Getting a bit quiet round here...
Anyone up yet?
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Old Pals act...
Delighted to see that old friends from Scotton Pinkney have resurfaced yet again!
Luckily, after a small problem with the planners, the Estate is functioning to the best of our ability - which is pretty good these days, considering Mannerings is getting on a bit, and on, and on etc...
Has anyone set eyes on Felicity please? We know she's out there, but never see her because the rugger season started again, which means quite a lot to such an impressionable young lady!
Luckily, after a small problem with the planners, the Estate is functioning to the best of our ability - which is pretty good these days, considering Mannerings is getting on a bit, and on, and on etc...
Has anyone set eyes on Felicity please? We know she's out there, but never see her because the rugger season started again, which means quite a lot to such an impressionable young lady!
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The Drew Solution...
Dear Mr Drew,
When I lived in 'The Annex', (behind the artificial insemination storage tanks, on The Estate), we were asked once by Miss Cottle (aided and abetted, quite a few times apparently, and once quite noisily, by Mr Gosling), if we would attend a meeting of the Scotton Pinkney Committee to Ban the Dutch firm, 'Wonderwank BV', from developing a grease smelting factory on Pandells Field. (This happened many years ago, and I've had several operations since then. In fact I feel a new lease of life coming on...and again...and again...).
Mannerings was apopletic with rage, and after one hero session of Old Badger Ale imbibing, he shrieked that the 'clog wearing, red cheese guzzling bunch of flatlanders' should be kicked out of the County for good, and told never to come back!
Now I love The Dutch people. I have a great admiration for their bravery, their dykes and their caps (especially those...), and when I explained to him, with the help of a rolled up copy of The Times used as a loudhailer, that Wonderwank BV was in fact a front for Willowdene plc, a local developer, he went into a sulk and only muttered an apology after being threatened with no pocket money for a week and a reduction in pile ointment.
The answer to stopping developers from doing dreadful things in your own back yard, is to apply for planning permission.
You do this after spending thousands of pounds on fees, spurious meetings with council officials, repeating the procedures ad infinitum because the original officers are off sick through 'stress'. Once you have applied, you wait at least three months before the file is actually opened. Then another six months goes by while the council official is on paternity leave.
One is entirely at risk during all these stages, and while the pensions of the council officials are accumulating (one pound in five on the Poll Tax goes to pay for their retirement), your's is being eaten away by dilatory service, little commercial realism, and a requirement to do absolutely nothing until someone lets off a shotgun in the council chamber, (like what happened on the Trago Mills case in the eighties).
After all this delay, there will be another year for consultation with local 'Outreach' groups, two more years while County Highways decide if the kerb is the right height for children's tricycles, and three more years while a complete survey of every drain in the County is conducted to ensure that the 'right size of turd', can be accommodated. (see Turdal Flow Calculations Order - No 3. Non-compliance with faeces volume standards means three years in gaol or a fine of £3,000,000 per explosion).
Then the case is handed over for comment by The National Trust, English Nature and The Illegal Immigrant's Benevolent Groups of All England, who will also scrutinise the plans and assess the impact on a species of non-existent amoeba, once discovered in The Andes by Fr. Benjamin Trout RS, a leading pillock). This usually takes between five and ten years, assuming the fees are being built up nicely, and have reached six figures.
Once the sum in the council pension pot reaches a certain level (i.e. an equivalent value to ensure an annuity worth £1 to the applicant, and £2,000 to the council official), there has to be a decision. This will be deferred for a year while the part-time secretary to the Social Worker's Saturday Overtime Group tries to have a baby.
So, totting up the years, you will eventually be able to start work after twenty-three years, but the project will be cancelled, because
a) Most people who dealt with the case will be dead,
and
b) You'll be dead.
So there you have it dear Nick! No need to panic. Under Mr Bean's tragic come-downance, his legacy will prevent anything happening at all, so you don't need to bargain for anything!
Why don't you pop round one evening for a game of Strip Canasta and a bottle or three of Chateau de Calais? I'll tell Mannerings to take Doris down to the 'Bells', for a tincture and a Club sandwich, and we can have the place to ourselves...)?
Toodle -pip old fruit,
Doris x
ps What ever happened to The Mail on Sunday Male Voice Choir? Did it move to Clerkenwell?
When I lived in 'The Annex', (behind the artificial insemination storage tanks, on The Estate), we were asked once by Miss Cottle (aided and abetted, quite a few times apparently, and once quite noisily, by Mr Gosling), if we would attend a meeting of the Scotton Pinkney Committee to Ban the Dutch firm, 'Wonderwank BV', from developing a grease smelting factory on Pandells Field. (This happened many years ago, and I've had several operations since then. In fact I feel a new lease of life coming on...and again...and again...).
