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)!