Hapless Goon!

Now that the love-a-thon has finally eased up a little, Milky Mikey has popped down to the dairy to see if he still has a job, I've the chance to turn my eye to the blogging scene for a moment and have to ask, what gives here?
We seem to have a boring, dim-witted pillock of someone else's community in our midst, in the shape of Jermy Crackers.
I don't know about you lot but, whenever I have a bout of thrush, I'll use Canesten to get rid of it.
But I think that this irritating twat is going to take a little something more to shift!
I'm not normally one to go to these measures but enough is enough!

So I propose a vote.

Yays, Jermy stays or No's, Jermy goes.
And let's hope that he's man enough to concede, whichever way it goes.

Honestly, I ask you, what kind of deranged nob posts a picture of himself just after he's peed his knickers?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jeremycj/325429935/

Shagged Out.

Phew!

Finally managed to get a moment to myself after discovering 'Natural Viagra Man' in the pub, a week or so ago. Since then, I've barely had time to grab a bite to eat (well, nothing of any great nutritional value, anyway), and I seem to constantly have bags under my eyes these days.
Well, he wears them quite high!
I must say, though, that this 'shag and sleep' diet is doing wonders for my figure.
Anyhow, I'm sure he won't be long in the shower and I'd better feed Tiddles while there's still something left of him to feed.

Ciao!

What Will They Sell When It's All Gone? Us, Down The Wantsum?

I'm not normally one to get too involved in politics but sometimes, something has to be said!
In reply to my grumble about The Motor Museum, I recieved....

Cllr David Green said...
You are all so harsh.Westcliff Hall is indeed "suplus to the Council's requirements" and is in a pretty bad state of repair.The Council would likely jump at any reasonable offer. THe Victoria Pavillion and Albion House are also up for disposal after the May elections. Hopefully one at least can be retained as a community facility.
5:03 PM


One?
Why can't we keep them all?
Who's requirements are they surplus too?
Why does the council think that it's an independent body to the community which ELECTED them to represent, govern, service and maintain it?

I'd bet my right tit (of which I'm quite proud, y'know) that the majority of people who elected OUR council don't think they're surplus to requirements at all! I'd also wager that they're pretty disappointed that OUR councils' management of funds is so poor that nothing can be done with these venues except sell them off to developers!

Honestly, voting for Thanet Council (whichever party) is like inviting a smack-head into your home. You wake up in the morning to find your telly, video and stereo have been sold off to fund an agenda which is entirely useless to yourself!!!

Still, who knows, maybe our new Ramsgate Parish Council may go some way towards saving Albion House, at least?
Watch this potential residential space, eh?

Another One Bites The Pillow.

Greetings and salutations to yet another new Thanet blogger!
Self confessed homosexualist, Justin Brown, has popped his head up, into what is becoming a rather diverse blogging scene, on the island.
Hailing from Birching Town (as, perhaps, it should be), I do hope and pray that he doesn't turn out to be that gorgeous waiter from Tandoori Nite!
Personally though, I do think a hatter would make a fine addition to Thanet blogging and look forward to enjoying your passage!

Noone Seems To Car!

Whilst adoring The Sharpees in Church, last night, I heard (for the fifth time yesterday) someone banging on about The Westcliff Theatre aka The Motor Museum aka Empty Building with bags of potential and building rubbish (but that isn't in bags).
I must confess that I was getting a bit irritated with the constant references to The Rolling Stones, who played there in 1965. That was 41 years ago, shouldn't we have gotten over that by now?
But the point remains!
There's a wonderful venue that should be being used, but isn't.
I'm curious as to what the council, when/if they stop doing nothing with it, will actually do?
I'll bet they're scratching their metaphorical bollocks and trying to work out how the hell they're going to sell that one to a 'luxury apartment developer', as I speak!

Writers Blog.

Phew!
After an action packed, fun filled, soaraway, nay mind-blowing weekend like this one that's just passed, I'd struggle to articulate it without losing a fair bit of the magic that made it so much more than the sum of its' parts.

But I'll have a stab!

The highlight, I thought, was the Euro Fair in the Dane John Gardens, Canterbury. How refreshing to attend an event where all the stops were pulled out to make it a day that would stick in people's minds.
Just about every quarter of Europe seemed to be represented, in market stall fashion, along the entire length of the gardens, offering a diverse mixture of foods, clothing and a myriad of other local produce.
The entertainment was astonishing!
I'd never seen anything quite like Hobo Jones and the Junkyard Dogs. An alternative skiffle band complete with tea-chest bass, washboard and kazoo and belting out their own rendition of songs like House of the Rising Sun, Led Zepellins' Rock and Roll, Bill Haileys' Shake Rattle and Roll and Jilted Johns' Gordon Is A Moron. I'd also never seen anyone play a guitar with a ladle, before. Jimmy Hendrix, eat your heart out!

It was everything that our own 'French market' almost completely fails to be!

I would've liked to have popped along on the sunday, too, had the Sharpees not been playing in the Horse and Groom.
Well, I'm hardly going to miss an afternoon of sitting in a pub, dribbling and imagining their guitarists' dextrous digits flying up and down my erogenous zones, like they do on his guitar, am I?
And, as they're playing at Churchills this weekend, I've a feeling I'm going to be making a proper pig of myself!

I wonder if he's partial to a couple of rashers of bacon?

Frantastic!

Looks like we have a new blogger on the block, in the shape of a shapely property negotiator.
I must say it's a bit of a relief and should take the heat off Little Weed and myself, in our roles as the sex queens of Thanet blogs.
So I'd like to offer a heartfelt welcome to our new sister and some advice about the community that she's entering.

Eastcliff Richard.
A lovely, affable fellow, GSOH, single, moneyed and stylish but does have some strange proclivities. He's the reason that I dress up as Miss Piggy. In an early attempt at wooing him, he told me that I was a lovely girl but that he preferred a bit of pork. I do hope I didn't get hold of the wrong end of the stick, there!

Dane Valley Ted.
Married but I'm sure he's up for it. Caught him with his hand up my blog a few times now.

Big Nose, Margate (Tony Flaig).
A bit opinionated but I'm sure he means well. Despite not being a motorcyclist himself, it has been reported that he's taken to wearing a crash helmet and full body armour of late.

Little Weed.
Possibly the nicest person that I know. A keen horticulturist and, I'm sure, an excellent mother.

Angina (Hobocop).
A fruity old bugger with one leg and an old fashioned attitude towards sex, ie. beat them over the head and drag them back to your cave.

Ramskateraider.
Sadly gone now, which is a bit of a shame because I think you're exactly what he was looking for, namely a female.

Dr Simon Moores (Biggles, James Bond, Teh Incredible Sulk, Gift To Thanet, Teh Flying Doctor, Teh Blue Barren, Mavis Beacon... etc).
Bless him, he tries. I get teh feeling that he was bullied a lot at school (sorry, scholl) so we should, perhaps, be sympathetic. On the other hand, knickers to that!

I hope this is of some help to you in integrating yourself into the Thanet blog society.
Us girls have to stick together you know.
And before all you lechers start, no, we don't have to be all soapy and wet to do so!

Periscopes Up!

While sitting in the pub last night, discussing local issues with some friends, the subject of the hideous fencing, that now seems to be spreading like some bizzarre form of cancer along the Eastern Esplanade, was broached.
It seems that the stuff isn't going to be removed in any hurry, despite numerous complaints from various sources, so methods were explored for incorporating it into the environment.

It's already been suggested that people use it to dry their laundry on.

Other ideas could include...

A line of homemade periscopes, easy enough to knock together, to restore the sea view. Albeit upside down.

Local artists getting together, with a roll of paper, to create the image of the top of a large block of flats obscuring the sea-view.

Chicken wire between the tops of the two fences to form an aviary dedicated to exotic English marine birdlife. Herring gulls, pidgeons and the such like.

A collection of posters bearing heartfelt messages to TDC.

Electrification of said fencing and the addition of UV lighting (though the bandstand lighting may be enough, on it's own) to control the fly population that sometimes swarms from the seaweed on the beach.

Solar panels to generate the electricity required to keep the lift running all year round.

Chalk-boards for graffiti 'artists' to scribble on and local wags to air their humour, though I think they'd struggle to come up with a joke that rivals that which the fencing, itself, represents!


Any other ideas on a postcard to this address, please.

Flobbing A Dead Horse.

I think I may well have overdone it, again, at the weekend!
When I woke up this morning I could barely talk and was chock-a-block with snot. The noises coming from my bathroom must've been alarming, indeed.
Serves me right for mixing my ales, I suppose, but what can you do when Ramsgate Footie Club is flogging off it's beer at a pound a pint?
Best 20 quid that I've spent in a long time, not including the fabulous purchace that I made in Pillow Talk a few weeks ago. They have things in there that would, literally, make your eye pop out!
So it's glasses of Lemsip and daytime telly for me today.
Looking forward to the usual barrage of "Welcome back Lucy Tuesday." at work tomorrow!

Ail Festival Scores Own Goal.

Upon hearing a rumour that there was an ale festival going on at Ramsgate Football Club, I sauntered up there yesterday with a few chums to investigate.
Well there it was, boasting a fine selection of 24 ales.
How did they manage to sneak that one under the Gazzette's radar?
Can't help thinking that the atmos. would've been greatly enhanced, had they invited people along.
Never mind.
I'm sorely tempted to pop along there today and see if they need any help clearing up all the leftover beer.

So There Are Some People That Dig Birchington.

