Senior Service...

Today, Scrobs joins the Senior Service!


Noooh, not going to sea, not that one, but the one where I've reached the day when by all accounts, I could retire and say to Mrs Scrobs that I was taking up growing roses, and buying a new pipe and slippers! It's not really like that, because as everyone knows, I will stop work when I'm 103, but I'd like to put in a good word for the Pension Service.


It took one phone call of about ten minutes to arrange everything,  They were splendid! They had everything they needed on a screen to unravel a lifetime of my work, gave reasons why my pension would be smaller, or larger at sixty-five, and it was all confirmed in writing in seven days!


So, here's a new one - kick the banks into touch, and give the money wasted on their balance sheets to the guys and gals Up North!


You'd get to talk to people on normal salaries, not eye-watering bonuses, they'd understand the public, not rip them off, they'd abide by strict rules, not flout them, they'd have a code of conduct far superior to those in big shiny Canary Wharf offices, and they'd be out of the tainted reach of meddling politicians!


That would solve the nation's woes at a stroke, and even maybe, I'd be able to retire a few days before that 103rd birthday...


Seeing the Grandchildren today, loads of cards to open, and a few tinctures as well!


Marvellous!


Update...
Talking to BP just now, he told me that he'd experienced exactly the same courtesy and friendly professional attitude, when he had to go through his affairs with The Pension Service in Motherwell! He said that he'd also heard similar stories from others as well, so perhaps I'm getting nearer to solving the woes of UK Inc than I thought...

Life's like a butterfly...

Mrs Scroblene had delightful ears, and likes to wear small delicate studs as a final embellishment, and who am I to wish it any other way!


These invariably get forgotten in the day-to-day hullabaloo of rushing around here and there, (the studs, not the ears - she hears EVERYTHING,), but the little metal butterflies which hold the things in usually end up on the carpet, or inside a pullover, or anywhere in fact! They're tiny, just a bit of metal which folds round a stem, and probably cost about .01 pence to make per dozen.


So while we had a few spare minutes in Hastings last week (seeing opticians for ages and ages, and eventually glasses), we popped into F. Hinds to get a dozen or so butterflies for spares.


It went something like this...


Mrs S. - "Hello, do you sell the butterflies which go on ear studs please"?


Miss Crone - "Can you be more precise on the type of studs, do you have them with you"?


Mrs S. - "Well, they go on the back of the stud, and keep them from falling out, I've lost one or two, and need some replacements, and no they're not here, they're at home"!


Miss Crone - "Oh Nooo, NOOO, we don't do anything like that, you have to bring them for us to evaluate them and provide a perfect match"!


Mrs S. - "But surely you sell them by the packet, I only want them to go on the b....., oh don't bother, thank you"!


Exit swiftly...


Into H. Samuel...


Mrs S. - "Hello, do you sell the butterflies which go on ear studs please"?


Young lady - "Yes we do madam"!


Mrs S - "Oh good, I'd like to buy some please, how much are they"?


Young lady - "They're £15.00 a pair, and you need to bring them in for us to fit them for you madam"!


Mrs S. - "What! They're only tiny little butte...oh forget it, we'll get them on the internet"!

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So that is why the High Street just dies away, leaving second-hand shops, crusties on Tennants, nasty smelly junk food pads, empty buildings, and ugly old bank buildings (which used to have ugly bankers within - couldn't resist that one)!


Post script...


Ebay - £1.50, plus .40p postage, for three pairs...

Spoken with a mouthful of teeth (final part), dream sequence...

The bar went quiet, and I wondered what was going to happen next. Gloriette and Elias were close, and for some reason, they both turned towards us at the same time. It was a seminal moment, and I felt considerable discomfort.

"Did I hear you say something Swedish"? boomed Elias with a big grin on his face! Gloriette giggled as she sipped a violent pink drink. He came over carrying a tray with four glasses and a bottle of champagne.


"Congratulations on the shopping centre, 'Q'", he  said, "That's taken a helluva long time - you deserve this"! He poured the wine and sat down opposite us.


