The vote from 'The Bells'...

There was mayhem at my good friend Elias Sagtrouser's Emporium for Brazen Spigots, 1" Reinforcement Bars and pints of WD40, yesterday, when Miss Newt and another well-known renegade, Ron Groat, (who takes her to Chapel every Sunday and has his dinner at her place afterwards) arrived, to make some purchases.

Miss Amelia Newt is a well known character in this man's village, as she used to own the old corner shop by the crossroads, and sell all sorts of things including chewing tobacco and hemorrhoid preparations, but when the modest 350,000 s.f. Sodden Prickney Leisure and Athletic Themery (SPLAT), together with a modest 675,000 s.f. of retail was developed down the road, (see Scrobs passim), she decided to call a truce, as did Ron Groat, on several occasions, but that is a completely different story!

Elias and his loving wife, Gloriette were attending to a few embrocations in 'The Bells', after what was indeed, a very busy day. Gloriette's chosen tincture is usually a very small tonic and an extremely large gin, and indeed there was a good sized glass at her dainty elbow, and signs of a previous order a few inches away, so it must have been pretty busy after all! Elias had already reduced two pints of Shep's 'Summer Bastard' (ABV 5.8%), and it was a pint mug of the same which he thrust in my direction as I entered the bar for my Friday evening lunch. The action vaguely reminded me of Geoff Capes on a good day...

"It's been a real bugger today, and no mistake", intoned my friend. Gloriette nodded sagely, and her hand wavered towards the glass to ensure that it didn't escape.

"I guess you will tell me what happened, Elias, and please don't pull the punches, as you don't do that very well"! I said, noticing out of the corner of my eye, that even their painted daughter, Toniatelline and her despairing squeeze, Meccano, were sitting morosely in the window seat, nursing some sort of mauve coloured drink with a chunk of lemon and a straw poking out of the bottle.

'Some silly sod came into the yard claiming that it was good for the UK to stay in the blasted EU'! Elias exclaimed, going very red in the face, and causing Gloriette to pat his trembling hand (the one without the beer mug, which was in danger of being crushed to smithereens by the other hand)!

Elias continued. 'He said that all the foreigners coming here would be good for business and we'd get lots of work and we'd sell lots of building stuff to them'!

'Surely Miss Newt and Ron Groat don't want to be part of the Stay-on-regardless' mob, Elias', I said.

'Oh it wasn't that old pair', he laughed, 'It was some dipstick from the Kent County Council, saying that we should all 'remain' for the sake of all those poor people coming here and making our lives that much richer'!

'Did anyone in the yard agree with him.? I asked.

'Nope, not a single voice in favour of staying in'!

'So what happened then'?

''Old Ron told him to piss off and do something useful for a change'...

'And'? I started...

'Miss Newt hit him with her umbrella'!

'So it was business as usual then was it'?

'Yup, but we did sell him a bag of cement and a trowel'! Elias grinned to himself...

Old card...

This has been kicking around our kitchen for ages now. It used to be stuck to the fridge, then a cupboard and now back on a shelf again, because I always have a chuckle when I see it!

I didn't realise until just now though, that it was a birthday card to me from ED, in 1996...!

(Gary Larson is just about the funniest cartoonist I've ever seen, and I have most of his books, so I hope he won't mind me putting this up)!

There you have it...

Quite some years ago, I had a discussion with my dad, which was unpleasant and not worthy of my compassion.

We here just wanted to go away on holiday in France, and escape the quandaries and problems of my work, and Mrs Scroblene's work, and our girls' school work, and we were a good team then - not much different now, but back then something was more important. We wanted to be alone.

I wanted us all in my small family, to escape to a place of refuge, and be just the four of us. Dad wanted to know where we were going as Mum wasn't that well, and he demanded the address, and on Mrs Scroblene's advice, he was told - NO! Crossness and upsetness occurred, but we seemed to have made our pitch understood, although it was not that easy.

While we were away, having a great holiday, it was my birthday, and as usual, there were loads of presents and cards and stuff, which made us all say 'hurrah', and I was the loudest voice of course, as we all enjoyed a good lunch and I had all those presents.

I cannot listen to this track without recalling such a lovely day. It was one of my gifts.

Sorry Dad, I went to Oradour-sur-Glane a few days later, on my own, leaving the family in Limoges for a short time, and you and mum had been there once, and I felt particularly vulnerable, and the song still rings...

Luvvies and politicians...

The Doily Moil has a story, well down online amongst the idiot yarns, about some luvvie called Tim Conte (wasn't he a boxer once?), moaning about being called the perfect name for an airhead whom nobody has heard of and cares little about!

I never bother with listening to any 'speech' from either a luvvie or a politician as the opposite is almost certainly true. This also applies to the BBC, and even during the brief moments that we watch the news, I often have a rage attack and need a tincture, especially at 6 o' clock...

Just because someone reads a few lines and expects an accolade is a poor reflection on life today. These persons really do need some help, and I suppose that's why they want to stay in the EU!

(Boris is the exception to all the above, as is Gove).

Scary, unpleasant person from IMF...

Blimey, they're rolling all the old harridans out now aren't they! How ever many more are there to struggle on TV to make some sort of case, cobbled together by quangos!

The BBC as usual, has no more mention of the disgraceful fiddling of immigration figures, and their lead tonight was all about a bloke who took his six- year old kid to Disneyworld during term time! It's hardly world-shattering is it, but while the old fiddlers at the various plonky remain camps still fret into their lattes and try to deceive the populace, the real answers have already been made by people who just never trust politicians and their quangos.

Scrobs is one of those, and funnily enough, as pollsters never get it right, and according to my spreadsheet, the BREXIT camp will win by at least five points, probably more.

And all that 'stay' money wasted by Cameron and his cronies will be recouped in a week when we get rid of that awful shower - legacy of Grocer Heath.

And this is Mr Hilter dear...

Trumpet recall...

When the film 'Genevieve' came out in the 1950s, there were lots of discussions on whether Kay Kendall actually played the trumpet solo in the night club scene.

My dad always told anyone who would listen, that she did in fact play the trumpet, and he would fight anyone who would disagree!

I've always believed that she could - and did play, but a little research while waiting for tincture time has shown that in fact she was miming to a Kenny Baker track!

Another myth dispelled!

But wasn't it all a fabulous film! I can watch it over again, and still come back to life with a big grin!