New Years Revolution.

Having been accosted on several occasions, by souls full of dissent, while standing out in the bloody cold, my cigarette being the only thing to keep me warm (and also the reason that I'm there), I'm starting to get the feeling that some kind of revolution may be in order.
It was bad enough when, a few years ago, they banned people from having sex on pub pool tables, but this is just outrageous!
I'd suggest that there would need to be a group of at least a dozen of us (we could be the dirty dozen, eh?), to go around Ramsgate pubs, masking the rather unsavoury whiffs of human beings that seems to be accumulating in them, these days.

Anyone up for that?

Please be advised that if I don't get any support and have to do this on my own, I may end up blogging a lot more as a result of being banned from our local hostelries.

Sex Bomb.

On a girly night out, last night, in Deal, I met this strapping, handsome squaddie in The Bohemian. Not normally one for our camouflaged, gun toting heroes, I do enjoy one from time to time (much like a KFC) and this one WAS a looker!
Unfortunately, during our conversation, he did confess to being the victim of a home-made bomb, while doing his stint in Northern Ireland. He was working in motorcycle dispatch (rather inappropriately) at the time, and the bomb had been placed under his saddle. It was only a small device, about big enough to launch a sausage a few feet into the air, but plenty big enough to spoil my evening.
"Don't worry," he assured me, "I've become quite handy with my 9mm Browning since then, and you won't go away unsatisfied!"

Unconvinced that, in the heat of the moment, he'd be able to withdraw before shooting, I decided to remain curious about the whole thing.

Some girls have all the luck, eh?

The Test Of Thyme.

Believe it or not, one of my favourite things to do is cook (being the domestic Goddess that I am), so you can imagine how passionately I feel about Christmas lunch. Though, in my experience, no matter how carefully a meal is planned, there's always a hicup that forces you towards the type of innovation that can make or break hours of preparation.
With this in mind, it's worth noting, for those of you that like to make your own ice-cream, that if you're out of fresh mint, thyme does NOT make a satisfactory substitute!
Still, the starters (caramelised pilchard) and the main course (roast pidgeon foo yung, well I had a lot of eggs) went down very well.
As that fat, greasy haired Meatloaf fella will happily gurgle at you, two out of three ain't bad!

Beggar's Belief.

Not normally the type to dish out my hard earned cash to someone who's effort to sustain themselves extends only as far as holding their hand out, Christmas brought out the charitable side of me, this year, and I found myself flipping a pound coin into the hat of a hapless looking soul, outside Woolies, on Christmas day.
Feeling like I'd saved a life and exonerated my charitable spirit for another year, hapless, hand-out Herbert went on to point out that it was Christmas Day and, traditionally, people were paid double time for working it.
There was a minor scuffle when I reached down to take my unwanted pound back, but thankfully it didn't really amount to any more than that.

Unlike my pound, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be a pair of pounds.

These people really ought to be careful what they wish for!

Cheque In The Post.

Something that never fails to boggle my mind is that unfathomable question of why, in this day and age, do we still have to wait five working days for a cheque to clear?
What is it that takes so long?
Surely any correspondence between banks is done electronically now, allegedly at the speed of light.
Having popped into the bank last Friday to deposit a cheque, I was informed that the money will be available to spend sometime next year, at the very earliest. I could, however, speed things up by one day (wow!), by bunging the bank twenty quid. Of course, it's not actually possible to take the twenty quid from the balance of the cheque, as it hasn't been cleared yet. And to add insult to injury, the cheque was issued from another account at my bank!

Do any of you have banking tendancies, and may be able to answer this question?
I'd dearly like to know!

Festival Season.

I heard, this afternoon, that Ramsgate Football Club is holding a beer festival at the social club by their stadium, tonight and tomorrow.
I think I may pop along there this evening, in the hope that it is actually open to the public, as noone outside of their fraternity seems to have been invited!
Had a jolly good time there last year, with a lovely selection of beer and some very dodgy looking, but tasty, sausages.

Thrombosis Man, c*nt.