The room became very quiet, and if it were not for a trilby hat being removed from the shiny dome of a well-bronzed head, and gently laid on the table next to the bottle, there'd have been no movement either. Even Gloriette's acreages had ceased wiggling!


"Bit silent here!" said Elias, slowly taking his glass. "What's occurring please"?


"There's a good reason for that". Replied 'Q'.


"I heard you mention banks back then, 'Q', and so I cocked my ear so to speak! Bastards aren't they"! Elias looked up gravely.


I nodded, and 'Q' started to explain his quandary. Elias listened intently, nodding sagely when the bank's failures were mentioned, agreeing with a grunt when the revelations of the manager's incompetence was laid out and how he had to deal with some idiot in some godforsaken town - or foreign country, by phone, and finally, he sat back in his chair, grabbed the wine bottle and filled the glasses to the brim. He 'cheered' both of us in turn, and drank deeply.


"Bloody marvellous!" he exclaimed! "That is the best news I've heard all week - for many weeks actually! The Swedish guys have been chatting to me of late, about how things are going, and I always explain that it's so-so, and mustn't grumble! My bank have been bloody useless at offering any help we need to expand the business. They've been hounding some of the staff, and generally been getting on my nerves! Well it ain't anymore is it!"! He refilled the glasses with a huge grin on his face.


'Q' looked at him quizzically. "So what will you do about it, old mate"? he asked, twirling his wine glass.


"I'm going to move to your new bank of course! Stuff RBS, they can piss off"! Shouted Elias! His triumphal yelp caused the whole bar to go quiet and turn to see what the commotion was all about!


When it was explained to all and sundry, what was going to happen, Gloriette squealed in delight, and began to peck all the blokes - and a few of the girls, and created a certain amount of testosterol mayhem amongst the younger, more tender men present. The talk began to turn into a babble, and from then on in, a party began to develop!


The celebrations about 'Q's new scheme continued well into the night. Elias got on to his accountant and immediately made plans to change all his financial affairs and join the new bank, and, instead of just taking notes, the little guy with the calculator came round to 'The Bells' and joined in! It was an evening to remember! Even the lawyer bought a round!

------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, word got out among the staff at Elias Sagtrouser's Builder's Merchants and suppliers of all sorts of brass things and concrete mixers, that they would all be in for a bonus soon, as 'Q' had decided that Elias would become a preferred supplier. He mentioned that if there were any problems with their old bank, Elias would take over and guarantee their situation, so everyone in the shop and the yard switched their accounts. All the subbies made new arrangements, again, these were guaranteed by Elias, (and actually 'Q' stepped in as well, for a few favoured chums who were in difficulties). One by one, they deserted the UK failed banks,


And it got worse; much worse, for the shredded bank, and also for the other publicly owned banks and the other rigging one as well.


Word got out in the small town, that they'd all lost several large accounts, and that they'd tried to bully some of the smaller customers even further. That caused a headline in the local paper, and the locals complained with much indignation. It was a good time to kick these charlatans where it hurt, and the public did so with much vigour.


This particular branch was forced to close, the staff were made redundant, and joined the furious locals in their vilification of the once liked, and now hated institution. The manager was moved to another post, but his reputation went before him, and it didn't take long before he was 'retired' early. He had to move his family away as well. Some graffiti kid had scribbled 'tosserz' on the empty building's closed doors.


The council became embroiled and caused a bitter row with everyone, because they'd wanted to take space in 'Q's scheme, and now, as their lavish budgets had been cut, they couldn't go ahead! They had to pay a huge sum in compensation, but 'Q' was delighted to re-let the prime space to none other than the Swedish Bank, and also he found he had several unused car-parking spaces, which the bankrupt council had demanded free, for all their staff.


And the sour smell of political, fiscal, financial ineptitude sank without trace, and one day, this story will come true...

Spoken with a mouthful of teeth (part one)...

In the normal course of business, Scrobs regularly meets people who are involved in property deals, large and small. It is his business. One particularly pleasant encounter occurs when a good friend, Quentin ffoxley-Cabbage appears in the doorway of 'The Bells', and the anticipation of several pints of ale in good company becomes a reality.