I almost forgot to mention.
Tracey (my friend in Poncey Pilot Land) turned up at my place around midnight last night with her boyfriend (the, um, urologartist), complaining about workers outside her flat digging the road up.
Well that's certainly not the way they do it here in Ramsgate.
You'd be lucky to catch them at it during the day!
"It's been going on for hours" she complained "and I just had to get away before I went out there and cut one of them a new builders bum with his bloody Slazenger !"
I presumed she was talking about the thing that was making all the racket.

I get the feeling that the experience really unsettled them. I could hear them tossing, turning and moaning for most of the night.

Cock-a-doodle-don't!

Is having a wee really so boring for men that they have to entertain themselves by drawing pictures on my bathroom floor while they do it?
It does beg the question of how the population keeps rising, when it seems imposible for the average male to hit a target the size of a toilet bowl!
And there seems to be no remorse about it, either.
After marching the offender to my bathroom and demanding to know what the hell that puddle on the floor is all about, I was told that it was meant to be a shamrock but, running out halfway through, he'd decided to do an ear.

Well that's it! I'm only inviting women back from now on and to hell with my ever growing reputation of being a bit of a lesbianist!

Yea, Though I Walk Through The Shadow Of The Valley Of The Jolly Green Giro.

I'd like to say a big thank you to The Thanet Police Elite Force for kicking even more crap into King Street in the shape of all the spitty, spotty spassies that used to hang around Trove Court and Kennedy House.

Is that the best you can do with them?

And it's no good saying "Well, if you think you can do any better...", because we're not bloody allowed to!

Blessed Are The Micks, For They Shall Inherit La Pomme De Terre.

Saints preserve us, what IS the matter with people these days, or should I say 'sheep'!?
I seemed to be surrounded by Magners (quick genuflect) drinkers last night, stinking the place up with Irish apples (do the Irish grow apples, then?) and sounding like Santa in full flight with all that ice jingling in their glasses.

I thought that potatoes were the Irish thing!

Perhaps it's about time they considered treating us to a nice Irish vodka, not some incipid, 4.5%, fizzy apple juice, watered down with ice! Some things are best left to those nice people at Biddindens, I think.

Market forces, eh?

Tch!

Isle Of Write.

How encouraging to see so many blogs springing up all over the Isle De Thanét. The Thanet Blog List now boasts 38 of them but I'm sure they won't have found them all and would, personally, estimate the figure to be closer to 5000. That's almost 2 blogs for every working person in Thanét!

Amazing!!!

I would like to be the first, and hopefully not the last, to say a heartfelt well done to all those that have poured themselves into journalising their lives, homes and experiences and extend warm thanks to the blogging élite, namely...

Dr Fokker for offering an alternative to news, wit, opinion and lifestyle.
Eastcliff Richard for offering an alternative to that alternative.
Man Being Sick On Pizza for supporting Margate, despite it being a lost cause.
Angina for confirming every myth about old people as truth.
Little Weed for being such a wholesome, nice person that I wished she were my mum.
Dane Valley Ted for constantly making passes at me, despite having been married for the last 60 years.
And finally, myself, for oozing sexuality and charisma.

We ought to have a title really, something like Isle Of Thanét Authors.
Yes, I like that, IOTA.
Has a nice ring to it.

Would You Like To Grab My Bags, Old Chap?

Winter seemed to have clutched The Westcliff very firmly by the bags this weekend, with porters popping up in both The Artillery and Churchills.
Firstly there was Dark Star Porter in both pubs and then, when it ran out in The Arty, it was replaced by Archers Porter.
Woohoo!
That Gadds' Dogbolter was a bit conspicuous by it's absense, though. A shame really as I think that would have slid down a treat, among the others.

Maybe next weekend?

Fields Of Gold!

Only a few days left to go before some lucky winner wins the win of the century on the European lottery!
A pound a go, to win all those Euros!
I do hope it doesn't get shared out among the paupers!
Imagine what a hole Sunday afternoons could be after that, then?

Daughter Of A Dog.

Upon being called a son-of-a-bitch in Churchills last night (some people just can't handle critisism well), I felt the need to correct the obvious error in the statement with something a little more feasable, i.e. daughter-of-a-dog. My protagonist stood and looked blankly at me for a long moment and then chipped in with "Actually, I like that better!".

Can't honestly say that I cut him to the quick, there.

Blast!

Something Fishy!

Feeling a little damaged this morning, so instead of telling you all about my night (because I really don't want to remember just at the mo), you could, if you like, entertain yourselves with this, instead!
Alternatively, you could either chill out or get angry with Jingle Jangle Jimmy (my fave).

No Sense, No Humour!

Oh dear, losing ones' eyebrows can be an eye opening experience. I do apologise for that little outburst of seriousness yesterday.
As they say, 'if you play with fire....' and all that.
Apart from never having my skin colour change from black to white (quite the opposite on sunday), possessing the ability to 'moonwalk' or, allegedly, interfering with young boys, I think I can empathise with 'flame haired' Michael Jackson.
Still, and much to Crouching Tiddles distress at aquiring a couple of new bald patches, I have my eyebrows back.
Just as well, as I'll be attending the social event of the year tonight at Churchills Tavern and I know that there will be at least one occasion during the bash where I'll need to be raising them!

I do hope that the Pritt Stik is going to hold when I start sweating!

Pasteurise, Up To Our Necks In It!

Had an interesting conversation last night about The Great Louis Pasteur and what a plonker he was, even though, in all probability, he had the best of intentions.
I had the misfortune to be drinking a bottle of 'dead beer' and you can call me an ale snob if you like but I don't like pasteurised beer. In fact, I don't much like pasteurised anything!
Should we hold him accountable for gross interference in the process of 'natural selection'?
He did, after all, discover a way to achieve longevity for a heck of a lot of people that otherwise wouldn't have survived. In the process, he managed to render an awful lot of our food products 'semi or completely dead'.

Zombie food!

Or was he a hero of the modern age?

Burning Passion.

I decided to treat those fireworks with a tad of caution but everything seemed to work ok, er, except the rockets, that is. I get the feeling that they were manufactured by the same people that make rockets for the U.S. Armed Forces/NASA.
Those that didn't explode on the launch pad, careered off in the most unexpected directions.
I now have to face the humiliation of going into Netto to replace two of next-doors' gnomes.
I may keep the old ones because, to be honest, they do look pretty cool with their heads blown off. Like victims of Viet-gnome.
Now, where did I put that eyebrow pencil and false lashes?

Blast From The Past.

After waking up stupidly early this morning, almost, in fact, just after I went to bed, I thought I'd have a little sort out in my loft. Since I've lived in this house, some four years now, I've only ever stuck my head up there for a quick sniff around but this morning, I decided to get in there and have a rummage.

Double bonus!!!

In among the cobwebs, I found an unopened box of Standard fireworks and a very cute painting of a small child sitting on a stool with a single tear rolling down his cheek.
I think I've got the perfect spot for that, just over my fireplace. The picture, that is, not the fireworks.
Bit of a shame that the box has rotted to the point where the instructions are now illegible but the fireworks look ok. I'll probably set those off while Tiddles is having his tea.

Men O' Pause.

One thing that really puckers my chuff box is people that drag out what they are trying to say by filling it with dramatic pauses.
I had the misfortune of being stuck next to a bloke, in the pub tonight, who is a bit of an expert at it. And it is mostly men that do it!
In the end, at the point where it became unbearable, I decided to stick an old chestnut into his pause that went....
Two bears walk into a pub and one of them says "Two pints of_______________lager please, barman."
The barman replies "Sure thing guys but why the big pause?"

It didn't work. He just gave me an indignant look and started the whole story over again.

People like that outn't be allowed out!

I Really Need To Ketchup With Myself!

After travelling the entire breadth of Thanet on friday night and returning, intact, from Birchington (mostly thanks to that bloody fussy waiter, git. So what if he was married, I'll bet he's allowed to conc more than one ubine at a time, anyway.), I found myself doing two nights worth of Ramsgate pubs on saturday.
Not feeling too bad on sunday, and foolishly thinking I'd got away with it, I sauntered up to Tesco for a bit of a shop and one of their Tesco Value Breakfasts.
Why do they have to keep changing things?
Still, after serving up my own breakfast (how long has that been going on? They used to have someone to throw the food at the plate for you!), I went off in search of condiments. Gah, all the sachets of ketchup were gone. Just as I'd noticed that, someone turned up with a bottle of the stuff and put it with the rest of condiments. Great, I thought, and grabbed it before getting all my other bits together.
Still no sachets of ketchup though, so I marched up to the woman who, by rights, should've served my breakfast and curtly pointed out that they'd run out and that I'd like to eat my breakfast before it started warming up, now that they have the heating on.

"What's that in your hand then?" she politely enquired (and I'll swear she muttered something like 'lush' at the end of it).

Dammit, I hate it when I have to just sit down and shut up!

BareChingTong.

My good friend Tracey, celebrating her 40th birthday, invited a few of us over to her home-town for a meal in one of their many (2) restaurants, last night. I can't tell you how pleased I was with the prospect of heading off to Birchington. Something not-quite-right about that place but I just can't put my finger on it.
Still, Tracey's a lovely girl and I wouldn't want to let her down.
Our plan was to have a meal in the Chinese restaurant in the High Street (which shall remain nameless) and then head off around town to 'whoop it up'.
Am I just speaking for myself when I say that walking into a completely empty restaurant at 7-30 on a friday night is not a good indication of its' popularity?
After taking stock for a moment, we decided to shuffle off to the Indian eatery across the way which was where the hungry masses were congregating.
Tandoori Nights, I hadn't been there for, perhaps, 10 years, at which time all of the staff were wearing Blue Peter Badges, awarded for offering to feed the rest of the World with their 'Flying Curry Service (10% discount if you collect)' operating out of Manston. I don't think they do that any more.
I must say that the food was excellent, the service was sharp and attentive and I fancied one of the waiters like mad!
Had a wonderful evening (despite completely failing to get off with the waiter, dammit!) and must make a point of going there again, if only for the street entertainment in the form of a plethora of swearing, spitting hoodies.

