The concrete and the train...

Somewhat sombrely, a sad and solemn Scrobs watched A.K.Haart's intentionally depressing post about HS2...

I actually like this piece of music for several reasons, but some depictions such as this one really do bring home the disastrous efect that these railways will have on our British countryside!

The shadowy and soulless appearance of a sour grey world, with sorrowful significance and a specific lack of semblence for sunniness, reminds me that I have to queue up at our bloody chemist for three-quarters of an hour again, as I forgot to buy the bloody cough mixture...

 

Outrage...

As Scrobs is always ahead of the news, the bit in one of the rags which tells everyone that Tottenham Hotspur fans have watched their team allow five goals go to Newcastle within ten or so minutes of the match starting has really made this train hit the buffers! Some 'fans' have now decided to go back home immediately after all that expensive travelling, so the cost of living (lockdown) crisis apparently doesn't apply to football... 

I mean, is their football train 'special' still parked at platform 3? Is there enough Stella on board? What about the ham rolls!

Surely we need to get an all-party parliamentary committee to investigate this outrage, after all, there maybe some vulnerable persons arriving at Winchelsea in an inflatable boat, and they might need that train!

Hopefully, there will be a Civil Service enquiry and all will be revealed in due course, probably 2026...

The village bicycle...

There was uproar at the Sodden Prickney Praish Council meeting last Thursday, when Cllr Ron Newt, freshly unhinged from an amorous embrace from his prime squeeze, Cllr Amelia Newt, proclaimed that Cllr Kalashnikov had been seen parking a bicycle outside Cllr Edwina Baggage's mother's house very late one evening. Ms Baggage is a well-known exponent of the art of bicycling, and is indeed the expert on the subject, having experienced countless occasions when such intimate knowledge is important, even gaspingly neccessary!

On learning from PC Lumbersnatch that the said bicycle had been thought to be the property of Cllr Kalashnikov's stepson, Wayne, it turned out that it had indeed been bought by the local political group, the Sodden Prickney National Emporium Party, and nobody knew how the money was paid!

In time-honoured method, Cllr Kalashnikov refused to make any worthwhile comment, except for his time honoured verbal embellishment, "Sod the lot of you", as did his second - or possibly the third - wife that year, Svetlana Kalashnikov, who is a diminutive, unpleasant person and well-known for being as tight as a fish's backside, i.e.watertight, but it was also well known that she would give him one heck of a bollocking when he got back after all those passionate forays Chez Baggage!

Meanwhile, the local rag, 'The Bugle', published several stories about the various sums of money being paid to the whole Kalashnikov family, which included visits to the local gyms, restaurants, massage parlours etc., and that there was a possibility that the offending bicycle might even have been purchased from a member of the same oligarchy, but Ms Baggage declined to comment after a breathless interchange on the telephone with the Bugle's chief reporter, 'Roland' Rat!

So, as usual in the village, nobody really has a clue about what was going on, and speculation continues in the smoky sitting rooms, the stuffy bars, the local conveniences, the public (That's enough places - Ed), and it's probable that after the next elections, everyone will have forgotten the issues, except maybe Ms Baggage, who probably still waits expectantly for the next tinkle on a rather rusty old bicycle bell...

0.769231%...

 

One of these varmints has reduced my tomato crop by the above amount...

This year, as in many seasons past, Scrobs has sown tomato seeds in abundance, sometimes manic, screaming profusion, because we especially like home-grown tomatoes, and the passion also extends to giving plants away to chums whom we particularly like, and they provide a super opportunity for receiving several lingering hugs from the benefactors, especially if they are the local girls!

So the greenhouse has shelving bulging with 130 plants of varying types of tom, 'Shirley' being the main crop, with 'Roma' a secondary sowing, and 'Orkado', which is a new one I'm trying out this year. The 'Roma' seeds were thrust at me by a lady chum last year, as she always had trouble germinating the seeds for some reason, so I acted as surrogate grower for her, and received the obligatory squeeze and prolonged peck for the result, which was jolly interesting, I can tell you!