On one particular occasion recently though, 'Q' entered the bar of 'The Bells', looking very thoughtful as he bought a pint, and, taking my arm, he led me over to a small window seat, away from the others.


"Scrobs", he started, hesitating for a moment, and taking a contemplative sip of beer, "Scrobs, I have a problem"!


Now normally, this is a rarity with 'Q', who dispenses largesse to all and sundry, and also with a big grin and a chuckle.


"Now this isn't really like you to have a problem, 'Q'", I said, "but spill the beans anyway. Tell me all and don't spare the horses"!


"Yup - I can tell you as an old mate, but it's strictly between you and me for the moment; OK"?


"Fine by me", I said, wondering what was going to come next.


"You know I'm involved with this big retail development in the town don't you", he said, looking at me intently.


"Everyone knows that 'Q', it's the biggest deal in the area, its been the talk of the establishment for ages! Supermarkets in sensitive town centres usually are, but what of it"?


"Er - my partner in the scheme, you know Charlie, well, - er - he has a Swedish lady business partner, that's the problem"! He said with a flourish, looking decidedly uncomfortable!


Now 'Q' doesn't dally with the opposite sex, well not nowadays. He has been married to his ever-loving wife for nigh on 20 years, and has four gorgeous children, and a lifestyle you might dream about if you shut your eyes extra tight, so this was indeed a bit of a bombshell!


"Ooops", was all I could slowly say.


"Oh, its nothing like that at all Scrobs", he said hastily, looking alarmed, and I grinned, and asked him what the problem with this Swedish lady really was all about.


"Well, it's a long story, so more beer first", he said, and got up and ordered two more pints, which arrived back in front of us with two packets of crisps.


"The scheme got planning last night, and we're going ahead, as from today". He said.


"Marvellous! That's indeed great news 'Q', and well deserved, especially as you've had a real battle with the council on your hands, but surely you should be celebrating"?


"Oh, the council were as stupid and as obstructive as ever, but they're not the problem any more; it's the banks which are the problem"!


"Oh, that sort of problem"! I said, swirling beer around my glass. "Business as usual is it then"?


"Actually, its not"! said 'Q'. "The real problem is that because Charlie's other director has seen him being given such a rough time by his bank, who have frustrated them at every turn, she has demanded that the scheme has to change its banking arrangements, and that they move the assets to her own personal bank, which is definitely not from these climes! She does indeed have a serious say in what goes on - she is the FD after all"!


"Hmm, so she's making you wonder what's happening next then", I said.


"Yup, that's the bit I'm worrying about, and there's more too"! He said, looking slightly daunted.


"She has also demanded that anyone who has any connection whatsoever with this particular UK bank, which has a nasty reputation for shredding, rigging deals and failing computer systems, will have absolutely no involvement with the scheme whatsoever! She's a formidable lady is our Swedish partner"!


"Hellfire, that's a new one"! I said, looking up at the ceiling in despair, "So what's her plan? Has she stopped the job"?


"Oh no, it's going ahead like a train, but definitely without our old bank's involvement! We've just drafted a letter telling them that they're effectively off the case in the deal"!


"Blimey, they'll lose out on a shed-load of money because of that, won't they"? I said, eyes widening.


"Oh yes, several hundred thousand, nearer a million, but it's worse than that", he said, "the affiliation of anyone with this particular bank in any shape or form has to be scrutinised by the lady! If anyone who supplies, draws, counts, designs, even the tiniest bit of the building work, is found to have an account with this particular UK bank, they're off the job! Even I'm changing my bank immediately as well, in fact we're all going to move, lock stock and barrel"!


"Blimey 'Q', that means they lose all your other stuff as well doesn't it? Come on old son, you've got millions with them, they'll lose the lot!


He nodded slowly, looking at me intently.


"So let me get this straight then", I started slowly, "Your business partner has now made a decision which will cost your own bank about - say - five million quid on the deal, and as well as that, they'll also lose about another 'Ooooh', fifty or so million, probably more, when all their business customers go as well!"


