Owl Hollows Eve`.

A rather important date in the calender of us 'spiritual' types, today. It's a bit like our Christmas!
Though I will admit that I find some of the rituals rather perplexing.
Quite why we have to hollow out an owl (or a pumpkin for the squeamish), I won't even pretend to understand.
Still, tradition is tradition so I'll be off to the woods today with my cosh and a spoon, and hope that I don't run into the RSPB again. They're a surly bunch that seem to have a bit of an adversity to witchcraft.
I've also never quite got my head around why we have to do this at the end of October. Surely, if one is going to run around naked, bashing owls on the head, the middle of Summer would be more appropriate!

Ours is not to reason why, I suppose.

Things That Go Bump In The Night.

You would think, wouldn't you, that with my ability to communicate with the dead 'n' all, I wouldn't get scared about the odd creepy noise or two, in the middle of the night.
Well I do live in King Street, and I, like most people, have the hardest time trying to communicate with the undead that skulk around these parts!
So you can imagine, perhaps, the mixture of fear and anger that I experienced upon peeping over my duvet and seeing one of these skulking forms going through my bedroom drawers.
Unluckily for my intruder, I have lightning fast reactions and was out of bed, clubbing him over the head with the large ceramic ashtray on my bedside cabinet, before I even had chance to realise that I have neither a bedside cabinet nor a large ceramic ashtray!

OOPS!

Once I'd managed to stem the bleeding and stop the poor fella from crying and shaking, I thought it prudent to just apologise and go home.

I really ought to cut down on my drinking, but have arranged to meet some friends in the Artillery Arms this afternoon.
Maybe something to look at tomorrow?

Miss Steak.

I wonder if Churchills have considered running a Miss Steak competition to augment their already popular steak night.
I could be in the running for that title, as it's already a popular nick-name for me, bestowed upon me by my parents at a very early age.
As I recall, I was often introduced to people as 'our little Miss Steak'.

And if I could be the first one to congratulate myself, in the event that said competition is held, by saying "Bloody well done, Medium!"

Plane Jane Takes Flight.

I see our vigilante reporter of all things bad for Thanet has gone off in a huff, yet again! Blaming it, also yet again, on miscreants posting their opinions (how dare they!) on his blog.
Well honestly, some people just don't know when they've got it good!!!
So, go right ahead and bury your head under the Tower of London. Had you continued your tirade against TDC, they probably would have done that for you, sooner or later, anyhow!
In the meantime, let's play couple of little tribute songs, in an attempt to fill the hole that he's left in the Thanet blogosphere and hope for his speedy return, once he's finished taking it out on his bedsit tenants in our Nation's great capital.




...and there's nothing gay about these fellas, either!



Seeing our Jimmy there, reminds me of a previous video that's been posted. It's so good, I thought it worth another airing!




Missing you already, sweetie!

Cold Off The Press.

Being a bit of a cider fan (you can't beat a Magners with half a bucket of ice in it), I thought I'd better haul ass to the cider festival at Churchills, at the weekend.
My word, that stuff they were serving does for your legs!!!
When it was all over, it took me about ten minutes to get up the stairs to the bar, where they had a band playing. I don't remember too much about what they were playing but found myself unable to stop dancing to it, every time I tried to move around the place.

I'm starting to gain an idea of why it's so heavily rumoured that incest is rife in the Westcountry. It's going to be a bit difficult to go out and extend your gene pool if you can't walk more than three or four steps without going arse over tit, isn't it!

What Goes Up....

Not that I'm normally one for paying too much credence to pub conversations, I did hear something quite disturbing last night.
Apparently, and contrary to what I've always believed, it is actually possible to catch Down's Syndrome, under certain circumstances, from the age of about thirty, onwards!
Being one of those people who's lives are ruled by 'certain circumstances', I was worried enough to research the matter as soon as I got home.
The fact that I couldn't find any reference to this, anywhere on YouTube, just smacks of a big cover-up and has deepend my concerns exponentially.

In fact, all I could find was this video and, to be quite honest, apart from being no help at all, I also found it a quite offensive!





Is there a doctor in the house who can clear this up?

Pin The Tail On The Donkey.

Yummy!
This donkey and trimmings gig at Churchill's is fast becoming a weekly sojourn for me.
How do they do it for the price?
I mean come on! Steak, chips and trimmings for £3. I can't buy the ingredients for that monét! And it's always tasty and well presented, to boot.
Though I did have a spot of bother with mine going off on a ten minute tour of the pub, before it got to me. Not the sort of thing you'd expect on their manager's (Tazmanian Pete's) night off!!!
Still, I'm not one to scoff at cheap scoff in the old Van Gogh, so hats off to all involved in this 'scam' to get bums on seats, and, er, see you next Tuesday!