Mannerings was apopletic with rage, and after one hero session of Old Badger Ale imbibing, he shrieked that the 'clog wearing, red cheese guzzling bunch of flatlanders' should be kicked out of the County for good, and told never to come back!
Now I love The Dutch people. I have a great admiration for their bravery, their dykes and their caps (especially those...), and when I explained to him, with the help of a rolled up copy of The Times used as a loudhailer, that Wonderwank BV was in fact a front for Willowdene plc, a local developer, he went into a sulk and only muttered an apology after being threatened with no pocket money for a week and a reduction in pile ointment.
The answer to stopping developers from doing dreadful things in your own back yard, is to apply for planning permission.
You do this after spending thousands of pounds on fees, spurious meetings with council officials, repeating the procedures ad infinitum because the original officers are off sick through 'stress'. Once you have applied, you wait at least three months before the file is actually opened. Then another six months goes by while the council official is on paternity leave.
One is entirely at risk during all these stages, and while the pensions of the council officials are accumulating (one pound in five on the Poll Tax goes to pay for their retirement), your's is being eaten away by dilatory service, little commercial realism, and a requirement to do absolutely nothing until someone lets off a shotgun in the council chamber, (like what happened on the Trago Mills case in the eighties).
After all this delay, there will be another year for consultation with local 'Outreach' groups, two more years while County Highways decide if the kerb is the right height for children's tricycles, and three more years while a complete survey of every drain in the County is conducted to ensure that the 'right size of turd', can be accommodated. (see Turdal Flow Calculations Order - No 3. Non-compliance with faeces volume standards means three years in gaol or a fine of £3,000,000 per explosion).
Then the case is handed over for comment by The National Trust, English Nature and The Illegal Immigrant's Benevolent Groups of All England, who will also scrutinise the plans and assess the impact on a species of non-existent amoeba, once discovered in The Andes by Fr. Benjamin Trout RS, a leading pillock). This usually takes between five and ten years, assuming the fees are being built up nicely, and have reached six figures.
Once the sum in the council pension pot reaches a certain level (i.e. an equivalent value to ensure an annuity worth £1 to the applicant, and £2,000 to the council official), there has to be a decision. This will be deferred for a year while the part-time secretary to the Social Worker's Saturday Overtime Group tries to have a baby.
So, totting up the years, you will eventually be able to start work after twenty-three years, but the project will be cancelled, because
a) Most people who dealt with the case will be dead,
and
b) You'll be dead.
So there you have it dear Nick! No need to panic. Under Mr Bean's tragic come-downance, his legacy will prevent anything happening at all, so you don't need to bargain for anything!
Why don't you pop round one evening for a game of Strip Canasta and a bottle or three of Chateau de Calais? I'll tell Mannerings to take Doris down to the 'Bells', for a tincture and a Club sandwich, and we can have the place to ourselves...)?
Toodle -pip old fruit,
Doris x
ps What ever happened to The Mail on Sunday Male Voice Choir? Did it move to Clerkenwell?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Just back from the old world tour - again...
I've just returmed from a long sojourn in the outback of some country or other, and found a letter to an old friend, Oliver Gosling, piled on the door mat (the letter, not Oliver)! Here it is, with no regrets...
Dear Oliver,
When Mannerings’ Great Great Grandfather Aloysius was stationed in Liverpool in 1810, (this was after the unpleasantness with the aunt of a servant who eventually became Mayor of Rotherham), he was ringing a peal of Superlative Surprise Major, and during the third bob, the tower began to disintegrate, and the whole steeple came roaring down in a mass of bells and rubble.
Grandfather escaped with a small bruise to the forearm, a black eye, two broken legs and a fractured pelvis, further exacerbated by internal contusions not unconnected with his love of two bottles of fine Claret before any peal lasting more than three hours.
He was also rumoured to have sired his future heir about three-quarters of an hour earlier, while choosing his looser ringing trousers in front of his then lady wife, Cymbeline.
These bells are small compared with those hung in his chosen church, St Barnabas the Arrogant, and he was renowned for taking two ropes at the same time, thereby allowing the assembled ringers plenty of time to see the not inconsiderable acreage of stomach between said trousers and his shirt.
He died in ‘The Peasant’s Crow’ PH after indulging in a marathon game of cribbage lasting one and a half days, (with three relapses for bodily functions, and also the unique opportunity to sire the additional generation of Webley-Bullocks with the Landlord’s wife, Melissa the ‘Open’.) He is buried somewhere close to the road but nobody is exactly sure where!