Having deliberated further over this anti-hero idea, I can see how it may be applied to our fair island, uncovering the truth about how Thanet society really works.
So I've compiled a list of our very own anti-heroes, in the hope that they could be used in the making of a mega-blockbuster movie, which would put Thanet on the map and, hopefully, persuade the rest of the World that autonomy would really be the way forward for us!

If it works, I'd like to choose the colours for our flag. And it would be nice to finally see something flapping from our restored flagpole by the Eastcliff Lift, other than a herring gull.

So then,

1. Team Subterfuge. Full of South Eastern promise, this squad of miscreants operates under the guise of councillors for the people, but would probably be better off opening a zoo, if only we could get them to admit to having collected enough monkeys (in brown envelopes), over the years.

2. Robbing Hood Boy. Looking much like any other member of his tribe, Robbing Hood is the master of pulling the wool over his own eyes. Able to go anywhere, incognito, and do as he pleases, without thought for anyone, including himself, this one really makes a mockery of big brother (not the popular TV programme. That takes care of itself in that respect).

3. Free Coffee Drinking, Fat Bobby. Often found lurking in Harbour Street, offering the great public service of thwarting the plans of any criminal desperate enough to try and drive into the pedestrianised precinct during the hours of 9 to 5, his only weakness being his inability to give hot pursuit if anyone moves away from him at any speed that exceeds walking pace.

4. The Dog Trainer. Seen around and about town, attempting to teach the dog to do backward summersaults by yanking as hard as possible on it's lead. Other tricks include getting it to fall over sideways by kicking it, making kindling wood for the old folk by clamping it's mouth to a tree branch while beating it with a stick and, of course, providing employment for Council road sweepers.

5. Cycle Path Boy. Being those helpful young souls that like to park their bikes on their sides, across shop doorways. Presumably they get some kick out of having their wheels bent, when you have to walk across their spokes to gain access to said shops.

6. Spare Fag Person. Though in truth, this one will attempt to ponce anything it thinks it needs, being entirely unaware of the existence of money or how to procure it. The reply "I'm sorry, I don't have a spare anything" simply falls upon deaf ears and is often responded to with "have you got a spare rizla, then?" or some such thing. There's not much use in trying to enlighten them by pointing out the proper procedure for these things, getting a job, earning money etc. as this would be way, way beyond their purview.


I won't pretend for a moment that this is the definitive list, rather just a handful of our local anti-heroes. If anyone would care to add to it, please feel free.

Thrombosis Man.

While watching 'Heroes', America's latest attempt at instilling hope into it's masses by making them believe that around one in five of them will develop the ability to fly telepathically through walls in a changeable future-scape and save the World from anything non- American, I noticed a rather disturbing ommision.
Where are all the anti-heroes?
I've spotted one, so far, who has the enviable ability to lop the tops off the heads of 'the good guys'.
Whoopie-doo!
So the following list, if they feel they can be honest enough about life to make use of it, is of a few additions to the cast, in order to redress this equipoisal inconsistency.

1. Thrombosis Man. Bestowed with the power to cause blood to spontaneously clot his victims legs, this character could reduce the fear of flying in many people by offering them the option of 'copping it' whether they fly or not.

2. Chlamydia Boy. With the ability to render people 'diseased' without them even realising it, this anti-hero could actually reduce the queues in doctors' waiting rooms through the power of ignorance, alone. Not so fictional, this one, as I've actually met him in three different guises, on four different occasions.

3. Correct Change Woman. Most likely in the form of a 'little old lady', this one could wreak havoc with the bus system, causing all the busses on a single route to bunch up into a long line, and also negate any need for Thrombosis Man to visit supermarkets.

4. Sexually Inadequate Milkman. Blessed with the knack for dispelling folklore and myth, which have existed for many years, surrounding the sexual prowess of our Ernies, this fella could cause bitter disappointment for housewives up and down the Country.

Or, on the other hand, do we neccesarily look to our tellies for truth and enlightenment?
Probably not, otherwise Eastenders wouldn't be nearly as popular as it is, I suppose.
Personally, if I want the wool pulled over my eyes and to be fed confusing nonsense, I'll visit Thanet Life. Thankfully that doesn't happen unless I'm feeling paticularly depressed.

Milk Of Amnesia.