Christmas Evesdropping.

Accidently overheard a conversation in The Montefiore Arms last night (by really craning my neck and almost falling off my stool) about a Christmas Fayre in Addington Street.
The question that immediately sprang to mind was 'why?'.
But on further 'overhearing', I could begin to see the point of it. Addington Street was one of the most thriving and busy parts of Ramsgate in the not too distant past, meeting the servicing needs of a large part of the Westcliff. Now, in order to have those needs met (after a fashion and in nowhere near such a personal way) you'd have to hoof it off to Westwood Angry.
These nice chaps, who also organise the Addington Street 'End of Summer, Victorian Fayre', think it could be returned to it's former glory but it would take more than just ousting the pikeys!
There was also talk of an ale tent which, I think, was probably what started my neck stretching in the first place.

Hmmmm...

Cycle Path Or Psycho Path?

Bloody King Street!

Walking back from the pub last night, feeling a bit Dutched-up, when the next thing you know, it starts raining kids on bikes and I'm getting bumped around all over the show!

To be honest, I was managing that quite nicely on my own.

Sod it, I'm gonna take my stumbling elsewhere in future!

Fanny Foliage Assures The World That...

.... American troops are 'plenty smart'.

Must be very reassuring for them, coming from someone who thinks that grammer is the nice lady who keeps sending all the lovely presents (including the bottles of whisky, but don't tell dad!).

American troops are also, allegedly, 'plenty brave'.

I thought they'd killed all the Braves!

Still, nice to see that their language, at least, lives on!

How!

It's A Chill Wind That Blows From Margate.

Thought I'd go out in my new micro-mini (not a plastic pig or a Smart car but a tiny skirt!) this morning.
I ask you, what kind of doughnut buys a piddly little skirt at this time of year?
Well, it was cheap!
Anyhow, as I was shivering my way through town, I'm sure I could smell smoke.
I'd like to think it was the guy who was walking behind me that was overheating at the sight but, well, there is that northerly wind, I suppose.

Where Does Poo Come From?

Now I know that a lot of people are going to have a stab at this poo query and, perhaps, say Birchington.
But you'd be wrong!
A friend of mine was asked this question the other day by her five year old daughter. She took great pains to describe the workings of the human digestive system in detail and was met with a rather disgusted "YUCK! So mummy, where does Tigger come from?"

100 Today!

Lorks A Lordy, just noticed that this'll be my hundredth post since I started spouting inane drivel via this media!!!

We ought to have a party!

That's it then, I'm definitely going to vote for our own parish council and massive council tax hikes be hanged.

There Were Errors!

This whole blog setup has been a right load of wank, just lately! Errors popping up left, right and center, the whole thing slowing down to a crawl for hours on end etc.
Now this!!!
Undeletable multiple posts.
Think I may ask for my money back. They seem to be in such a state of confusion at the moment, that I just may get it.

Kickin' In The Ghoulies.

Hats off to Bandrea at Churchills for picking yet another winner in the entertainment stakes.
That Delay Room, last night, were top-notch. An unusual style mixed with some firm old favourites that did it for me. Not sure that I'd be throwing my knickers at them, as was my urge at the Sharpees gig last week (I'm not a bottomless pit in the knicker department, you know), but damned fine all the same!
Chatted to their singer, Smurf (never did manage to work that one out), who has quite the voice and puts on a bit of a show, and was rewarded with a CD of theirs for my home perusal. How sweet! Also had a word with their drummer, Weird Mark (didn't have too much trouble puting my finger on that one), and haven't got a flipping clue what he was on about, at all. Sounded good though, whatever it was!

All a bit of a far cry from the 'closed shop karaoke' that we've been treated to in the past.

And the whole cake was nicely iced with a Hallowe'en fancy dress contest, though I strongly suspect that the poor sod who won was actually in civvies and making the most of the one day every year that they didn't look out of place!

Belgian Bar Beirut To Become New Turner Centre.

Had occasion to pop into the Belgian Bar Beirut last night (dammit, I promised myself that I wouldn't get that drunk again!) and was a little surprised to find an entourage from Gallery Iota hosting an exhibition for the hard-of-walking.
What a good idea! If the mountain won't come to Mohamed, and all that.
Unfortunately, as I only ever fall in there at the end of a long evening, I couldn't honestly say that I appreciated what they had to offer so perhaps i'll make a point of perusing it today over coffee and croissants.
Must remember to go to the toilet before I head in there, this time!!!

Labouring The Tory Point.

Saints preserve us, the great ECR mystery seems to be getting flogged to death over on 'Thanets' alternative, Biggles opinion only, newspaper'!
I, among others, have been accused of missing the point. A convenient, but transparent, way of not answering the bloody question. Nothing new there, then!
The best of it is, I don't think that there actually is a point other than some middle classed know-it-all getting a bit narky because somebody else is playing with 'his' toys, though I'm not quite sure where he gets off in thinking that they're his toys.
Well I don't want to play over there any more. Had quite enough of that at nursery school, when some spoilt kid would have a screaming tantrum every time you tried to play with Pooh that they thought was exclusively theirs.
Who cares who ECR is? More to the (sorry, another) point, why do they care? Identity isn't what blogging is about, is it? I'd say it was about observation, like-minded interest, humour and opinion and that there is, perhaps, nothing wrong with introducing a little fiction to get your point across. Hypothetical situations, if you like. It's a well established method, I believe.
And banging on and labouring the same old tired opinion as if that will make it true (lad, just out of shorts, juevenile, childish, relatively junior etc) is a bit infantile in itself.

Anyone fancy a game of Pooh sticks (so long as they're not going to cry if they don't win!)?

Fat Cat Hat.

Arriving home from the pub last night, which I found myself under great pressure to thoroughly review as Ramsgate's newly self-appointed pub/entertainment Guru(ess), I discovered a big, fat tom-cat skulking around in my kitchen.
Now I'm sure most people realise what a trial the bloody things can be to remove, once ensconsed. All that running around the walls in a mad, frenzied, skin puncturing panic. At one point, it managed to bounce off of the top of my head, much to the distress of my scalp!
But I got it out in the end.

The following morning brought shame and the firm resolve to do my pub reviewing with a little less vigour as Crouching Tiddles is now no longer my firm and faithfull companion but instead, has taken to biting and hissing when I approach him.

I'm sure, after a few tins of tuna and bowls of full-cream milk, that he'll come round!

It's Good To Feel Loved.

As I have a few days off work this week, I thought I'd go through some of my junk in the loft. One box that I found contained a load of old love letters, photos and cards.I thought I'd share one of my old Valentine cards with you because, although it isn't exactly what you'd call romantic, it is pretty funny and the chap went to all the trouble of making it himself. If I remember correctly, that relationship didn't last much past February 15th.

The Dummy Is Out (Again).

The sound of air-raid claxons appear to be whining over on ECRs' blog yet again.
If this keeps up, I've a feeling we all may have to head on over to the community air-raid shelter.
We're a bit lucky in that respect on the Eastcliff as the Anderson shelter that they whacked onto the side of the San Clu (sorry, Come For Tin) has a bar in it, complete with ale pumps and easy access to a menu full of tinned food.
Should be very handy indeed if the situation goes nuclear!

Pumping The Burley Barstaff At Churchills.

This social scene reviewing malarky isn't anywhere near as simple as I thought it would be!
Thinking it'd be a good idea to cement a relationship with someone who has their finger on the pulse of Ramsgates' social life-blood, I asked Andrea at Churchills which bands they had playing this coming weekend.
"I strongly recommend that you pump the stocky chap behind the bar, over there!" She opined.
"Or, you could always look on the bloody chalk-board." She added, after a moments reflection.

Not quite the start I was hoping for but hey, this is a learning curve for me!

Anyhow, it seems that they have a local band called Delay Room putting on a show for our delictation on Saturday night. It further seems that said band put a new slant on rock (ideal for skiers and the like) and their drummer is completely loopy!

I think I'll be the judge of that!

Sharpees World Tour Of Ramsgate Continues.

Sauntered weavingly up to Churchills yesterday afternoon for a couple of pints which was cut short by the announcement that the Sharpees were due to play in The Horse and Groom (The Doom and Gloom to those that know the place).
All the encouragement that I needed to pop my groupie hat on and whizz down there at warp 9.7, the thought that I was on my way to a Shepherd Neame pub not entering my head for a moment but my first pint of (somewhat inaccurately named) Master Brew corrected that error almost immediately.
No matter cuz those guys are smokin' with a capital 'kin!
I think I would've been happy drinking horse piss and who knows, perhaps, in essence, I was.
Still, not having been to the Doom and Gloom for some time, I was quite pleasently surprised at how tidy the place is these days.
Some guy at the end of the bar kept staring at me in a bit of an odd way and I couldn't make out whether he wanted a fight or a shag, maybe both? Must've been one of the old regulars, I'd suppose.
Toyed with the idea of a quickie in Bernie Bubbles Whine Bar across the road, The Isle of Thanet Gazzettes' favourite Ramsgate venue, but thankfully it was shut. Phew! After a few hours of almost sublime blues, I'm not sure I was really in the mood for his badly crafted false laugh and almost ceasless torrent of bullshit!

Dire Sharpees.

