Without A Clu.

Well I thought I'd left it long enough to chance my arm at venturing back into the San Clu (Comfort Inn, in decimal currency), after all that nonsense with my friend Hellen, the damned collonial.
After all, it wasn't me that was sick in their fridge!
And I think I would've got away with it if it wasn't for my big mouth!
I'd managed to drink half of my pint of Seasider and was just about to order some food, when, rather stupidly, I checked with the big, burly bar manager to make sure that there weren't any Americans staying in the hotel at the mo.
He gave me a quizzical look, then a little light of recognition flickered across his face and he asked me, quite politely, to bugger off.

Much as I like Hellen, I do hope she doesn't decide to visit me again. I can get into my own little pickles, ta very much!

It All Comes Out In The Wash.

Burned At The Steak II.

And before anyone asks what happened to 'Burned At The Steak 2 through to 10', I suggest you get yourself a grammar education, like what I did, so you know what Roman numerals are all about. It's never too late to learn, even at the age of LIX or so (such a shame that that's 59, rather than 69).

Anyway, it's that time of the week again. The donkeys have been slaughtered and butchered and all that remains is to throw a few chips at them, before we try to break them down with alcohol in our guts.
After having had such a marvelous time, in Churchill's, last week, and all joking aside, it was good food and beer, I think I'll be off there again tonight, for another L Bobsworth.

Lucky old L Bobsworth, eh?

The Early Berk Catches The Work.

Off to start a new job this morning, which requires a six o'clock start.
Yay!
My duties, so I'm told, will be to assemble the legs onto Barbie dolls.
I did tell the fella who interviewed me that I had next to no experience when it came to putting legs together, but he seemed quite pleased with that and said I'd be perfect for the job. Not sure that I liked the little glint in his eye when he said that, but hey ho, the guy has worked in a factory for some time and he's probably gone a bit ga-ga.

On the bright side, I'll be finished in time for the lunch-time session in the pub, where I can get to work on disassembling my own legs!

Now Is The Winter Of Our Disco Tent.

Saints preserve us! Much as I enjoy a good old knees-up in the Marquee on the harbour, for Ramsgate week, that was quite a scary experience with all that wind, yesterday.
At one point among all the straining and groaning (I knew I shouldn't have eaten that steak on Tuesday), it felt as if the whole thing was going to take off and go smother a fire in Margate.
Still, hats off to the erectors (and anyone walking along the seafront), it stood it's ground.

Pity it didn't take off, really. I'd've loved to have chased it through town, yelling "Disco, disco duck."

Burned At The Steak.

Always on the lookout for a cheap meal deal, I trundled off to The Churchill Tavern last night in an effort to clog my bowel for £2-50. Well for goodness sake, £2-50 for steak, chips and trimmings! Even if it wasn't very good, it'd still be excellent value for money. As luck would have it, it was rather tasty indeed.
The downside though, which I didn't notice until I tried to walk home, was a really scrummy beer called Drop Dead Extra, or something. I only had a few pints of it but blimey, it had me weaving all over the place.
I found out later that it was almost 6%.

Still, I may have to pencil that in as a weekly treat, though I'll be reading the small print on the beers from now on!

Downtime Blues.

How I hate it when my computer goes tits-up! It's like losing a limb!
Never mind, though. Getting it fixed was marginally cheaper than buying a prosthesis, and I haven't got to learn how to walk again, or start writing with my left hand, so things aren't so bad, I suppose.

The guy at the computer mending shop seemed a bit perplexed about what had gone wrong with the thing, but assured me that by replacing everything inside the boxy bit, I shouldn't have any more problems.
Well so far, so good.
Though I did get a bit of an odd error message earlier, that had me scratching my head (although that could have been my pesky cat and it's fleas).
Anyone care to enlighten me as to what it means?

You Shall Have A Fissure On Your Little Kisser, You Shall Have A Fissure, When The Boot Comes In!

Much as I love little seaside shanties, I can't help but think that some of our Ramsgate anthems lack romance.
That was one song, inspired by a moonlit walk through King Street, but I'll bet there are plenty more! How about "Oh I do Like to vandalise the beach slide" or "Is a life by the Ocean grave?"
Perhaps they could be incorporated into next years carnival?

Ghost Raita.

After being asked out on a date last night, for the first time in months, I was reluctant to poo-poo my suitors choice of venue, The Ramsgate Tandoori (the reviews speak for themselves), for fear of giving offence. The poor lad seemed to think that it was curry heaven in Ramsgate and I haven't eaten there in years, so, I thought, let's give it a go!

Oh dear!

From the 'wet lettuce' handshake from the owner, on arrival, to the 'wet lattice' array of food, the whole experience was horrid!
Still, I managed to have a bit of fun with the waiter by making a big fuss about one of the dips being haunted.
Well it was!! I know ectoplasm when I see it!
He still wasn't convinced, even when the thing levitated and ended up, upside down on the bar. Though to be honest, I did have to help it a little with lift-off.

My date didn't seem too impressed and was reluctant to continue with the rest of the evening's festivities.

How's that supposed to make a gal feel, eh, playing second fiddle to a place like that?!

A Chip (On The Shoulder?) Off The Old Blog.

Well I've had one of those afternoons where my imagination has been at such a low ebb that I've been perusing all of the Thanet blogs.
As bad as it may seem, there was only one blog (not counting Michael's or my own) that I just couldn't finish reading even one of the many posts that had been vomited onto it. Y'know, that bloke that spells his name with a silent 'P' and has an IQ that peaks at 146, though I strongly suspect that it averages at about 30.

And he has comment moderation turned on!!!!
Who the Hell is ever going to want to get drawn into that World of insane paranoia by passing comment? Ok, I think I answered my own question there. It's going to be nutters, isn't it!

I've a sneaking suspicion that the whole thing may be driven by some kind of head trauma, sustained during his formative years!

E Bay Glum.

With my new-found wealth, I thought I'd do what us gals do best and indulge in a little shopping.
Credit card in hand, I couldn't resist going for this little number on e-Bay, as I am a bit of a one for time/labour saving devices...





So you can imagine my disappointment, after winning it for a snip at 50p, when the seller tried to back out of the deal, claiming it to be a joke!
Rubbish! I think he was just after more money!

I've already complained to e-Bay but have found them to be most unhelpful. The woman that I finally managed to talk to even laughed at me and called me an idiot, for goodness sake!

Surely there's someone else that I can complain to, but so far this 'organisation' seems to be a rule unto itself!

I shall never shop there again!!!

Up In The Dumps.

Ha!
So much for The A.R.S.E. (Australian Reconnaissance Service Elite, for those that can't work out how to read previous posts) no longer requiring my specialist services!
I received a rather paniky phone call from them, three weeks ago, after the main sewer in their London office 'backed up', flooding their entire ground and first floor.
The Council (obviously not ours) made a swift job of rectifying the problem with the sewer, but they were left with the rather large job of removing all the, er, jobs that had suddenly made a break for freedom in their offices.
Not really my line of business these days, the messiest thing that I get to deal with, of late, being ectoplasm, I agreed to do it on the grounds that they needed someone with clearance to deal with some of their more 'sensitive issues' and that they were offering an awful lot of money!
I must say that I was quite astonished at what the Human body can do to a barbequed lobster, but nothing that couldn't be sorted out with the deployment of a pair of Marigolds, a peg, a mop and a bucket.
Anyhow, now that their offices are shining like a new pin again, and I can now afford to book that long deserved holiday, where should I go?
Though I think I may have to spend a few days in Margate to gently re-acclimatise myself to the sea air. The freshness of it, here on the South of the Island, is making me feel a little giddy!