I bumped into Milkey Mike last night and it seemed to me like the wedding plans might be off!
Poor soul made the mistake of trying to ignore me, presumably in the hope that I would reciprocate.
In so far as I have any, that isn't my style!
Still, now that most of the clientele of Churchill's are aware of his erection problems, propensity for wearing female underware and possesion of an inflatable sheep, he'll maybe think twice about being rude in the future.

Men!

Analgram Man.

Had an interesting chat with this fella in The Artillery Arms last night, who seemed quite proud of the fact that he used to be a rent-boy.
Never having met, to my knowledge, that camped-up Justin chappie from Birchington (where is he, by the way?), he did leave me wondering if he might not be one and the same.
I'm sure he wouldn't have recognised me though, as both of my breasts were well ensconsed in a roll neck, multi-colour, chunky knit tank-top.

By Request.

After an avalanche of requests (well two, and they were from the same person) to see a picture of my little box, I've decided to relent and reveal all.


So here it is....


Though it beats me why the bloody milkman won't use it!

I'm A Celebrity, Get Everyone Else Out Of Here!

Is Eastcliff Richard really upset about having to constantly delete comments from some 'nutter' , or is turning 'comments' off a disguised attempt to beat the track record for 'fewest comments on a blog', currently held by the alternative alternative newspaper, blue tint Thanet Blog?
Only possible because, a while back, I commented on it myself, before recoiling in horror as I realised that I'd just broken it's hymen, so to speak.
There should be some kind of notice up, warning people!
Anyhow, now the damage is done, if people started commenting all over it, I wonder if Richard would turn his back on?

Hell, I Copped A Pad!

Further to yesterday's grumble, as I was walking into town, along King Street, not half an hour after moaning about the market days litter, I trod on something soft.
Just as when you cut your finger and are reluctant to look at it, because you know it's going to be grim, I had the same reaction with what I believed to be a dog turd.
So you can imagine my relief and delight, when I finally looked, to discover that it was a used sanitary towel.
I'd love to meet the woman who changes her towels outside a florist. I should imagine that she's an interesting person, indeed!

A Brush With The Lore.

One of the things that I love about my Sunday afternoon trawl to the Westcliff, in search of a half decent pub, rather than the eighth decent ones we have on the Eastcliff, is when inclement weather drives me through town, instead of going along the seafront. Takes me back to my youth, when I used to play with the rough boys on the local tip, wading knee deep through rubbish, though I don't recall nearly as much polythene and food detritus.
You'd think that, after two days of crap vending at the market, TDC might have highlighted a need for some kind of SWAT team to limp (as most of their cleaning staff seem to) into action and save themselves the chore of chasing it all over town for the next week!
Not that I hold any truck with the myth that this used to happen. It never, to my recollection, has. Well, not the clearing up, that is. Though the police did used to send out SWAT individuals to redden the ears of potential litter bugs.
Good old days, eh.

And no, I didn't get my leg under, last night!

I Am NOT A Lesbian!

But it seems that a fair few of you, er, gentlemen would rather believe that than face up to the fact that you're just not being fancied!
Yet again, in the pub last night, I had to face that same, tired scenario of a failed, piss-poor chat-up turning into aspersions upon my sexuality.
Makes me quite angry!
I think it's time to get a tee-shirt made up that bears this title across the top of it, with the added note 'Though I'd still rather sleep with a fat hairy bean-flicker than a minger like you!'

That ought to do it!

Flat Truth.

I had the builder round yesterday, and what a helpful little soul he was, indeed!
After informing me that I had a felt roof, and there were never any tiles there in the first place (doh!), he went on to point out a few flaws that I did have.

1. My breasts were starting to slump and needed some extra support.

2. There's a nasty looking crack beneath them that could do with filling in.

3. My back passage is quite mouldy and starting to crumble.

He said that he could correct all these problems for £150 so I decided to take him up on his kind offer.

Well, with five weeks off work, I could do with the money!

A Night Off The Tiles.

Gracious me!
I've been looking forward to a spot of English weather for a while now, but this is, perhaps, taking it to an extreme.
What with all those strong winds, I thought it would be prudent to go and check the tiles on my roof, this morning. Imagine my surprise upon discovering that they are all gone. Every single one! Furthermore, there doesn't seem to be any sign of them, anywhere.
Must've been blowing a proper hooley in the wee, small hours!