Went along to Churchills last night to soak up some beer and live music and both were astonishingly good (as they often are)!
Those Sharpees are excellent. Quite obviously influenced by Dire Straits but, in my opinion, are a good deal better. Forget that tubby Denny from EK1, I'm now rather taken by The Sharpees vertically challenged lead singer/guitarist who is absolutely mustard.
Were I the type, I think I may well have swooned. And given the opportunity, I would most definitely have spooned!
Anyhow, enough about my loinal preferences, time to go review The Montefiore Arms as part of my new and self-appointed position of Ramsgate Pub Guru(ess).
It'll be a strain, constantly keeping a watchfull eye over events in local watering holes, but somebody has to do it, I think!

Just Another Ornery Night On The Town.

Winging my way through town last night, I had occasion to pass through 'king Street. Now really, what gives there?
Yet another pleasant evening slightly spoilt by the, if you'll pardon my French, branleurs that drift up and down its' length with nothing better to do than make a nuisance of themselves. I've taken to carrying a brolly and wearing wellies as protection against the green rain that puddles there.
The place gets more like Marredgate every day!

On the bright side, yet another lovely evening was spent in the Eccentricity Arms (Arty), mixing it with actors, musicians, poets, welders, bores and more than its' fair share of artists (canvas, piss and otherwise).

Think I may just toodle off up there again tonight, er, perhaps via the seafront this time!

Oh, and if anyone is interested in the type of character you may find there, a little insight can be gained here.

Proxy Ciao!

Sounds like something my mother would prepare as a meal for my siblings and myself as children.
However, it's actually a request from Ram Skate Raider for me to say goodbye on his behalf as he's moving on to smaller and worse things.
Much as I'm loathe to admit it but the chap really used to get on my nerves at times, which I think is what he wanted (though Lord knows why?).
I wish him a fond farewell!

As if it isn't quiet enough around here of late, already.

What Do You Want, Jam On It?

Now here's a little ditty that I rather enjoyed, as would, perhaps, anyone who has had the misfortune to travel around London on their wonderful underground system.
Maybe an idea to send the kids to another room while you listen to it.

Hard On.

These computer thingies are wonderful, aren't they?
Until they go wrong, that is!
My old P60 has been a bit of a bugger this week, not wanting to boot up and all that. I now have a big hole in my hair from all the headscratching I've been doing.
Still, I got there in the end and it turns out that I'd completely filled my hard drive up.
So, after a bit of fiddling about in DOS (how quaint) I've finally managed to free up a bit of space and tally ho, away we go.
I really should look into upgrading my old 500mb drive in the near future.

Quite A Pealing.

If anyone has not already done so, I would suggest that they pop up to Gallery IOTA for a squizz at their latest exhibition. After attending the opening night, I went along over the weekend to see what the pictures looked like without little clumps of wine ponces standing in front of them and was very impressed!
Among my favourites was a marvelous picture called Timelines which also turned out to be the most expensive item on sale there. And, though I found it irritating to start with as the wine ponce's kids would not leave it alone, One Ton Bell struck a bit of a chord too. The thing has a bigger dong than John Holmes!
Well worth a look.

Clink, Clang, Splodge, Donk.

Off up to the IOTA Gallery tonight for the opening of their latest exhibition and I must say that it sounds quite promising!
It'll be featuring a couple of local artists, one of whom has a mechanical, nay engineering, bent and has previously come up with some quite astonishing and entertaining art, the other being a painter with a penchant for death, who has an uncanny knack for bringing that out in his work.

Really, rather looking forward to it!

How Many Elephants Can You Fit In A Mini?

I was amazed to see a woman in the pub last night who must have weighed at least 25 stone, wearing a mini-skirt, boob tube and ridiculously high heels.
Thinking she must have an extraordinary sense of humour, I thought I'd go and chat with her but 5 minutes into the conversation, I got the distinct impression that she'd escaped from the funny farm and was out on the pull. It further transpired that she wasn't out looking for a man!
It took me almost an hour and a half to finally get away!
What is it with people that keep mistaking me for a bean flicker?
I'm seriously starting to think that I may have to stop wearing dungarees and cropping my hair!

Money And Style Returns To Ramsgate.

I must say that it's nice to see Eastcliff Richard safely ensconsed upon our fair Isle, once more.
I certainly had the hardest time trying to write anything here without his inspirational presence.
I would like to scotch any rumours, before they even start, that the reason for my absence had anything at all to do with me spending the last month travelling across Europe with our illustrious local millionaire, taking in the sights and performing wild, drunken, sexual acts upon eachother (often quite depraved)!
I would also like to add that I have absolutely no idea, whatsoever, if said millionaire is hung like a horse and can keep it going all night.
Hope that clears things up before they get spilled!

October Vest.

Is this Winter?
I find myself still wearing my summer outfits and have to ask that question.
Not that I'm complaining, mind you!
Did anyone go along to the burning of the rubbish man at Margate, yesterday? I went along myself but only because, upon enquiring of one of my 'friends', I was told that they were going to burn Jimmy Godden.
Thought it was too good to be true.
Still, it was entertaining enough with large flaming lumps of rubbish cascading down onto the panic stricken and shrieking throng that attended.
Ought to make good telly, I should think!

Addington Street Victorian Jumble Sale.

I guess that's it then!
With the Grot Street Anal Fair looming, that'll be the end of summer for another year.
I imagine that I'll do the usual trudge up there and then hide in The Queen Charlotte.
But, perhaps, I could do it differently this year with an ankle-length pencil skirt and a pile of bling, I could masquerade as Victorian Beckham.
I may have to catch the bus up there, though.

Hads Off.

Re-reading yesterday's missive, in particular the last line, I was reminded of a poser that popped up in an English lesson at school.
The teacher wrote a sentence on the blackboard and asked us to punctuate it.
It went :-

John where Mary had had had had had had had had had and had had a mistake

I wish, now, that I'd gone to school in Margate where I may have been, instead, merely given the task of spelling 'had'.

Anyone care for a stab at it?

Going Away, Present.

Up until these last few days, I would have considered that to be an oxymoron, after all, how can you be present while you're going away?
Hellen, wretched woman, has demonstrated otherwise by going home and remaining present in the form of her stinking cold (I'd have to rely on somebody elses' input to tell me if it does, in fact, stink).
Like most things American, though, it's a big cold but hopeless in battle, as I appear to be making a speedy recovery and am just left with ruddy eyes and a blogged ub dose.
Good job too, as I'm almost out of whisky!
No time like the present to present the present present that's present, with a present of my own, I thought!

All's Quiet On The Eastern Front.

Now that I'm no longer cementing trans-Atlantic relations, I can relax a little and enjoy a gentle drink.
Where to go, that's the thing?
I think I may pop down to The Montefiore Arms and deliberate the matter over a pint and then probably head west, stopping for a gentle drink in every pub on the way.
Apologies in advance to the patrons of The Artillery and Churchills!

Hellen Back.

The deed is done and the bird has left the nest, well, airport, at least.
I didn't think it was ever going to.
Security at Heathrow is beyond belief at the moment. Why the Hell I had to be searched beats me! But, apparently, it had to be done and my shirt pockets were like clowns' pockets when the security guy had finished rummaging around in them.
I knew that I should've worn a blonde wig and borrowed some kids for the day.

Anyway, a nice shower and an ale is perhaps in order.

Flight At The End Of The Tunnel.

Praise be!
Hellen flies back home tomorrow.
As much fun as she is, she's a bloody liability. I've yet to discover whether I'll still be welcomed at the Welcome Inn. Should be ok, after all, it wasn't me that was sick in their fridge!
It's a bit of a shame that I couldn't get her to blog but, as she says, it's not her thing and as she described it in the pub, the other night, "It's a right load of bloggocks!"
At least she seems to be learning English.
So then, another jaunt around the M25 to look forward to. I'll try not to moan about it so much, this time.

You Load 16 Pints And What Do You Get?

Pissed, obviously, but Hellen seems to turn into some overly tactile, ranting lunatic from hell, to boot.
I've always admired her for that but have, however, found myself taking her into pubs that I don't normally use, as she seems to be usurping my 'bad girl' image, somewhat.
Last night found us imbibing in The Falstaff, Addington Street, where I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the new management consisted of, none other than, my old mucker, Scary Angie.
Now she IS a piece of work. 5'2" and 100lbs of raging fury (when you cheese her off) and just mildly alarming when you don't!
I tried to warn Hellen of this, and the fact that the punters aren't exactly 'run-of-the-mill' either, being largely bred from the same, under-varied gene pool but would she take heed?
She's been chucked out of almost as many pubs as she's been in but last night brought her a whole new experience, that of being forced to stay when she really, really wanted to leave.
Good old Angie, I believe, at one point, that Hellen actually feared for her life.
I'm sure we can laugh about it today.
Well, I certainly will, anyhow!

EEK, A1.

Gave Hellen a bit of a run along the coast today, as a reward for not getting chucked out of anywhere for over 24 hours, now.
First on the list was Broadstairs Bootfair Week. Not a lot happening there, other than a quintillion people browsing stalls full of tut.
So I thought we might step it up a bit and pop along for prize giving at the Ramsgate Royal Harbour Templar Knights Yacht Club Week tent and was pleasantly surprised to find a Gadds' brew available which he'd knocked up just for them and rather imaginatively called it Royal Delight. Very nice it was, too!
Had a little browse of their program while I was there and lo, EK1 are gonna sex the place up on wedsnesday! Think I may have to amble along for that.
I dropped Hellen of at Churchills while I popped home to do my chores and now, I suppose, I really ought to get myself off up there and attempt to rescue the poor sod(s) that she would, no doubt, by now, have attached herself to.

Your Guest Is As Good As Mine.

Saints preserve us, I just recieved a phone call from Hellen (Highwater) and she informs me that the management of The San Clu has requested, politely but firmly, that she should leave at her earliest convenience.

I knew that she was going to be trouble!

