Nobody takes the stage at Sodden Prickney...

So, there was the usual turmoil at Sodden Prickney's meeting, to advise Cllr Basil Kalashnikov that he was a waste of space and had to be replaced A.S.A.P.

It was a pitiful gathering, the windows had been painted shut by Nibble and Co, during their five-year maintenance programme, so the room was stiflingly hot, and Cllr. Edwina Baggage decided to strip off to her 'intimate' bicycling attire as the temperature reached nearly 90 degrees! Cllr. Ron Wibble decided that enough was enough, and slackened his braces by three notches, which was viewed with some concern by his main squeeze, Cllr. Amelia Newt! The two events were not necessarily connected, just that such moments of inert passion, had been observed before in different circumstances!

'So', as politicians always start their excuses, the requirement to elect Cllr. Kalashnikov's successor had to start, sooner or later, and immediately, Cllr. D'Artagnan-Minge shot her hand in the air to demand a recount, much to the annoyance of her companion for the evening, (among many), and as nobody had actually voted, there was a certain amount of confusion...

'So', While Cllr. Ron Groat was fiddling about with his smartphone, he muttered an obscenity, which rocked the meeting! He was asked by another Councillor present, Cllr. Dr Norbert Iodine, to explain himself, or subject his body to an internal inspection via a Victorian Anal Inspection Device! Cllr. Groat immediately apologised, but in his defence, there was no indication as to what on earth they were all doing here, apart from telling Cllr. Kalashnikov that his reign of terror was being terminated forthwith!

So, a panicked phone call to a relative of Cllr. Molestranglers' third husbands' mistress, produced the telephone number of a rather callow youth, who had apparently been some sort of councillor in an unknown village somewhere in West Wales.

'So', the 'saga' of the arrival of a foreign nonentity from an unknown country will continue, probably with tiresome disinterest from everyone in this sainted village!

Sixty-five years on...

It's been a hot day, I've been on the phone to a Daughter for an hour, discussing this and that, and while a sandwich is brewing, Scrobs has this funny feeling that he'd like to hear this track yet again...

It might have been that a drum solo was being interpreted with a knife and fork on the table top, or just another quirk of listening to the rhythm of life, the birdsong outside, the yelp of the hound and wanting to hear something from the past...

Sixty-five years ago, Scrobs had been packed off to a foreign country, (Wales), to be taught this and that. It was a frightening experience, and still occasionally needs some sort of discussion, but from a successful, if eventual product, it was probably worth the trauma. 

During the first year, The Shadows were in their ascendancy. 'Apache' was safely purchased for 6/4d and the first - maybe the second as I always liked Johnny and The Hurricanes and played Reveille Rock incessantly - but I digress.

At the end of Summer Term, 1961, the Headmaster 'sanctioned' the school guitar band to present a concert to everyone in The Memorial Hall. The HM was a good old stick, fierce but fair, and indeed, the band played their music to everyone in their well-organised concert close to the end of term. They brought the house down, although, we'd been ordered that there would be no cheering, shouting, clapping etc., other than gentle applause by the HM!

This was the star of the show, and with John Dummer on drums you'd know why...

I don't remember our men doing 'The Shadow Step', but a few others joined in with  this...

It was a fabulous evening, I'll never forget it all, so thank you guys - you led the way back then!

Girls' songs...

Scrobs is really an old softie some of the time...

The Alexa machine in the kitchen is always on when I'm around, either listening to Talk Radio, or, if I'm feeling a bit 'anyhow', a few well-chosen songs are conjured up. 

Just the other day, I realised that nearly all the songs I'd been listening to, were by some great lady singers. I did a quick mental count, and four immediately came to mind as they'd been played over the last few days! I guess I really started the enjoyment of some great singing, when a flatmate used to play his collection of LPs by Judy Collins. This one is an all time favourite: -

Here's another: -

Another: -

Last one for now...

I guess that there's some sort of theme running through all these songs; they're beautifully presented and performed, so maybe just taking in the sentiments and enjoying the production of each song is the answer...

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...

And now for something completely expected...

I'm betting that my pension 'increase' will be wiped out by around the end of April this year, it took a few days longer last year.