Ah well, best call the builders in, I suppose.
Now where's that insurance policy?

Carbine Footprint.

Interesting to note, with Christmas fast approaching, that most of the blogs I visit are starting to lean towards the subject of popping caps in the asses of neighbouring Country-folk.
What with that, the usual frenzied assualt on Woolworth and the subsequent fall in donations to the RNLI, it does make one wonder if a message isn't being missed.

Being a casual observer myself, I do have to wonder if, when the shit hits the fan (and Christmas finally arrives), my alcohol consumption alone will be enough.
Just to be on the safe side, I think I'll drop in on my old aunt Edna, being my only family member that isn't 'off with the Canaries' at the moment, and nick some of her valium.

Great Tits.

Managed to catch up with Milky Mike this morning and boy, does he know his beans when it comes to delivering the white stuff!
Though if I had one criticism, it would be that the tits cop most of the cream. Quite unnecessary really as I do have a little box next to my back door that he can stick it in.
Never mind, eh? I'm sure he knows best.

The Land That TDC Forgot.

Finally, after months of intensive training, I'm now a fully trained member of The Australian Reconnaissance Service Elite. And it's ok, now that I have my final exam results and know what my placement will be, to talk about it.
Not that I really want to, mind you, but suffice it to say that the ARSE offices, henceforth, will shine like a new pin!
Anyhow, they've given me five weeks off to spend Christmas with my family, who, I found out yesterday, are all buggering off to Tenerife for the month. They did ask me if I wanted to tag along but, after spending the last six months running around in 30/40 degree heat, the last thing I wanted to do was visit a sub-tropical volcano.
No, it'll be cold, damp, drizzly Ramsgate for me for Christmas. The town that never changes.
Home!
It's taken me a few days to catch up on local news, as Eastcliff Richard seems to have become quite prolific of late, but it's all mind-bogglingly amusing stuff despite it's focus on (or maybe because of it's focus on) social, political and spiritual inertia.
Gosh, I've missed this place.

Though I'm quite confident that five weeks will put paid to that!

Barrett Holmes.

There certainly seems to be no 'putting one over' on that razor-sharp, retro stylised, Catweasel impersonating proprietor of the new and improved Belgian Bar (see photo).



Upon returning from the not-so-fashionable Western Spiral Arm of Ramsgate, last night, with a bunch of friends, we decided to pop in for a quick Leffe and a laugh. Having noticed, of late, that The Crowman's nemesis seems to be emptying the till every half-hour, presumably to satisfy his newly aquired 'money monitors' that the takings are now being filed correctly and that they will be getting their leccy money back (with a small donation going into the toilet restoration fund, which I'm led to believe now stands at £18-73), we thought it would be quite funny to hide the thing.
Being sure that noone spotted us, it took him less than a minute to find it.
We were all a little astonished, and suitably impressed, having hidden it in a place that we were quite sure that he never visited!

Still, on the bright side, at least he's aware of the appaling state of his toilets, now!

The Lull Between The Storms.

Now that I'm working for a Government that prefers to keep it's identity secret (the Australians are funny like that), I find myself, for the first time in my life, having to be careful what I say.
So I'll confine myself to recounting my experiences during my (very little) time off.
I managed to have the whole weekend off, just passed, and spent most of my waking hours hanging around the ale tent, supping some wonderful beers, at the Power Boat Extravaganja, taking brief periods out to eat or be spun around by mechanical devices until I was almost sick. Great fun!
Unlike ECR, though, I wasn't quite brave enough to have a go on the elasticated tossing machine. That and the fact that it cost £15 a go and, not being a millionaire, I thought the money would be better spent on getting lashed-up.
Wasn't the weather lovely!
The only thing that I found a little disappointing was that the crowd appeared to be about 99% absolutely minging (though full of bonhomie, despite their dire circumstances)! But the beer, eventually, put paid to that and I found myself 'getting off' with one of the bar tenders, though, for the life of me, I can't recall which one it was, now. Still, I'm sure that he'll remember, particularly since, in my inebriated state, I managed to drag him to the floor a few times on the way home.
Living in a seaside town, it did beg the question "why can't something like this be organised on a more regular basis, throughout the summer?". Still, it looks like the Pleasurama site is going to keep it's fun-fair until the construction of executive rabbit hutches starts, later in the year, so let's make the most of that, eh?
Anyhow, now that the shaking is finally starting to abate, I suppose I'd better get on with some work while I wait for the memories to start creeping up on me, causing the odd spontanious blush, like they often do!

