80s Night
Might go down to Broadstairs Pav tomorrow night. They're doing another of those 80s nights for the over 21s.
I suppose it's too much to hope that one day they might put on a 21s night for the over 80s.
Growing old disgracefully in Ramsgate, Kent, England
Might go down to Broadstairs Pav tomorrow night. They're doing another of those 80s nights for the over 21s.
This Rhino electric scooter is turning out to be a real babe magnet. Charging through the forecourt to the Costcutter yesterday, I heard the cry: 'Young man! Young man!!' Thinking they meant anyone but me, I paid little attention. But then I noticed a wizened old woman standing by one of those souped up P reg Renaults. You know, the ones with the baked bean tins for silencers.
But then I never could in the first place, so I don't give a monkey's about that.
Not been blogging recently. Nothing's happened. Until this morning.
That's it pretty much over for another year then. Thank god. It takes its toll, I've got three funerals to attend next week. Is it any wonder arteries pop when all us old codgers survive for an entire year on consomme and cold veal, only to spend 48 hours stuffing in the turkey and mince pies like there's no tomorrow? It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I suppose I ought to wish everyone a Happy Christmas. I went to Ted and Janet's in the end. Their grandkids seemed to have a great time playing with the old false leg, but I broke one of my few remaining teeth on a pound coin that had been secreted in the pudding, so I've got an emergency appointment with the dentist today.
One of the worst things about this electric 'Rhino' buggy thing that I get around in these days is all the chewing gum that collects on the wheels. I've tried everything to get it off, but nothing seems to work. At least it's not as stomach churning as when I accidentally run over one of those dogpiles that are everywhere.