After a bit of phoning around, I've managed to procure a room for her at The Foy Boat Hotel.
We'll just have to wait and see (probably not too long) about the wisdom of ensconcing her above a pub.
It's not one that I regularly frequent, so, hopefully, the repercussions won't be too severe for me!

Sigh!

Extra Special Bit Her.

My friend Hellen, from NY, does like a beer or three, and she seems to be developing a taste for the warm, sticky stuff that us Limeys go all gooey over.
But I think she met her match last night.
Introducing her to the phenomenon that is Churchills Tavern, I was pleased to see that they had Fullers' ESB on. An absolutely delightful brew!
Much as I tried to warn her about the strength of the stuff, 5.5%, and that one pint of it would be roughly equivalent to five pints of the wee wee that she drinks at home, she was necking it like there was no tomorrow.
Going by the state of her by the time I got her back to her hotel, I think that may very well turn out to be true!

Polite notice.
Anybody who has designs on dining in the San Clu (Comfort Inn) today may want to think twice. She disappeared while I was paying the taxi driver and we eventually found her, half an hour later, passed out in the kitchen with her head in the fridge. She looked like she'd been eating pizza but I'm not entirely convinced that's what it was.
So, erring on the side of caution....

Broadstairs Flock Night.

Went over to Broadstairs last night, mostly because EK1 were playing on the bandstand but partly to warm myself up for the oncoming Folk Week Festivities.
That Denny, fat ugly git that he is, moistens more than just my eye with his emotive singing and I found myself getting quite carried away on the moment.
I got the notion that I wasn't the only one that felt that way as it seemed like there was, perhaps, a million people there, getting carried away on the moment too.

Or maybe it was the lights that they'd pinched from our Marina Arches that tipped the balance?
They should've nicked our fireworks too. As good as theirs were, ours were better!

What IS The Point Of The M25?

I wonder how long it'll be before they start fining people for driving below the minimum speed limit on the M25? They could make an absolute fortune! Plenty enough to build sufficient roads to keep traffic moving at a steady pace.
And another plus, it wouldn't be long before regular M25 users amassed enough points to have them dropping off the road like flies.

I may very well write to the Queen about this, if she's not already keeping appraised by reading my blog!

Flight Delayed!

Why don't these silly people at the airport just add 60 minutes to each flight in the first place and be done with it?
Actually, coming to think of it, if they did that then they'd have to get new displays made up that incorporated the phrase 'Flight Early' for those rare occasions when the plane arrived less than an hour late.

Off To A Flying Tart.

I've taken the day off today to go and pick up an old friend who's arriving from New York at lunchtime.
She's a lovely 'lady', as nutty as they come and I'm really looking forward to seeing her again.
The last time she was here, she managed to get arrested for sexually assaulting a policeman, though she swears she was going for his gun, despite knowing full well that they don't have them here.
Who knows, I may even get her to blog it up a bit during her visit.

Should be a treat for everyone!

Dipstick On My Lipstick.

Upon returning from the loo in one of Ramsgate's 'classier' pubs last night, I found one of our local arguments for euthanasia rifling through my handbag.
"What the f*ck are you doing?" I gently probed, as if it wasn't painfully obvious.
"I was looking for a lighter." Came the rather lame response.
"Couldn't you just ask someone at one of these tables?" I enquired.
"None of them like me." I was hastily informed.

Well I'm not bloody surprised!

I should have called the police, really, but from previous experience I've found that they like to do exactly the same thing as him, albeit for a different reason, so I plumped for pushing him over backwards and requesting that he leave the premises immediately.

Judging by the reaction from the rest of the pub, I feel it safe to assume that at least half of what he told me was the truth.

Paddy or Prat?

Did Eastcliff Richard have a bit of a tantrum and throw his blog away?
Seems unlikely!
Another alternative, one would suppose, is that it's the work of one of those desperately clever, attention deprived, worthless twat, hackers.
It may come as a surprise to them that it's much easier to destroy something than to create it, which is, perhaps, the only reason that they're able to do it.
But every cloud has a silver lining and while they're doing that, the trees, shop windows and wing mirrors are getting a bit of a rest.
I must say that it was nice to see the sausage munching, spelling and punctuation wizard from Margate lending a few kind words of support, though!

But, of course, there's every possibility he's just having a bit of a giggle. You know what he's like!

Arty Weekend.

I seem to have spent the whole weekend, so far, bouncing between the Arty Arms (wonderful pub) and the Arty Tits (Gallery IOTA). So no surprise, I suppose, that I've spent a lot of time with arty legs (uncontrolable idiots of things that refuse to follow normal rules of behaviour)!
I think i'll persue a different course today.
Favourite at the moment would be the Montefoire Arms with their extraordinary, major cash prizes + meat raffle and, as rumour has it, Dorothy Goodbodies Golden Ale. All that and their infamous stool juggling act 'twixt punter and landlord, seems like too good a thing to miss!

Then again, I may just go back to bed. I'm sure that's the option that my employers would prefer in the light of getting good value for money out of me tomorrow.
Hmmmm... I'm sure they must be getting used to it by now!

Art Attack!

My word, that gallery IOTA seems to be pulling out all the stops of late and last night saw the opening of yet another exhibition!
Despite not being much of a one for art, I do make the effort, regardless of my personal feelings, and martyr myself for their cause. That and they usually have a cask of ale on as a freebie.
Very nice too!
Still, it was a good do and the art was quite enjoyable. I just wish that I could get someone to explain to me what 'post-modern impressionist' is supposed to mean. Perhaps it's one of those things, like an awful lot of art, that defies any kind of explanation?
Just to be sure, I think i'll pop up for another squint at the daubs this afternoon so that I feel i'm really doing my bit. And, of course, help them finish that ale off before it goes bad!
I wonder if the gruff, surly curator that smells faintly of wee will be there today?
Perhaps he can explain what post-modern impressionist means. I do hope it's nothing to do with Bobby Davro!

X-Men 3, XXX-Men.

I thought I'd heard it all until last night, when I was approached in the pub by a scruffy looking chap who wondered if I'd like to star in a movie that he was making called 'Dick Van Dyke'.
Apparently, I was perfect for the role of the lesbian that gets cured on a road trip, in a VW camper, on my way from Eastbourne to Skegness.
Just for once, I was a little lost for words!
Upon enquiring, it transpires that this fella was going to be the 'doctor' that cures me.
And, of course, my fee would be entirely royalties.

I doubt that his own doctor will be as confident about curing him when he pays a visit this morning.

BTW, does anyone want to buy a pair of size 20 denim dungarees?

Is Margate the new/old Ramsgate or is Ramsgate the new/old Margate?

I supposed that would depend on the orientation of your 'half glass'.
However, I found myself navigating the North of the Isle yesterday, pondering that poser, and thinking (as I have done in Ramsgate, not too many years ago) that the whole town is akin to a beautiful jewel with shit all over it.
As regenerative as Ramsgate and, perhaps, Broadstairs seem to be, it smacks of walking around in a pretty dress with dog poo stuck to the bottom of your shoe.
There are some lovely buildings in Margate with some wonderful history and, it seems to me, a handfull of people trying to drag it out of the hole that it's been pushed into over the last 30 years.
It's happening here, why not there?
It does seem easy enough to sit in Ramsgate and be smug but how does that help anything except our own egos?
I think, from now on, I may well stop disrespecting Margate as it does seem to have a latent beauty and bags of potential.
The collection of (to coin a couple of phrases) 'utterly contemptuous pricks' and 'steaming great twats' that have run it into the ground are, however, still fair game!

Latin The Good Times Roll.

Surely last night's demonstration of how the seafront is meant to be used should encourage more of the same?
When you go home with holes worn into the bottom of your brand new shoes, isn't that indication enough that you've had a jolly good time dancing the night away (or are overweight or you shouldn't buy your shoes in Woolworth or all three of the aforementioned)?
Even the youngsters were having a good time on the beach, albeit kicking the dayshifts' detritus around. I seem to recall, not so long ago, at the Jazz Festival in Margate, a swathe of rather bored looking children shuffling their feet and muttering something about 'bloody road sweepers'. But, after all, that was jazz, not the exciting Latin beat that we were treated to last night!
The drummer did throw a bit of a wobbly at one point and went right off on his own but I'd like to think that he was, however, just taking the piss out of jazz a little.
On my walk home, feeling both elated and exhausted, I turned at the top of the Eastcliff Steps for one last look at the venue that I'd just vacated only to be saddened somewhat by the fact that it was completely dwarfed by the fenced off, derelict Pleasurama site.
If any of the organisers of the event happened to be within earshot at the time, please have my assurances that the wild looking woman banging her hands on the railing and shouting 'C*NTS!' in your rough direction was not aiming it at you!

Nice one chaps and thanks!

London Busses.

Tough choice to make regarding entertainment tonight.
Will it be the Gallery IOTA bring-your-own bottle/food/fire/art barbecue or save myself a walk and go to the Latina, face-painting beach party?
Hmmmm.
I think I'll mull that over while I feed the fishes this morning and probably decide on the pub.

...sorry, I meant IN the pub.

Kings Treat.

Ambling past Mickey D's early yesterday evening was a little like I'd imagine life in Lebanon to be at the moment with hoards of foreign students hurling missiles at young English ladies and gentlemen and the obvious reciprocation.
Was there some kind of pro-war demonstration going on that the local rags had failed to advertise?
Anyhow, not actually being in Lebanon, I found that after a couple of shampoos that I was able to remove the 'double-thick chocolate shake' from my hair. I should imagine that removing a 'scud' would have been a taller order.
Hardly the point though!

Flagging A Dead Horse.