What's All This, Grommit?

Blimey!
I've just got home from a beer-braced, breath of fresh air in the pub, all the smokers going on about how horrible it is there, now and all the non-smokers going on about how horrible the smokers' goings on were, now, to find that previous entry on MY blog!
Noone knows my password, I'm sure! After all, who would think that anyone would be stupid enough to use their username as their password?
No, it must've been that dog, as everything else is dead (though I have heard a scratching sound, behind the sofa).

But that's just absurd! I may not know an awful lot about dogs but I do know that they can't type.

Umm.. can they copy and paste?

Wind-In The Willows.

Dunedin will host a test match for the first time in a decade when New Zealand and Bangladesh play at University Oval early in January.
New Zealand have not played a test in Dunedin since the second test against Sri Lanka in March 1997 - a match won by an innings and 36 runs to preserve the Black Caps' unbeaten record there over 10 tests stretching back to 1955.Those tests were all played at Carisbrook, which has fallen out of favour as an international cricket and rugby venue.The second of the two tests against Bangladesh will be played at Wellington's Basin Reserve.NZ Cricket chief executive Justin Vaughan said he was looking forward to test cricket returning to the southern outpost."Otago Cricket and the Dunedin City Council are working very hard to prepare the University Oval to international standards and we are looking forward to it holding its first test match."NZC has formalised a busy domestic calendar for the Black Caps, dovetailed between a tour of South Africa in November; the annual Chappell-Hadlee Trophy series in Australia and a tour of England in May-June.Bangladesh will also play three one-day internationals here.England arrive on January 28 for a two-month tour comprising three tests, five ODIs, two Twenty20 matches and games against Canterbury and Otago.Wellington hosts the second England test. Hamilton's Seddon Park is the venue of the series opener while McLean Park in Napier has been awarded the third rubber.Jade Stadium and Eden Park have been overlooked as test venues though they will host Twenty20 and ODIs while being redeveloped for the 2011 Rugby World Cup.
Queenstown again has the traditional New Year's Eve match - this time involving Bangladesh.

RIP Tiddles.

Of course, I'm not so heartless that I'd let Tiddle's death be in vain!

Eli Pepsi.

I must confess that I'm a little bit upset about the demise of poor old Crouching Tiddles. I should also confess that I feel, in some small way, partly responsible for said dispatch, by buggering off for months on end and leaving him locked in the house. Mind you, had he had his wits about him, he might have eaten the goldfish or hamster before they too expired of, er, natural causes.
Never mind though. After fighting my way through a crowd of belligerent smokers, into the pub tonight, I met a rather interesting and gorgeous looking chap who seemed hell-bent on re-homing his pet dog, a rather cute looking Yorkshire Terrier called Eli Pepsi. Somewhat curious about the name, I was informed that the little fella is a Michael Jackson fan and refuses to drink Coca Cola, prefering, instead, to drink Pepsi and go 'woof'!
Sounds like my kinda dog!
Well let's see how that pans out, eh?
I'll get a picture of him posted as soon as I can find the charger for my camera.

Pigs Do Fly.

After an exhausting 28 hours of flying, I've decided to take the plane next time I go abroad.
I'd love to tell you where I've been but, were I to do so, I could end up losing my job at The Australian Embassy, as they like us to keep hush-hush about that sort of thing. I've only been there for a few months, so I think I'll toe the line.
And the first thing that I do when I get home from my training, after admiring my new tan in the hallway mirror from the top of a mountain of letters and free papers, clearing up the remains of my cat (oops), and popping ten bob in the leccy meter? Have a nose on blogger, of course!
Nice to see people banging on about aeroplanes after spending more than a day couped up in one of those flying coffins (see photo).
If you want peace, quiet and clean, fresh air, go hide in a pub, I'd say!

