Friday, July 21, 2006


Apologies for the hiatus. Hiatus hernia, actually, so I'm under quack's orders to take it easy for a bit. Hopefully I'll be fighting fit soon, at which point I may amble over to Margate and pick one.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Privets On Parade

I know most of you must think I'm a terrible gardener, but one thing that hasn't suffered are my privet hedges. Come rain... No, let's start again. Come drought and shine, they always seems to shoot up at this time of year.

The result is I have to trim them every couple of weeks. They've even got quite pretty, tiny white flowers on them now. I'm just happy I haven't managed to kill them off. Yet.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Pussy Problem

There's been a lot of talk about Barkers' nests around here recently, but I just finished mowing what's left of my lawn, and in the process discovered about 20 desiccated cat whoopsies, just waiting to be flung out of the hovermower's gubbins.

Ted says he's got a similar problem over on the other side of town. Is it something to do with the weather?

Flight Of Fancy

I see yet more of our hard earned dosh is going to subsidise flights from Manston to Norfolk, Virginia, the home of the US Navy. Quite why we'd all want to go there, heaven only knows. I drove past it once. If you like big, grey battleships it might float your boat, I suppose.

And of course, all those US Navy ratings are just dying to get on a plane and come and see our newly opened Tudor house in Margate.

Next time I pay my council tax, I think I'll just get it out in cash, and go and stuff it straight down the nearest drain. It'll cut out the middle man.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Littoral Thinking

Phew, that sun's hot, isn't it? I'm so glad the car's got air conditioning in this weather. Now imagine what it would be like at this time of year, sitting in your luxury, tin-clad apartment, on the Pleasurama site. Not so much luxury living, more like being a baked potato I would imagine.

I suppose they'll all have air conditioning, though. Time to fire up Richborough Power Station again, maybe!

Monday, July 10, 2006

Old Nick

Not much to report from here in 'The Nick'.

One thing, though. I see those Clive Emson people have got the old nick in Ramsgate up for auction. Guide price is £70,000 to £90,000.

The new nick takes the concept of 'cop shop' to the limit, in my view. Why don't they just go the whole hog and sell novelty helmets and truncheons?

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Whined Up

I've just said goodbye to Ted and some other mates after having them round for a few glasses of plonk and some cheesy nibbles. I've been looking through this blog, and, really, I do seem to have spent a lot of time whingeing. What a dreary old constable.

I'll try and do better in future. Have I told you about the time I put itching powder in the Super's tunic?

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Smoke On The Water

Now the pool pump's on the fritz. First I knew, there was a smell of something electrical burning as I went for my morning dip. Apparently I'll have to wait weeks for the parts, and then, of course, there'll be no way of filling it up again. I wonder how long it would take with a watering can?

Monday, July 03, 2006

West Is Best

There's a lot of talk these days about the East Cliff here in Ramsgate, but there are some great things to see for those who are prepared to venture out west.

Pugin's house, for example, and the IOTA Gallery. And that amazing little caff called The Lookout, which seems as if it's been frozen in time since 1948 (although fortunately for me the cakes are no longer rationed). The people you see in there are real old time Ramsgatonians, who can remember the days when the old place was rather posh and well-to-do. Plus you get a better view of the ferries from the West Cliff, if that's your thing.

Shame about West Cliff Hall, though. It appears to have been left to go to rack and ruin since the motor museum moved out. Not that it was much chop before that. Does it belong to the council?

Saturday, July 01, 2006

The Foot Of Dog

So England's fortunes in the World Cup rested on Rooney's foot after all.

Although nobody, I suppose, thought it would end our chances by kicking a pair of Portuguese balls.