I'm seriously thinking about taking some of my old bloomers along to the lovely new/old flagpole by the lift on Wellington Crescent and hoisting them aloft.
As a centre piece I have a pair from C&A with C on the front and A on the back that I think would be most appropriate.
Beats me why they spent all that money replicating the old flagpole in fine detail and then don't bloodywell use it. Anyone have an answer?
If nothing else, it would be a useful indication to people of which way to face when they're lighting their fags!

Blog Potatoes.

With the use of some pretty sophisticated tools (a hit counter and a calculator) I've managed to work out that, on average, this blog has 68.7 people visiting every day. Making allowance for repeat visits, mistake visits and the police trying to gather evidence to put me away for life, I think it would be safe to round that off to 50.
Not quite in the league of Eastenders but, perhaps, better than the average Eastender (in real life, such as it is) would expect.
However, this isn't telly, it's interactive infobullshitainment and as much as I love to waffle on, it can be a little dull doing it to an audience of 'fly catchers'.
If it weren't for the hit counter, I think I may have hopped off a little while ago.

Anyone fancy breaking out of their peel?

Gawd! I think the alcohol is finally wearing off!

Solid Choice.

After a week of liquid dieting I thought I'd rifle through the fridge and see what had survived this blazing heatwave in an edible condition. Not much, as it turns out.
A pack of sausages, of which the two in the middle were still almost a normal colour and half a tin of beans which required a similar amount of segregation to the sausages. I decided to take a chance with the bread, as I figured the penicilin may compliment the whole meal nicely.
There was something liquid in the salad crisper that may have been lettuce at some point but I decided against that as, after all, it was solids that I sought.

I'm a little bloated after my feast so I think I'll go and have a lie down.

I've a funny feeling that my next blog is going to be a bit of a moan about the National Health Service and, in particular, A&E!

Rash Decision.

Lordy, my old Nan's cure-all, while helping to abate my discomfort, doesn't half mess one up!
Now that my 'rash' has peeled off and i've stopped my 'medication', I feel worse now than when I started my course of treatment!
Also, I seem to have lost several pounds (in money) and gained several pounds (in weight).
On the bright side, it can only have been good for local business, with the possible exception of the one that I collapsed in and took half of the pub down with me. I won't be going back there until they get their floor levelled out!

Right then, onwards and upwards!

er... does anyone know what day it is?

Beetroot Lady In A Pickle!

As if things couldn't get any worse, I now seem to have developed an allergy for alcohol.
Saints preserve us, my worst nightmare come true!!!
While enjoying my umpteenth pint in The Queens Head's lovely, sunny beer garden, I nodded off for a bit only to awaken with a horrible rash covering almost my entire front. It's sore and it stings and I can't stop scratching it.
Could my luck get any worse?
Strange how it didn't seem to affect my 'personal' areas as, when I've had a few, they're normally the first bits to get assaulted. Could it be that they've developed an immunity?
Looks like I'm going to have to change the way that I take my booze in the future.

Rough Terrine.

Coming to think of it, after poking my head in the place where gentlemen relieve themselves, I did shuffle along to Topps' Seafood Bar and nosh on a tub of seafood terrine. Perhaps I should have been suspicious over the fact that the gulls were keeping their distance. Was it the food that detered them or that nasty man with the knife and net that they've discovered it's best to keep well away from?
Either way, I managed to get from Topps' to bottom in record time!
Just to be on the safe side, I think I'll administer one of my Nans' old cure-all remedies and flush my system through with some kind of sterilizing agent. Alcohol would probably be my weapon of choice.
Does anyone know what time Churchills start serving G&T's?

Bog Off!

Having spent most of the last two days in bed, the remaining time being taken up with a fair bit of shouting into the big white phone, I'm starting to question the wisdom of sticking my head in the gent's toilet in Bar Beirut.
Still, I'm feeling a little perkier today and would say that I've shed a few pounds to boot!
In fact, before I pile into the vast array of pig bits in my fridge, I think I may have a stab at getting into some of my old size 18's.
You never know!

Ramsgate Royal Harbour, Bigbeard, Bakery, Bar and Beirut.

Fancying a bit of a sit on the seafront with a beer, such is the lot of a seaside dweller, I ambled off down to the aforementioned croissantery yesterday afternoon.
Not having been there for a while, I was surprised to see the place has been 'gone over' with a bit of cosmetic elastoplast. Seemed like they've done quite a nice job! Some of the old fixtures are still there, including the weird looking, non-English speaking, hairy armed barman from God knows where that just cannot pour a pint!
After a little oohing and ahhring (still got Johnny firmly fixed in the noodle), I decided to have a stab at the Leffe Bruin which was absolutely delicious! It would bloodywell want to be at £3-80 a pint, mind you!
So, sitting out the front, enjoying my beer and tales of derring-do from the bunch of ex-cons on the next table I discovered that Maidstone is the chick place to effing be if you're gonna be put away.
Of course, you can only put up with so much excitement before you have to wee and that's when the place started showing it's true colours. Being mildly disgusted with the ladies and thinking that I wasn't going to be the one to tidy it up by getting rid of my waste products in there, I nicked off to the disabled toilet. It was certainly that, alright. No lock on the door, seat covered with wee and a smell that I really couldn't recognise, thankfully I think.
Out of curiosity, I poked my head around the door of the very innacurately named 'Gents'. Dear God, what happened in there? If there was a Fourth World, this loo would lower the tone of it!

Still, it's nice to see that 'more beard than man' has finally stopped taking the piss!

Polluted Sea.

My word, the cinema was crowded last night!
As there was a group of us, it made it quite difficult finding a bunch of seats to accomodate but, after a little perseverance and persuasion, we managed to get ensconced on the balcony.
I don't think i'll do that again in a hurry!
I suppose the fact that it was a hot day didn't help but whew, it seemed like a good percentage of the heaving throng below us had neglected to wash in their hurry to get an eyeful of Johnny. Though the balcony normally affords an excellent view, there was an obscuring haze that lent a 'soft focus' to the whole film. I thought, at one point, that my dinner was going to pop down there and join them. Not that it would've made matters much worse!
Still, it would've scotched the rumour, for those sitting directly below, that there's no such thing as a free lunch!

Pirate Hardware.

Off to the flicks tonight, to see the ageing but youthful Johnny Depp swashing his buckle in Pirates of The Carribean 2, Dead Mans' Chest.
I haven't been to the cinema for absolutely ages and I must confess that I'm terribly excited.
Despite the fact that an ex-boyfriend of mine used to be a software pirate and was a 'dead man' not too far from the chest region, I'm not going to think about that lest it spoils my enjoyment of the film.
After seeing the first one, as I recall, I was ooh-aarrring and swinging my brolly around for days afterwards. Nearly had some poor fellas' eye out at the bus stop.

Gosh, I wouldn't half like to shiver his timber!

Regular Church Goer.

Not that I'd want to sit down and actually work it out but I think I may, these days, be paying Churchills more than my employers are paying me.
The problem, as I see it, is their selection of ales. Though it's always been pretty good, just of late it's been excelling itself somewhat and I find myself unable to 'just pop in for a quickie'.
Not that I'm complaining, as such, but poor old Crouching Tiddles is starting to feel a little neglected.
Never mind though, as I think I may have come across an inspirational idea as to how to alleviate the problem!

Rugged Task

Carpet shopping in Ramsgate isn't quite what it used to be, these days.
Since the demise of Goddens' Carpets next door to Gnomeland (Netto), the choice available to us has Wilton dramatically! Not that I have fancy taste in floor coverings but I do like to play these buggers off against eachother.
Now, it seems, it's King Street or bust.
All I want is something light, in a medium pile and not too abrasive on the skin as I have fairly sensitive knees and elbows. When I suggested this to the tubby little Cockney fellow in 'skid row', he offered to come round and measure it up himself and then promptly excused himself for a moment, never to be seen again.
I'm not sure about him!

Doesn't that nice simian looking fellow from the Council do a comprehensive line in carpets?
I might ask him. I'm sure I'd get a more congenial response than if I asked him about Council matters!

Lemon And Lime.

While sitting at the bar in Churchills Tavern over the weekend, I observed the chunky, I'm so cool (not!) braman.. sorry, barman getting a little bored. He managed to alleviate that, a little, by grabbing a lime and rolling it around the bar for a while before putting on the cleverest juggling act that I've ever seen (again, not!). Now i'm not all that big on people playing with food that other people are going to put in their mouth, so when this idiot stopped briefly to jam his little finger up his nose, for a quick pirouette, before dazzling us with another blast of limenastics, I nearly fell off my stool.
Eventually, of course, he got bored with that and put it back down. The girl behind the bar who, I might add, had missed all of this through the simple act of actually working, then proceeded to cut it up in preparation for some poor sods' drink later on.

Don't think i'll be partaking of any more G&T's in there, henceforth!

Perhaps he's the same guy that put the 'arse' in Sol?

Well Eye Do Declare!

Thought things had been a little quiet for too long. I see that ranting looney, Ram Skate Raider, has re-emerged with his own blog Thanet Eye.
Not that I dislike the fella at all, in fact, he's had me in fits on many occasions. It's just that he has this knack of raising tension levels to the point where he could probably make a nun say bollocks!
Anyhow, it's nice to see him back all the same.
I wonder where he's been these last couple of months?

Prison wouldn't surprise me!

Sunday?

Rather ironically, the weather seems to have taken a turn for the worst on the one day that promises otherwise.
Not to worry though, as I have no intention of letting it deter me from today's mission which is a bit of a pub crawl to see in the new week.
I like to start off on home turf and work my way over to the Westcliff (just in case the evening terminates with a pavement pizza, one doesn't like to mess in ones' own nest).

With a bit of luck I'll be far too drunk to blog when I get home but just in case I'm not, apologies in advance.