"Got it in one, Scrobs"! Said 'Q', brightening up for a second, then lapsing back into gloom again.


I thought hard about the consequences of this action.


"Oh Gawd, you're going to tell me that Elias banks with this particular bunch, aren't you..."! I said slowly.


"Yup..."! He said looking sadly down at his beer...


(to be continued while this sorry state of affairs compounded by our disgraceful banks unravels...)

Tart car...

"Coo-eeee", called Gloriette from her shiny new open-topped sports car, waiting at the traffic lights.

While the lights decided what to do next, and an old doll with a shopping basket like a wheelie bin had finally trundled onto the pavement and vanished into the chemist for yet more large tubes of Super-Violent Anusol, Scrobs went over to admire the gleaming paintwork, colourful displays, and softly padded accoutrements as well as the car! Gloriette giggled, and tried to pull her skirt down a half inch, making it go up more than an inch, while the gear lever looked invitingly close to her languid hand. 

"'Morning you gorgeous thing", murmured Scrobs, as he wondered about the inevitable peck on both cheeks, before realising that Gloriette was securely belted into this small space-ship, and unlikely to be able to rise to the occasion.

"Scrobs Sweetie, d'you like my new car"? she said, commencing her wiggle, whereby she just 'moves' all over herself, which is disconcerting at the best of times, let alone at a set of traffic lights, which were just about to turn green.

"Gloriette, it's marvellous, and no doubt Elias is pleased that you are able to catch the morning rays without having to lean out of the window too far, or open the sliding roof!"

Gloriette's new car is indeed rather like a space ship, with all sorts of bling and levers and switches which seem to do everything except drive the damn thing, and it is also clear that as her acreage is dangerously close to the steering wheel, she may well have invented a way of steering, turning on the MP3 player, selecting 6th gear and adjusting her seat height, just by leaning forward an inch or two, and doing one of her wiggles!

In fact, as a good friend of mine once mentioned, it is a car which deserves to have a sign in the side window which says, "No hairdressing materials are left in this car overnight"!

"Hee hee hee", cooed Gloriette,  as she let in the clutch while waving a gold bebangled arm which momentarily flashed like a lightning bolt, vanished round the corner and squealed into the supermarket car park. As Scrobs was also walking towards the same general location, he saw Gloriette reverse into a 'Mums and kids' space at about 40 mph, and screech to a halt. The long legs appeared in stages when the door opened, and the blood pressure of the assembled watchers rose by several points on the Richter Scale, as she swung out and stood up, pulling the short skirt down an inch, only for it to raise two more inches while she leaned over into the tiny back seat to retrieve a wicker shopping basket.

An elderly gentleman, wearing a gaberdine raincoat, and a shirt and tie, gaped and dropped a paper bag of apples as the accoutrements of one of the village's finest ladies moved gracefully towards the doors of the shop, and as the commotion died down, a small child, clutching the hand of it's mother called out in tinkling tones...

"Mummy, that's a Tart Car isn't it..."?

The mother stood on one leg, blushed, and immediately bent to admonish the infant.

"Darling, that's not really a very nice thing to say about people you know"!

"But Mummy, it IS a Tart Car"!

"Fiona, I won't tell you again, and you really must not be rude about people like that"!

The child fidgeted, looked sadly up at her mother's face and said softly: -

"But Mummy, it is a tart car, because it doesn't have a roof and it's open at the top, like a jam tart...!" 

Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings...

Fooble - the money...

So much at stake.

Naaah, don't need no checking kit, sunshine...

Bad result.

The Clearasil years...

There never was a good time to have acne...

But this this track track managed to stay around for some considerable time...

It is a cruel affliction, and seemed much worse back in the sixties. Scrobs escaped lightly, but Hell-fire, some others just didn't. I'm so pleased that treatments seem to be more efficient these days, it was always a nasty moment while shaving just before taking out the girl of your dreams, and one of these blasted things appeared from nowhere!

Now, about hair...