Aussie humour at its best...

(h/t Aussie Stuff for Aussies).

 

The new resurgents...

There is an increasing awareness that a resurgent race of long-forgotten humans has re-emerged. Recent research by a non-government independent group (i.e. unbiased) has discovered that the re-surfacing of the little-known sub-race, 'The Oldians', is becoming more prominent, owing to disgust at a peculiar 'governing' group of sub-sub aliens, the Raynians and the Starmians. 

The revulsion displayed by 'The Oldians', is becoming reported more and more by normal news outlets, which don't include the BBC, or their house magazine, the Grauniad!

'Oldians' are mainly retired gentlefolk, whose parents fought in WW2, and grew up having very little in spare cash to give away to new sub-races, and much of the frugality and common sense experienced by these previous 'Evenoldians', has been passed down through a decent family life-style, and concomitant moral integrity to the current 'Oldian' group!

Such is the disgust by 'Oldians' at the profligacy of the 'Starmians', the 'Raynians', and also a sole, rather lonely 'Reevesian', which manages the stationary, that the process of standing up on their hind legs and making a great racket is becoming more noticeable!

There's possibly a hidden programme of complete obliteration of 'Oldians' by 2029, and this is now recognised as a syndrome of much unpleasantness, envy and sheer unwelcoming, but which, with the goodwill of 'The Currentians', will ensure that such a sub-race will re-emerge yet again, and the country will be governed correctly by another recently discovered race, 'The Reformians'!

Just a few home truths...

             The ability to speak several languages is an asset, but the ability to keep your mouth shut in any language is priceless.

Happiness is not having to set the alarm clock. 

          When I get a headache I take two aspirin and keep away from children just like the bottle says.

Just once, I want the prompt for username and password to say, “Close enough.”

If you see me talking to myself, just move along. I’m self-employed. We’re having a meeting.

“Your call is very important to us.  Please enjoy this 40-minute flute solo".

Does anyone else have a plastic bag full of plastic bags, or is it just me?

Today’s 3-year-olds can switch on laptops and open their favourite apps. When I was 3, I ate mud.

So, you drive across town to a gym to walk on a treadmill?

Old age is coming at a really bad time.

If God wanted me to touch my toes, He would've put them on my knees.

Last year I joined a support group for procrastinators. We haven't met yet.

"On time" is, when you get there.

It would be wonderful if we could put ourselves in the dryer for ten minutes, then come out wrinkle-free...and three sizes smaller.

Lately, you've noticed people your age are so much older than you.

(Apologies for the formatting - I blame everyone else... )

 

Sodden Prickney - the election results, well 'endish' sort of things...

Sodden Prickney has never seen such mayhem in any parish election since Jarrold Wislon won something or other in the sixties, or Harry McMillion won a sort of landslide once, or even g...(get on with it - Ed), but the recent shenanigans in our village have reached new boundaries, and have shaken the area by storm in the most devastating circumstances known to man, (I said bloody-well get on with it Scrobs, this hyperbole is giving me the screaming hab-dabs)!

So, the results of the Council Erections are thus: - (please note that they're in no particular order, as my spreadsheet machine gave up the ghost after only a few minutes, and I can't work out how to list the names in ascending - or maybe descending order, so bollocks).

• Groat, Ron - 45 votes
• Trumpet, Sid - 67 votes
• Molestrangler, Cynthia - 56 votes
• Faquedefano, Charlene - 4 votes
• Baggage, Edwina - 67 votes
• D'Artagnon-Minge, Emily - 89 votes
• Newt, Amelia - 98 votes
• Grumble, Arthur - 3 votes
• Lumbersnatch, PC - 5 votes
• Iodine, Doctor Norbert - 12 votes
• Flange, Surgeon Hubert - 8 votes
• Clinchton, Willy - 0 votes
• Kalashnicov, Basil - 43 votes
• Billery, Miss - 1 vote
• Wibble, Norman - 2 votes
• Bumme-Whole, Christian - 1 vote
• ffarrquin-Larquin, Tarquin - 4 votes

So I, as Returning Occificereericer for the State of Sodden Prickney, declare that Miss Amelia Newt is promoted to Chairman of the Parish Council, and all who sail in her!