Now then, what shall I wear?.......

Farty Artblast.

Fancying a bit of a stroll the other day, I ambled along to the IOTA gallery in the hope that they had some art on display. After my last visit, when they had the Marx Larks for everyones delectation, I thought it would make a refreshing change.
No such luck!
They seemed to have, however, employed a mingler. A rough looking old fella with a very deep voice and a faint smell of wee about him. From the look in his eye and the way he kept 'repositioning' himself, I thought it prudent not to spend too much time with my back to him. Unfortunately, he seemed to take this as a cue to explain the inexplicable and fill in my gaps regarding the Marxist message. He didn't seem all that sincere and I got the idea that he was taking the piss a little bit (might explain the smell).
And I still don't get it.
Personally, I would prefer to see our local artists getting off their arses and entertaining the troops, rather than wallowing in self indulgent drivel.
Come on chaps, what's wrong with the odd painting of a lovely horse and rider or a pretty bowl of flower heads?
Has it never occured that art lovers may be a tad more interested in art than in some hapless ninny's distorted view of the World?
There is a little clue there in the expression 'art lover'!

Hardly Davidson.

So Jim Davidson has been declared bankrupt.
Hard to imagine how that could have happened in an age where unfunny comedians are at their most prolific.
Ok, so he may be the kind of guy that would make you want to hide in the pub toilet until he left but, despite his peculiar brand of sexist/racist humour, they never found any dead gays in his swimming pool so perhaps that shouldn't have been taken too seriously.
Maybe the constant stream of 'on the spot' fines from his great mates in the traffic police finally got the better of him?
The official report, of course, is that he owes the tax office a million pounds.

That old chestnut again!

I'd imagine that's going to be an even harder spot for The Winter Gardens to fill than Freddie Starrs' (who hardly ever turned up, anyway)!

Put A Little Smile On Their Faeces.

It seems reasonable to assume that this matter of dog poo littering the streets is not going to be resolved anytime soon.
Maybe it's about time that we started making the most of it by 'jazzing' the offending articles up a bit.

Perhaps we could...

A) Attach a smiley face stamp to a stick and cheer them up a bit.

B) Carry cans of spray paint around and make gold nuggets or rainbows of them.

C) Fire party poppers at them to give them a Christmassy feel.

D) Pop them in a paper bag, put them on an annoying neighbours door step, set fire to the bag, knock the door and run away.

It's either that or crack down on the owners and see how they like it!

Quiet Night Inn.

Not that I'm normally one to drink at home but I seem(ed) to have a bit of a stockpile and thought I'd try to utilise the space that it takes (took) up for something more worthwhile.
I don't shupposhe that any(hic)one has a shpare piano, is it?

Strong-arm Tactics.

Whilst chatting with a keen caricaturist friend of mine last week, I asked her, purely out of curiosity, if she could imagine onto paper an image of a dashing, half naked, clueless pilot.
Despite the fact that most modern aircraft have power steering, she seemed to imagine that this fellas' didn't.
I never will understand artists!

Big, Hard Microsoft.

With CPU technology streaking forward at breakneck speed, I recently found that it pays to check very carefully before buying anything that's been endorsed by Microsoft.
It seems that they'll stop at nothing to dispose of old stock.

Curry On Patron.

Ventured over to enemy turf last night to sample the offerings of The Artillery Arms curry night.
I must say that I wasn't dissapointed at all. Their fish curry was quite sublime!
Staying to the East of our fine seaside City would have netted me, perhaps, a bag full of Iceland meat and chips at The San Clu or something cheap and cheerless with a dodgy pint in The Prince Harry or a bag of peanuts in any other Eastcliff watering hole.
The walk was well worth it.
Hats off to the new owners of The Arty.
You have been added to The Ramsgate Tourettes Grub List.
Keep up the good work!

Don't Worry, I'll Kiss It Better.

There was obviously a case of mistaken identity here but Rooney didn't seem inclined towards putting Ronaldo straight!

Spotty Pussy.

Good to see that Pfizer are not just in it for the money but enjoy a bit of a laugh too.
A good friend of mine who works in the reveille department as head beagle player managed to sneak out this photo of their latest project.
A dotty and impractical idea, seemingly, but they are apparently very easy to spot in the garden.

Sun And Air.

After a dodgy start, the day seems to be picking up, weather wise.
Very nice, after that wet spell, to be having a bit of sun.
As I have the day off, I was looking forward to laying on the beach for a while to soak some of it up (the sun, not the beach).
Mind you, after all that nonsense at the weekend with that horrible child trying to build a camp, I think I may do my bikini line!

Love Is In The Air.

Decided to venture out for a relaxing stroll during my lunchbreak, after a hard morning's pipe laying, only to be greeted by this legend winging it's way along the coast.
Luckily, I had my camera with me!

Independent Thought.

Isn't today the day that we celebrate our 'handing over the tiller' to our colonial cousins?
I'll certainly be popping out for a drinky or four on the strength of it as, despite all their might and resource, I think they got the shitty end of the stick.
May be an oportune moment to cheer on the poor old Italians in their battle against the mighty Hun.
Perhaps they'll fare a little better without those scary guns all over the show?

Come Rain Or Shine.

I've not noticed the water board banging on about hosepipes and sprinklers so much during this latest simulation of a Saharan environment.
Nothing to do with their last assault, which coincided with the wettest May in living history, being somewhat usurped by the revelation that a major cities worth of water is keeping the stinging nettles alive every day, from their crappy old pipes, I suppose!
Or maybe their madvertising department has been sent off on a 'calm restoring' holiday in the Norfolk Broads?

I think I may go risk a sneaky hose down of the car, on the lawn of course!

Something For The Weekend, Sir?

What an absolute delight this weekend turned out to be. With an almost carnival atmosphere on the seafront and a bit of something for everyone, it reminded me of a childhood spent inland and the excitement of taking a trip to the seaside!
Though I realise that the weather can be unpredictable (something that our meteorology bureau doesn't seem to have clocked, despite demonstrating it frequently), we should, surely, be doing this on a more regular basis.
Is there some reason why the Pleasurama landfill site couldn't be utilised for weekend events until it's actully used for something more permanent? That should lend us perhaps another 10 years of empty space to use. Unless, of course, there is the fear that people will damage all the pram wheels, empty lager cans and other, assorted detritus.
One does wonder when the word 'seaside' is going to factor into the councils non-plans!
Or are we just expected to 'watch this space'?

Shake, Wobble And Roll.

On a lighter note, everyone seemed to be having a jolly good time at the Power Boat Extravaganza yesterday. Good atmosphere, music fit for the very drunkest among us and, some fine ales!
Yet again, I didn't get to see any boat racing. Did anyone, ever?
I certainly wouldn't mind seeing that kind of happy, frollicking crowd adorning the seafront every weekend during the summer months. It is, after all, what a seaside resort is all about at this time of year, surely!
And just for once I was glad of the Harris fencing along the promenade. Without it, I've a strong feeling I may have become part of the building project on the Pleasurama site below.
Gaddness only knows what was wrong with my legs?

Shrek And Wail.

These silly little temper tantrums of Plain Rooney are really starting to grate on the nerves.
I can understand that he may have been a bit frustrated, after all, he'd not had much in the way of ball contact in the whole contest, however, kicking an opponent in both of his and, consequently, the entire England squad in all of theirs, didn't seem to be the way to do it!
It even brought a tear to poor old (and he is starting to look old) Becks' eye.

Still, what goes around comes around. With luck he'll suffer a bit of sacking, himself!

The Sultan Of Browneye.

With summer now in full flight, the seafront was heaving and bustling with holiday revellers last night.
Lovely to see the town so popular and attracting quite a few millionaire types as well as the usual dross.
I even managed to get quite cosy with one of them before discovering that he was gay. Such a shame and a bit of a waste, I thought.
I'm starting to get a bit of a complex about it, as the vast majority of men that I meet these days declare their homosexuality as soon as I turn on the charm.

Guess I just don't have an eye for it, I suppose!

It's A Game Of Four Halves Plus Penalties.

But I must say I'm looking forward to The Power Boat Weekend in and around Ramsgate Royal Harbour, tomorrow and Sunday.
Looks to be a fun-packed weekend with entertainment in the shape of a Dianna Ross tribute band, someone(s) called Mental Floss, mini fairground, continental market, Ale tent, lager tent and erm... oh yes, power boat racing!
Let's hope we can show our German cousins a thing or two by lasting at least half a dozen halves before penalties are neccesary!

If You Don't Try, You Can't Fail.

Honesty, being the best policy, should really lend TDC to adopting this new slogan.
Yes, they may have gone part way to resolving the Pleasurama Unsightly Site issue by erecting Harris fencing along the promenade to block the view of it (though more likely to stop fly-tippers), but it really isn't the answer, is it?
As for expecting us to belive that the cliff is about to collapse, well, I'm sure that the litigation culture we live in would negate anyone from being allowed within half a mile of it. If it were true, then surely the cost of repairing it would pale in comparison to the potential defence budget they'd have to fork out were someone to fall and twist their ankle if it did collapse.
So maybe a bit of bullshit on their behalf? Wouldn't be the first time.
Personally, I've a feeling they're try to acclimatise people to losing the view in lieu of the building project that would have a similar effect.

If it were ever to happen!

Oh dear, I seem to have got out of the wrong side of bed this morning. I do wish the council would leave wider gaps between the slats on the back of their benches!

Taking The Heat Off The Fire Brigade.

After many years of research and a little bit of unavoidable cruelty (in order to be kind), I've finally managed to breed the answer to the old 'cat stuck up a tree' problem.
This wonderful little creature is not only able to chase the cat back down and de-flea itself but can also surprise passers-by with ariel bombardments that beggar belief.
He lends a whole new perspective to 'The Barkers Nest'!

