Well, well, well - part 2...

Well, the well cover manufacture and fitting and fixing went well! The owner of said well was well-pleased, and his neighbour, who used to be supplied by the well, took a well-arranged picture (slightly wellered to the right), of a filthy, disorientated Scrobs, in well-worn trousers and in a well-deserved relaxed attitude after lying on the wet grass, trying to fix the well-sawn decking to the well-surrounds, which were well-rotted...

I did the whole job without having to look down inside at all, by changing each rotted board for a new one, and working across in stages! I was absolutely knackered the first day, and it took several tinctures to let me enjoy life again! Yesterday was easier, such that we decided to re-cover a rotten table top with the spare boards and offcuts, so I have a well-happy friend and his wife!

 

Shades of 'Zulu'...

This is just gorgeous!

The way the Welsh harp comes in, then the organ, is spine-tingling...

The penalty backlash...

There was uproar at the Sodden Prickney Sports and Leisure club extravaganza a week or so ago, when the players extended the game beyond extra time and sort of flopped into a penalty shoot-out.

The game had been dead boring anyway, with several of the Wibble kids playing at various positions, and Ron Groat's stepson doing something or other out on the wing, but the few spectators became aghast - some say enigmatic, when Ms Edwina Baggage suddenly stripped down to her Janet Regers and ran onto the pitch! The football was immediately forgotten when P.C.Lumbersnatch immediately divested himself of his uniform, either in sympathy, or to relieve himself of the weight of the accoutrements of the law, and, to the baying of the crowd, gave chase.

The roar from the several men in the crowd, as well as Ms Cynthia Molestrangler, who for some reason was almost sober that afternoon, reached a crescendo when our intrepid policeman executed a superb diving rugby tackle, and brought the lady to the ground, close to another nephew of Mr Norman Wibble. As the Wibble family are known to be of a nervous disposition, the small nephew (Gilbert Wibble), began to go very red and seemed to suffer an embolism or something similar, as the said Janet Regers had ridden high up the almond curves of an interesting leg!

Of course, while this was going on, the football became even more boring and eventually forgotten, as Ms Molestrangler decided in a stentorian voice that "She was going to have some of that", and began to unbutton her voluminous Dior blouse. The match referee, Cllr Basil Kalashnikov, who has watched that particular spectacle on many occasions, began to feel weak at the knees, but managed the almost impossible act of blowing his whistle and yelling "Sod everyone", which is his normal mode of disrespect to everyone he dislikes, or even likes for that matter!

The crowd reformed with certain Members of the Council, (Mr Norbert Iodine, Ms Hillary Billary, Miss Agatha Newt, Cllr Ron Groat and Cllr Sid Trumpet), all stamping their feet, booing or cheering, and demanding a replay as a passing pikey had pinched the goal posts, and left a couple of anoraks in their place!

The F.A. are going to be consulted, but as nobody has a clue where their office is, the issue is in abeyance as we go to press. In fact three members of the committee thought the letters 'FA' meant something else, but this was discounted by a rather manic referee as he urgently sought yet another consultation with Ms Molestrangler, before she got her kit back on!

 

 

Well, well, well...

 

I've got a small job to do for a great chum of senior years. He wants a new lid built on his well. I've measured up and find that he'll need around twenty-five yards of decking to cover the six ft hole.

And I'm not looking forward to it, because I'll be working at the edge all the time, looking down...

Some years ago, I worked with a lovely chap, who was a services engineer. He was a great consultant, well-liked and respected, and lived in a delightful old cottage not far from 'The Turrets'. We'll call him Dick, as funnily enough, that was his name!

Dick's house was old enough to have its own well in his garden, and he was very proud of it, especially as the design of the building was quintessentially 'middle 17th century Kent', and very well kept. Dick liked his garden, and was often out there, seeing to his plants etc., and also mowing his pleasant lawns.