An Open Letter To TDC.

On the strength of everything that they've done for us, over the years, I've decided to send TDC an open letter, reflecting my own (and possibly quite a few others) feelings about their level of care regarding our community.



Ideal present, if they think it's about time they put a lid on their current practices!

I may also have to send one to EDF, inviting them to go back home. But, of course, theirs would have to be a French letter with 'come' in it!

Let's Heat The Field Up!

Nope, not a call to arms, so calm down all you survivalists out there.
While I was tracking down the not-so-elusive Three Foot on U-Bend, I also found a firm old favourite that I'd not heard for decades.

A cheery song to lift the spirits with the approach of Winter (weren't we supposed to have Summer first?), and take the chill off our souls.
Still, with a bit of luck we'll have a mild Winter and it'll be Summer again before anyone realises that the seasons changed.

Beer Dead Woman.

Much as I love a good pint or three, I've encountered a sharp uprise, of late, in the amount of people around town that bang on about it to the exclusion of all else!

Well I've had about a gut-full of it!

So when I was approached by a middle-aged woman in the pub, last night, who cheerily anounced that the pint I was drinking used a hint of blah-blah hops, delicately balanced with lightly roasted something-or-other, I'm afraid I told her to fuck *ff!
She looked a bit taken aback at first, but, the true bore coming out in her, she plodded on as if I'd said "Really? How interesting! Do tell me more."

Still, pub bores are easily combatted these days, by simply buggering off outside for a smoke. Except the smoking bores, of course, but oddly enough that particular type of bore is quite thin on the ground.
I've found that changing the subject to 'anal sex' works quite well, too!

Legs 111

As I gave the fella a mention recently, I thought I'd see if I could track him down on YouTube.
Is there anything you can't find there?

Riding Along On The Christ Of A Wave.

I see those boffins in the World of sport have come up with a new recreational pass-time. By simply removing the wheels from a skateboard, it's now possible to glide across the surface of the sea, as though you are the Saviour, Himself!

Goodness knows where this will lead. They'll probably be tugging themselves along with boats, launching themselves down the sides of mountains and sticking sails on the things, before you know it!


Here's a picture of one, if anyone is interested....





Though you'll notice from the picture that they're only experimenting with them, using convicts, at the mo.

A Large Hadron Colida, Please. Stirred But Not Shaken (Hopefully).

Well I don't know about you lot, but I'm getting pretty fed up with all the hype surrounding Mankinds' latest, greatest, potential achievement.
Another typical boy thing, is all it is. Trying to find out how something works by smashing it to bits!
What with the uneducated fearing for their lives and the over-educated, with their usual social ineptitude, trying to assure the uneducated that they're completely thick and should stick to worrying about plot twists in Eastenders, which is about as complex a problem as they could possibly hope to handle, it was all starting to get a tad tiresome.
Until I overheard a conversation in the pub, the other night, that raised concerns that I've not heard anyone address so far, that is.
This fella was suggesting that, though CERN claims to be conducting this experiment to simulate conditions during the Big Bang, it all falls on it's arse a bit when you consider that one of the fundamental conditions of said event would be that all matter would be travelling away from where it started, and none of it would be crashing head-on into any other bit of it, what-so-ever!
In short, any collisions would be at sub-light speeds.
These boffins at CERN though, are intending to collide solid matter, head-on, at speeds approaching light speed, effectively creating an impact speed just short of twice the speed of light.
Something that has possibly never occured naturally, due to the constantly expanding nature of the Universe, ever before.
Without brushing up on my physics, or my understanding of time dilation or the subtleties of near-infinite mass smacking head-first into near-infinte mass at a theoretically impossible speed, I don't think it would be appropriate to comment further.

In fact, my poor girlie brain, which can't even conceptualise three dimensions in reverse (so I'm assured), is quite at a loss as to how the device on the far right of this picture is going to help, if it all goes tits-up, at all!

The Word On The Street.

Just like most people, I like to 'get away from it all' from time to time. And just like most people, I suspect, the 'all' that I'd wanted to get away from is occasionally where I'd much rather be, when I got there.
Well I'd never been to Manchester before!
Still, you live and learn, eh?
Despite the desolate grimness of the vast majority of it, I did manage to glean a little enjoyment from the trip, when I went to see a comic 'artiste' by the name of John Cooper Clark. In fact, I enjoyed the show so much that, in an unprecedented fit of charity, I bought his CD.
Though I did get the feeling from his rather cynical lyrics that Mr Clark, throughout his life so far, has been beaten up and mugged quite a lot.

I'll play this little snippet at you, as it so reminded me of the road that my hotel was in. Apologies in advance for those of you who find the Mancunian accent a little harsh, but personally I think it's really, really grate.

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!