But this year, the 'Shirley' seeds seemed to go into a sulk, and refused to show in their compost for over three weeks, which is just not normal! The others were also struggling, so in panic, I visited our local garden centre, where the lovely lady there told me not to worry, sit down on a bag of compost to rest, and she would give me three more packets of seed buckshee, as the rep for the seed company was coming in that afternoon, and she'd get a full refund anyway!

So, after her Gladys Emmanuel moment, which is always extremely gratifying, Scrobs returned to sow the new seeds, and pray for a result! The prayers included the wish that at least one or two of the earlier seeds might show, so a decent crop could be managed, and sure enough, about a nano-second after checking the original crop, the whole bloody lot appeared with a symphony of greenery rather like a hundred Kermits on a trampoline!

The new seeds took just a few hours to show, and there was a bemused Scrobs with 130 plants on his hands, and wondering how he could cope with all the hugs, squeezes, pecks etc., which would be due from an increasing list of benefactresses! I began to make a list of names, well away from the interested eyes of Senora O'Blene who would soon be asking certain questions...

But...! Catastrophe!

An early morning visit to the greenhouse turned into an arrival at a murder scene, as one of the dear little Shirleys had been demolished by the very evil sort of mollusc shown in the mug-shot above! The evidence was all there with the slime trail leaping over the edge of the seed tray!

Slug pellets had to be distributed with immediate effect, and sure enough, the following day, the offending little critter had succumbed to the dubious chemical and become a late mollusc, and not before time!

So, there are only 129 little darlings left, and already Scrobs is readying himself to receive the various bodily conversations to be expected in the forthcoming days - one was a phone call, but he is an elderly chum, and the other is an email, but I'll get there sometime very soon, as soon as signing off this post if I'm lucky...

Lost in translation...

 

Fabulous story...

A few weeks ago, Senora O'Blene and Scrobs were discussing various reading options.

Senora is an avid, even compulsive reader, often getting through all sorts of literature in a couple of days, whereas I tend to take much longer and often go back several pages just to get 'things right in my head'!

'A town like Alice' by Nevil Shute was mentioned several times as one of our favourite books, and indeed, a quick foray into 'World of Books' and 'Music Magpie' found a copy, and while we were on, I selected a few more for good measure.

We both went through  the former in a few days, and were hooked - for the second time! 

(I might have mentioned here, that many years ago, I contracted mumps when in my early twenties and back then the doctor would call around, and it was just as well that he did, as I was immediately confined to bed to avoid the dreaded - er - complications - some of which my flatmate painfully experienced as he just carried on carousing - it was Christmas after all! I read 'A town like Alice' in exactly one day, as I'd refused to move an inch in bed - except for mercy visits - to avoid the impending nasties! I'd never read a book that quickly before and haven't since!

So after collecting my breath after the Alice story, the next ones by Nevil Shute have just got better and better, with 'Round the bend' being excellent,'The Far Country' turning out to be a fantastic, emotional yarn, and just last evening, I finished 'Trustee from the Toolroom', which in my opinion must be one of the best books I've ever read! I was even dreaming about the plot during the only night between starting and finishing the story, and while there was the lingering considered inkling of the outcome, there were so many surprises in the second half that I just couldn't put it down!

So it seems that the worthy booksellers above will have to put up with lots of more packaging, 25% offers being taken up, and hopefully they'll get a few more from Walsall Public Library - marked 15p...

 

Bill Tidy R.I.P...

I guess that the first time I ever really started laughing at Bill Tidy's fabulously funny cartoons, was around 1967, when I started work in Rye, Sussex, and walking past the newsagents one day, I noticed that they had a copy of Private Eye on their stand outside - for 1/6d!

I was immediately hooked on 'The Cloggies', and forever turned first to their antics on the same page as the Barry Mckenzie strip, which funnily enough, I didn't read very much as much of it went over my head for a while...

But Bill Tidy's cartoons will live with me forever! He was so funny and displayed a myriad of subjects in unimaginable situations, in fact some of them were just hilariously improbable, but I'm lucky in having a treasured book of some of his cartoons, and will now look at the whole lot again!

I bet the editors of 'The Daily Heaven' rag will soon be asking him to illustrate their welcoming pages, especially as he used to love depicting vicars, nuns and monks, and that when I eventually get there, I'll ask him to sign my copy of his book...

'Bye Bill; twenty-seven pints please Doris...