Getting Turned On.

After a little deliberation and some rather beastly comments, I thought I'd change my picture yet again.
Well, noone likes to see people getting out of control, do they?

Webblogs Wobble But They Don't Fall Down?

Lovely to see Eastcliff (Ian Brady) Richard back in the seat and, this time, apparently taking no prisoners.
Never thought I'd hear myself say this but I'm starting to feel a bit sorry for the inventor of rapier wit, the aeroplane, blogging, newscasting and demure self effacement, Dr SMoores.
As the poor chap, himself, points out in his own defence, he spends six hours a day flying so how can he possibly be expected to come up with anything of note whilst dog tired with his nerves in tatters?
He'll end up going loopy (if he doesn't do that three times a day already, because it's ever so easy for an expert pilot), if people keep on.
So, I'd like to extend the hand of friendship to the good doctor and welcome him to visit this blog as often as he likes.
Just one request though. Please don't feel that you have to post anything if you're still tired and irritable after a long day of hard banking!

The Purrfect Pussy.

A friend of mine, who is also a professional photographer, took a few snaps of my little darling Crouching Tiddles the other day.
As I'm always delighted to show the old fella off, here he is having a little graze on the window sill.
Cute, isn't he.

Preposteriorus Proposal.

Being the gullible fool that I am, when a friend told me that the whole idea of this 'Dancing in the Moonlight' gig was about everyone baring their bums and dancing to the reflected light of said botties, I believed her.
Imagine my surprise (and annoyance at ruining a perfectly good pair of jeans) when this turned out to be patently untrue. Not that there was going to be much chance of dancing, anyway, as the choice of 'music' turned out to be jazz so people had to content themselves with a bit of foot tapping and marvelling at the downright cleverness of it all, instead.
Having said that and in testament to the indomitable English spirit, the atmosphere was good and people seemed to be having a great time, myself included (even though I was a little chilly around the bike park area)!
Quite by accident, I came across a tub of Gadds' Summer Ale being offered up for free to all Eastcliff residents. Hurrah!!! Unfortunately, all 5 of their plastic glasses had been issued out which lent a bit of an awkward angle to the distribution of said freebie. After a quick debate I decided to swallow my words and drink my hat.
As they say, 'there's no such thing as a free launch!'

Looking forward to the next one, though I may take my Walkman, my 'complete works of Barry Manilow' and a bucket with me!

Feeling A Right Tit.

Apparently, it seems, the image that I've chosen to portray myself is in bad taste.
Bearing this in mind, and not wanting to alarm small children, I've decided to change it for something more tasteful (if slightly less accurate).

This is not, after all, a porn site!

TDC Deaf Star Sighted, Hovering Over Thanets North Pole.

A questionable rumour has been circulating in certain circles of late!
It seems that TDC are going to pull out all the stops to get Margate back on the map.
One or two ideas have already been purloined by the top secret (until now) organisation, The Ramsgate Amateur Spy Training Association (RASTA).

1. Arlington House to be handed over to local businessman, Sir James Good'un, who will be lending a less conspicuous look to the 'work of architectural genius' by reducing it in size, somewhat. The work, when started, is expected to be completed in about 12 hours.

2. Winter Gardens to be renamed Summer Allotments and to become holiday home for local vegetables during the 'busy' season, allowing tourists to enjoy the seafront without being hindered.

3. New pier to be built. Taking into account the technical difficulties experienced with the last pier, the new pier will run from the main beach to the clock tower, thus avoiding problems with salt water corrosion. No adverse traffic problems (other than those currently in force) are expected in conjunction with this project.

4. Large gold tooth to be erected on site of 'local businessmans' former restructuring project, pending planning permission.

5. Seagulls to be rounded up and relocated to south side of the island.


May I be the first to wish them good luck and Godspeed with this ambitious undertaking.

Bog Standard Technology.

Whilst trying to sort out a glitch on my computer today, I came across this very useful page in my manual and thought I'd share.
It certainly cleared up a few issues for me!

Ramsgate Dickout Festival.

Just got back from Broadstairs and am suitably impressed with the wonderful costumes, of Dickensian bent, being worn all around town. What a lovely idea!
I suggest that we have our own festival in Ramsgate along the same lines. Obviously, as the great man only ever came here to empty his poo bucket, we wouldn't be able to call it a Dickins Festival so how about a Dickout Festival?
Who knows, in years to come we may be able to merge the two and have a Shake It All About Festival.
From small acorns (and I'll bet there will be a few at our event) mighty oak trees grow!

Return Of The King.

I hear through the grapevine, well a bottle of wine actually, that the master of mirth, Eastcliff (Frodo Baggins) Richard, is returning to our sunny chores today.
I'd certainly like to attend the ticker-tape parade and soak up some of the inevitable elation with the throng but unfortunately I'm having a new shim fitted today, so won't be mobile for a bit.
Will be drinking a toast, and maybe eating a coffee, later though!

Nova Kosher.

I was interrogated by a Scottish gentleman, who wasn't prepared to share the road, on a bicycle today.
"Did you realise there was a bicycle behind you?", he asked.
"No, after spending the last half mile stuck behind you, I'd completely eradicated you from my mind", I thought.
Being as brief as these fleeting encounters allow, I managed "Yes, eventually!"

Maybe I'd be better suited to driving a taxi.

Talking Balls.

Apologies to all those that have little interest in footie but I seem to be getting swept away with all the international excitement of it all. It's got so bad that I even had a dream about a romantic encounter with Wayne Rooney last night.

Well, I ask you, who wears their glasses to bed?

From Pillock To Post.

Good to see our lads aiming at the Swedish players, rather than the goal last night.
A win would've meant playing Germany next but a draw was good enough to win the group for us, so, a draw it was.
Will we be celebrating the 40th aniversary of the last time we won the World War Cup with an epic battle in the final mit Der Farterland?
Dammit, I'm going to start drinking Coca Cola!

Der Deutche Botschafter.

Good to see Germany prevailing in The World War Cup.
No doubt our fine lads will be seeing to them soon enough!
A fair few generations of bitter resentment are at stake here, so I'm hoping for an interesting game!

Teeny, Meany, Minor, ASBO.

Walking home from a lovely evening out with friends last night, I made the dubious choice of taking a shortcut along King Street.
If Ramsgate is, as it has been named in the past, Little London then King Street would, perhaps, be better named Little Newington.
Alarming enough, all the derelict shops and buildings. Scary, the fact that a lot of them seem to be inhabited. Absolutely horrifying, what they appear to be inhabited by!
Surely I'm not the only one that feels the temperature drop by 10 degrees during the passage, the hair stand up on the back of my neck and the regret that I didn't bring my own flick-knife?
Feral children are a daunting enough prospect at the best of times but when a good portion of them appear to be in their 30's, 40's and 50's, well, it's a bit much!
With a bit of bricking up and a few tubes of silicon, however, I do think the whole thing would make a lovely moat.

The Black And Blue Menstrual Show.

As if having an egg sized lump on my forehead isn't enough.

Now this!!!

It does make me wonder, with more than just a little trepidation, what's going to happen next.

I already feel like a Klingon, fresh from battle with a dirty fighter.

Think I may pull a sicky today!

Wine, Women and Thong.

Three things, in my experience, that do not mix at all well.
I really must make a point of going 'commando', in future, if I'm gonna crack open that second bottle!
Bloody things are like bolas when inexpertly operated.
Lord knows how I'm going to explain the big bruise on my forehead at work tomorrow?

Hanging Out With The Bloggers.

Just in case anyone is curious at all, I thought I'd publish a picture of myself all dressed up for a night on the town.

Doors Closing...Going Down...................Proverb!

After getting over the initial shock of discovering that the Eastcliff Lift is finally open, I thought I'd save my little legs and hitch a lift to the seafront.
It seems that the Universal Translator has been patched up to the point where some of the running commentary is now intelligible, even if it is stating the bleedin' obvious!
I wasn't too sure what was going to greet me when the craft touched down, maybe someone banging on about 'throwing stones in glass houses'. Turned out to be an empty Fanta can and a few chips.
Not sure that I get the council's sense of humour sometimes but if they do decide to change the dialogue to a more appropriate 'Doors closing...Going down.............Pile of discarded crap!', let's hope it doesn't put the lift out of action until the August bank holiday!

All the sixes clickety, clickety, click

Devils' bingo day seems to have gone by very surreptitiously, so far.
I've got my money on the last sixth of it being the rotten bit.
That will, of course, cover pub 'chucking out time'. As if that isn't a bad enough thing in itself!

Well Balanced Sex.

Heard on the radio today (so it must be true, if inaccurate) that around 50% of adult males, in England, are single.
The problem, it appears, is sexual equality.
As women have steered away from traditional roles, men have steered away from employing the services of someone that only does the stuff that they can do for themselves. The use of machines for these 'other' services, being the preferred option.
Obviously, there's still one or two things that require a coming together of forces but those things, as I have, myself, discovered, only really nip a minute or two out of your day.
A wag was reported to have commented "Well, women have priced themselves out of the market, haven't they".

Had I been there, I think I may well have knocked his loose change out of his hand!

Time Squared.

I turned up stupidly late for the lunchtime session today.
Somehow my bedside clock got knocked about during the night and ended up upside down.
A freak of nature was not to blame. Apparently it was my fault for buying a square, analogue clock in the first place.
Shopping in Argos seems so easy but it's worth reading between the lines of the small print!

Twisted Space.

Did we experience some kind of rip in the fabric of space/time this morning?
I awoke at 3-30 to find the room ablaze with bright sunshine.
Did the planet wobble a little bit, last night?