Infiltration - an expose...

Scrobs has spent the best part of several days recently, getting to change his anti-virus prog.

For some time now, AVG have come up with the goods, and for better or worse, a few money notes via electronic diversion seemed to be appropriate, when these items are considered!

But let's face it, when another bill of sixty splonders plonks onto the email stuff, one wonders whether this is the right way to stop getting Russian beauties grasping my tentacles! They can try all they like, but they'll never ever be as good as Her Fragrancy, so that's it!

And so, as we're with Talk Talk, a company with an odd name, but useful because they seem to do what we want, and in a pleasant way - so far, we decided to change... They do a version of anti-virus, and for a couple of quid a month, that beats the AVG stuff, so I decided to get in there are change over to them.

Our home PC has now undergone eighteen restarts, forty-five scans, three-hundred new curse-words, a glass of red, three punches, a shriek which set off the alarm in the house next door (while she was on the nest and 'at it' I believe), and I still can't get rid of the Russion lovely who is desperate to see me as soon as possible for the rubles I promised her in 1986!

I reckon all this virus stuff is a bugger, to bugger up any bugger who wants to bugger your system, and do bugger all to help in the end.

Ergo, buggeration is the answer!

...or sod is... (what's the difference, I may arse)!

The off-side rule explained in several easy lessons...

While repeating Scrobs' all-time mantra of appreciation of the female form, this little clip has brought much happiness to these old eyes...

The Luscious Senora O'Blene, in her prime, was teaching tennis, hockey, netball and that evil 'game', lacrosse, to all sorts of school children, from the sophisticated ladies at private educational establishments to kids enjoying a knockabout in Hastings.

I showed her this, and we both agreed that just maybe, they could leave football to the lads, and get on with wounding their own opponents in games where males would certainly get hammered at every turn!

Pegasus Bridge revisited...

Some years ago, 25 in fact, we went on holiday to Northern France in a Gite near St Pois in Normandy. There was the four of us, Mrs O'Blene and two daughts and we were going for a long fortnight, (because we'd had a huge refund on the previous year, as the drains all blocked, the gas shower nearly killed a daughter, and the place was a shambles so we had a huge refund, but that's another story).

As the D Day events were in full swing, we were watching quite a lot of TV which showed the Pegasus Bridge celebrations, and the Landlady of the Cafe Gondree was on the box most evenings before we embarked via Newhaven for Dieppe.

When we visited, we noticed that the whole area is in fact quite low-key, even quietly reverent, and the sight of the old swing bridge parked in a field close by, almost as an after-thought, made us wonder at the way the 'invasion' was accepted, and that the good people of France had noticed that the Brits and the Yanks were indeed pretty adventurous people after all.

We felt uncomfortable at the museum in Caen, because that was a bit too navel-bliaring, (sic) but the simple narrative coming from the Pegasus Bridge, and the lovely lady, Arlette Gondree whom we immediately recognised, was that this was all a simple anecdote to a huge event, but a signal warning to oppressors, that nobody ignores the 'state' of the nation, however their duplicitous 'politicians' think otherwise.

It's a delightful place, and well worth a few minutes reflection on bravery, strength and fortitude; not the layabout-leftie-loser renta-mob trash so loved by the bbc, corbyn etc.

I saw two Spitfires overhead yesterday morning. It was a sight to be bottled and kept for ever, and the sound of the Merlin engines just crackled the heavens. A neighbour was inside her house, and she even heard it all and rushed out to cheer!

What a sight to behold!

Water under the bridge...

Well, I'm so pleased to report that Theresa May took my advice, and assured us of her resignation!

As I always maintain, this blog is a broad church, luckily attracting several broads (sexist sod), but she really was on her leopard-skin uppers, and in need of a tincture somewhere nice, like Iceland.

Watching the 'race' to become leader, I've decided to run myself, as the exercise will do me good, and I have a lot to offer the country, indeed, give my life savings to everyone personally, even those unfortunates who will be out of a job after the next election, and when I'm Chancellor, I will serve under Lord Sir Marquis Farage, Count of England, and the World, and my hero for being : -

a) A businessman who understands commercial risk
b) A serious contender for leadership against all odds, by being honest

and

c) The next Prime Minister.

Other than all that, it rained today, and all the work I've been doing to free up the water-saving devices on my downpipes is only half-complete. A couple of pipes are still blocked, probably up at the swan-neck at the top of the pipe, so its ladder-work tomorrow.

If this blog doesn't reappear in a week's time, it means I fell off...

Scrobs wipes the floor with pin-point accuracy...

Oh come on Theresa, the game's up!

Bye, Bye, Bluebird...

As most good people here know, Scrobs becomes pretty online-benign about politics, (Oh yeah! what
about the stuff you wrote on 'hmphhhhffghe arrghsaaaaagh - let me down; get your bloody haaaands off me'!) except for the few years when the lying, cheating Blair and the incompetent nutcase Brown were devastating the country and also I have to say, our budding business, such that we hardly slept a wink for months on end and lost an awful lot of our own money to pay for their crazy crackpot, leftie, unfunded, tax-payer squeezed, idealistic 'schemes' (scams).

And reading quite a lot in the press these days, whilst easily ignoring the disgraceful leftie bias of the
crap BBC, and their ‘printed dead-tree’ rag-piece, The Guardian, the real pundits, who bother to write serious items, (not just tweet them), are really winning an enormous amount of support for The Brexit Party from just about everybody with a pulse!

I am so enlightened by all this. As everybody here knows, living in a gorgeous county like Kent is
occasionally idyllic, often normal, and sometimes disgusting - you only need to glance over the dreadful local press (before you click off, and see something which isn’t a tribal stabbing, or a load of crooks beating the place up or pinching a money machine with a JCB. That's about all they seem to do)!

I will definitely vote for Nigel Farage’s party next week, and also in the next General Election, and
probably forever, including the time when the local elections come round again, and we can dump the
ridiculously pompous Tunbridge Wells Tory councillors who want to build an enormous ‘people’s palace’, with a crap, ugly concrete theatre, huge offices for councillors to wallow in, and all at the loss of one of the loveliest town parks in the country.

It will cost Poll Tax payers well over £100,000,000! It also most certainly will not go ahead now, thanks to some brave people forming an Alliance party to get rid of the stupid, idealistic fantasies
they seem to have, festering in the Tory group!

So it's goodbye 'blue' conservatives, HELLO 'THE BREXIT PARTY' !

New yawn...

Well!

So much has happened since we last visited these pages, I don't know where to start!

So I won't worry you...

We have a new kid in London, Nylon, and an old bag in London, mucking up our Brexit intentions. I fell arse-over-head in Tesco's carpark, and severely lacerated my left hand. Luckily the tree stump survived, but Scrobs' ego was slightly dented, as was a part of said paw.

I've changed the main water butts around, and they filled up yesterday, we're buying a pumpkin later this morning, to plant as a mate to the two courgettes we're growing on the old compost heap. That'll be fun!

I've got to collect a prescription for Senora O'Blene and will chat lovingly to our gorgeous chemist, in the hope that one day she'll take my temperature or something, and all that after I've been to see my fabulous doctor as my blood pressure was through the roof a while back, but has reverted to an average of 146/77, which I hope will stop her putting me on tablets!

So there you have it, life is never tedious, and Senora O'Blene is planning one of her excellent spag bols for lunch, with a tincture no doubt!

Pip pip!