One day, Dick wasn't there when his wife called out for him. Everyone searched everywhere, his car was still parked, and he was nowhere to be seen. The poor man had fallen down into his well, and of course was trapped, and drowned. His mower was seen nearby, and apparently, he'd tripped back and fallen in. It was an awful, tragic end to a life, and I've never forgotten what happened.

I heard that there is some sort of syndrome where, like vertigo, one is drawn to experience serious circumstances - a good chum even had to have counselling, because he once felt something about jumping off escalators, and indeed, nearly did at Guangzhou airport! Another time, we were on holiday in Bedfordshire, and sitting in the garden of a pub close to the airship hangars at Cardington. There was one up in the sky, tethered nearby, and the same sort of feeling happened! I nearly didn't finish my  pint!

So, just to say, if anyone notices a dearth of posts over the next week or so, you'll know I ran out of decking...

Wasn't she a lucky dog...

Our local Tesco, with the gorgeous Shirley, Anita and Mary getting my corpuscles up to break-neck speed, had these on offer a few weeks ago...

I bought the lot and JRT has just started on the last packet!

They're a Polish smoked sausage, and actually taste quite nice, so why cannot our best chum have a treat as well?

Funk to 'eh what...

 

Elder Daught has lent me the three seies of this fabulous programme, and I have just loved it all!

We were also afficionados of 'Life on Mars' as well, and she bought me that series for my birthday last year, but this 'sequel has been great fun and hugely watchable!

I have had to watch the final episode four times, and still have some queries, so it may be a very, very long phone discussion tonight...

W.M., if you see this, get a few more shillings for the meter will you.;0)

Bicyclism emerges as a religion...

There was uproar at the start of the Sodden Prickney Parish Council meeting held in the spacious, but empty, new sports emporium, just along from Aldi, on Thursday last week. To maintain social distancing, all members sat on chairs 6'0" apart, around the outside of the half-acre £3.5million Splenderama, shouting at each other continuously, or using tin cans and string to communicate.

The Member for Drains and Waste, Cllr Basil Kalshnikov, surprised the meeting with a sudden shriek of pain, followed by a whimper of agony as a bonus, as it had emerged during the day, that he had received a serious cranial contusion from his squeeze, Ms Edwina Baggage. It emerged that while he had been grasping Ms Baggage in the broom cupboard - a regular occurence, a small urchin from the local orphanage had popped his head round the door, and taken several pictures of the amorous embrace with an iPhone the size of a television set! Ms Baggage has been an exponent of Bicyclism for many years, and has made her religion well known to just about every red-blooded gentleman in the village, and nearby townships,who earns more that £30,000.

The Chairman, Cllr Ron Groat, decided to hold an enquiry into the incident, and called for a vote. The commotion began to reach a crescendo, when all twenty-seven members demanded copies of the photographs, and without consulting the Chairman, the Secretary, Miss Amelia Newt, forwarded the said pictures to everyone's mobile phone. She hadn't realised, in her disturbed state of eight vodka-tonics, that the list of members included a member of the press, Gina Lollalollers, who also had a second cousin who 'worked' an autocue-reader on the local BBC radio.

The commotion decibel count increased as Cllr Norman Wibble screamed that he thought he was the only member allowed to use the broom cupboard for such purposes, and demanded an adjunct to the enquiry. Matters were made worse when thirteen more councillors also began to express dismay, as they also thought that Ms Baggage had confined her lust to their sole presence! One councillor was in fact Ms Cynthia Molestrangler, who had been forced to use an even smaller broom cupboard in the old council offices near Tesco, which were pulled down for the 564,000 s.f. retail extravaganza all those years ago. But she maintained that she had never realised that both of them had been in there at the same time as someone had pinched the light bulb!

After several hours of constant yelling, cries of 'sod everybody', mainly from Cllr Kalashnikov, who was Polish once, the lights all went out in the normal 10.00pm power cut, and only the ocasional grunt from any councillor who had missed out on the opportunity for more action with Ms Baggage, was heard in the gloom of the dull, wet, June evening.