I don't suppose, for a moment, that I'm going to get a wink of sleep tonight.
Maybe a nice, hot bath and a candle (for mood lighting, honestly!) would be the answer?

Look At All This Dust!

Filling In The Trench?

Walking along King Street, last night, as I do whenever I'm felling a little brave or drunk, I noticed that they've erected scaffolding all over the place.
What's going on there, then?
Is the road about to be refurbished (with luxury apartments) or are they going to take it all down (so they can build luxury apartments)?

Anyone in the know, because I certainly haven't recieved any information from my personal Oracle (The Isle Of Thanet Gazzette)?

Parse Dover.

If I had to choose a favourite beer festival, I think, perhaps, that The Whitecliff Festival Of Winter Ales would have to be it!
Held in Dover Town Hall, Maison Dieu, a beautiful building that's absolutely steeped in history, they offer some wonderfully crafted ales, all at £2-00 a pint and nothing under 5%. If, like so many people, you have the desire to annihilate as many brain cells as possible while savouring your tipple, then this is the festival to attend, albeit only in a physical sense towards the end of it!
In addition, it also offers the opportunity to meet some of the most boring, unimaginative and bizzare people that CAMRA has to offer. As an example, one rather portly and ruddy jowled gentleman that I met, suddenly launched into a story, with great vehemence, about the time that the police came to his house and he declared to them, for some inexplicable reason, that if anyone were ever to hurt either of his nieces, they'd better get to the person responsible before he did! I can imagine that the poor officers concerned were just as surprised with that outburst as I was.
But hey, apart from the beer, there was also a full moon to compliment the proceedings!
And, of course, there were also all the usual shenanigans that accompany the arse-end of the session, namely the odd, prone carcass to impede your journey to the loo and bar staff that were so pissed, they were having trouble adding up the single token that you'd just given them for your beer.
In a break with tradition, though, the usual Battle of Britain re-enactment with paper planes was replaced with something more akin to War of the Worlds, this year, with flying saucers in the shape of beer mats, taking to the skies. Nice to see the proceedings being brought up to date without negating the possibility of losing an eye and also refreshing to note that it was, indeed, possible to make use of at least one of the naff tombola prizes!

Huzzah!

I think I may pop along there again, today!

Cobb Lures.

I see that those nice (I assume) people who are putting on a beer festival in Margate (yes, well, wherever) at Easter are going to have a stab at cobbling together an old Margate brew. Remembering only too well what Cobbs' beers were like (I'm not as young as I look), I sincerely hope that they're going to do a better job of it than Cobb and Co. ever managed!
I'd better get an extra couple of loo rolls in, just in case.
Sounds like fun, though!

28 Days Later.

Well, more like five weeks since my last blog!
Doesn't seem like that long but Mikey has been keeping me quite busy. Time flies when you're having fun and all that!.
Anyway, that 'real life' thing is ok in small doses but sooner or later a girl is going to want to get back to the more malleable and manipulative World of blog, isn't she?
I do hope, sincerely, that unlike the popular film of that title, I haven't awoken to a World turned zombie in my absense! Though looking around me, I think I'm going to need a little more convincing to the contrary.
On the bright side, however, the Zombie King (Mr Baldy, I Love Myself, Dress Sense Of A Five Year Old Miami Vice Fan, Pissy Pants, Doofer), seems to have retreated to his faecal lined lair, so perhaps things aren't as hopeless as they, at first, seem!
I notice that he did pop out recently for a ten mile walk (part of which was taken by bus), so that should stand him in good stead for his six day trek to The Maasai this month (as long as the busses are running)!

Musn't forget, also, to purchase a copy of The Tin Drummer, as, after printing this, ....

Jeremy Jacobs' blog is a fascinating mix of presenting, media, politics and humour. He writes with verve, irony and a dry wit. His presenting posts are always interesting to those of us who know absolutely nothing about it, but all of his posts are engaging and well worth a read.

.... I'm pretty sure it'll come in useful in the kitchen, should I be unfortunate enough to have a chip-pan fire.

Honestly, what a wanker!

And that REALLY will be the last I have to say on the matter.

...er, for the moment.