And may The Lord have mercy on your soul...

Those Sodden Prickney elections...

As is to be expected, any newcomer to a village will be met with a certain amount of suspicion, and that is certainly the case with the arrival in Sodden Prickney of Lieutenant General Tobias Sandwich, who has bought 'Farthings', which is a large house at the end of a private drive on the Eastern outskirts of the village. The locals usually remove the 'h' from the name when any reference is made to the place, but generally nobody took a lot of notice of the previous inhabitants because they never mixed with the community, and got all their groceries from Harrods, delivered to their door every few days!

Lt.Gen.Sandwich has changed all that, and has already spent several hours in the local pub,  'The Bells', discussing 'politics' with various locals, including Miss Newt and Ron Groat, who'll do anything for a free port and lemon and a pint of Shep's 'Spring Bastard', (6.7abv),  and he has also had the misfortune (some say benefit - Ed) of becoming allied with Cynthia Molestrangler, who rather likes becoming involved with anyone who seems to have money, and has already set her glinty eye on the occupant of the new Bentley parked outside! In short, the new man in the village is determined to become important!

The current Council chairman Cllr. Sid Trumpet is also getting a bit unsettled because Lt.Gen. Sandwich is considering standing in the local elections, and after the debacle of the last election, with the unpleasantness of Basil Kalashnikov's outburst and Edwina Baggage's inburst, (is that meant to be funny - Ed), coupled with the disentanglement of P.C.Lumbersnatch's involvement with taking various statements, then losing them from his saddle bag at the last minute before the hearing, the whole village is becoming a slough of concern!

So, it seems that the village is now caught up with a national political infiltrator, who seems intent on several issues...

• To discuss bicyclism with Ms.Edwina Baggage
• To place several orders for comestibles and beverages from Miss Amelia Newt, for 'information'
• To somehow get PC Lumbersnatch to find out who pinched his wing mirrors
• To displace Cllr Sid Trumpet as - er - chairman, or anything else for that matter...

The plot thickens, and the relevant authorities have been informed!

Crime Prospect...

 

I guess I've mentioned far too many times, that I'm a huge admirer of Helen Mirren... 

'Prime Suspect' is just one of those series which endures forever and is incredibly well-written - Lynda La Plante excels at this - and the acting and stories just cannot be faulted in my opinion!

Last evening, noticing a dearth of Prime offerings for a change, I decided that it had to be another Helen-Evening, and hellfire, was I not disappointed! It's ages since we watched the first episode, and although a few vague memories of the plot and the story filter through, it was a riveting watch, and even a couple of tots of Waitrose Brandy didn't take the edge off anything, and extended the desire to watch the whole programme in one sitting, which I did!

Trouble is, Scrobs eventually turned in around half-eleven, and spent the next five hours dreaming and solving several cases in ridiculous circumstances, seeing suspects falling off high buildings, losing cars, watching water rise around etc., and quite frankly, I was really glad that little/big dog started to wake me up around 4.45am, as I'd solved/witnessed/avoided every blasted crime in the book, and I'm still reeling a bit!

I think a measured time in the garden this morning will finish the case, and as a lot of phoning is due this evening, I may allow myself some time off from my heroine - for good behaviour...

Et tu Brutalist...

AK Haart has a post which reminds me of visiting Stratford-on-Avon to see a production of our 'O' Level set play, Julius Caesar, in 1964.

One comment mentioned that the place was excellent until the woke brigade got involved, and that he doesn't go there now, and I can agree with that!

In the theatre, when we arrived at our seats - after a few illicit pints, all we could see was a sort of gloomy concrete ramp leading down to a basement, and a similar ramp leading up to a platform a few feet above. The curtain was open.

So the play started, and we knew some of the words too... Roy Dotrice was Caesar, and dressed in pure white with similar make-up, and looked like a ghost, while the others didn't look much better!

Now, I'm never going to be an expert in plays, and this production was probably the one which made me decide that there were more interesting productions to watch in future. It was very disappointing really, especially as we all knew what was going to happen in the end! Yes, I suppose the acting was good, but as all you could see was a sort of mausoleum set, which echoed the shuffling feet and the odd stabbing noise, there wasn't much else to keep one's interest.

I failed English Lit...