I thought you might like to know this!
Miranda x
Can anyone shed any light on the matter please?
Bunts - d'you know?
Dear Oliver,
When Mannerings’ Great Great Grandfather Aloysius was stationed in Liverpool in 1810, (this was after the unpleasantness with the aunt of a servant who eventually became Mayor of Rotherham), he was ringing a peal of Superlative Surprise Major, and during the third bob, the tower began to disintegrate, and the whole steeple came roaring down in a mass of bells and rubble.
Grandfather escaped with a small bruise to the forearm, a black eye, two broken legs and a fractured pelvis, further exacerbated by internal contusions not unconnected with his love of two bottles of fine Claret before any peal lasting more than three hours.
He was also rumoured to have sired his future heir about three-quarters of an hour earlier, while choosing his looser ringing trousers in front of his then lady wife, Cymbeline.
These bells are small compared with those hung in his chosen church, St Barnabas the Arrogant, and he was renowned for taking two ropes at the same time, thereby allowing the assembled ringers plenty of time to see the not inconsiderable acreage of stomach between said trousers and his shirt.
He died in ‘The Peasant’s Crow’ PH after indulging in a marathon game of cribbage lasting one and a half days, (with three relapses for bodily functions, and also the unique opportunity to sire the additional generation of Webley-Bullocks with the Landlord’s wife, Melissa the ‘Open’.) He is buried somewhere close to the road but nobody is exactly sure where!
I thought you might like to know this!
Miranda x
Can anyone shed any light on the matter please?
Bunts - d'you know?
Monday, September 03, 2007
Utter chaos...
Humph….
Bloody fete!
Well it was an absolutely bloody disaster!
The blasted marquee from Mr Rajah’s colleague (‘Kharthoum’s Bestest Bell-End’) collapsed suddenly in the wake of Mr Tremblett’s delivery lorry, and hurt the committee members so much that the Air Ambulance had to cart them all off for X-rays at Guildford General! Miss Astracanza Gnewght’s sister; Artisaresolenonsicle (what a stupid name that is), began waving all sorts of unpleasant items at the judges for the spring onions, and she had to be restrained by PC Bollachi, who’s father used to be a prisoner of war near here.
The weather was appalling, and when we realised that the wet weather insurance only covered clouds of frogs, or something equally ridiculous, we also found that Miss Pratt had got the date wrong on the form, so the policy was for 1977! Stupid woman!
Nobody turned up for the ‘Silliest Hat’ competition, although the prize actually went to one of the judges (Miss Gloria Sebastienne-Crabbster’), because she was staying for the weekend with our Guest of Honour, Lord Bellchambers-Whigg, (who seemed somewhat frisky on the day). We’ve asked her to give it back, but as her Mayfair address seems to be somewhat dubious, we are getting nowhere at the moment.
Miss Agnes Moletail and Wilf Nuggett had an actual verbal abuse scenario, because Mr Nuggett’s daughters, Kyyllene, Toniiettalene and Kassaandrene, decided to try and emulate the Spick Girls, or what ever they’re called nowadays, in a terrible song called ‘Terrraywhtchyawhannnnwhayerreeeeeellyreeeeelywhannnnnnn’, or something ridiculous like that. The gibberish didn’t actually set the assembled ladies from the ‘Cassock Society’ ablaze, and the Vicar had to be prised from inspecting the changing rooms, but at least, when those awful girls had squeaked and banged to a halt, there was peace in our time – mainly because the incessant rain had fused all the electrical plugs, and a blissfull powercut ensued.
Mannerings was superb as he stood, arms and legs akimbo at the bar. The stance was mainly down to him tasting the ‘Old Brewer’s Armpit’ since nine o’ clock, and that the barrel had tipped over twice. All the drainage from the said barrel was saved however, and safely decanted into our electric kettle, and one of Miranda’s plastic encumbrances. (don’t ask).
The prize for the best stall went to Bunty Binstock, for her ‘Snogs for a fiver’ extravaganza. She collected £1,295 within the six hours, and indeed, Mr Peter Aloysius Hitch mentioned much later in ‘The Bells’ that he had never enjoyed himself so much. His pension for the coming six weeks has all gone however, and he is now wondering what he’ll live on…
Miss Auntonia Brussel-Sprite amazed the somewhat soggy crowd of well-wishers with a display of intimate apparel for the firmer figure, (which is actually why we had to restrain Mr Wilf Nuggett and keep him from alleviating his fantasies…(It’s all very well keeping these men under control, but when they keep giving them the come-on, well; there’s no answering the case is there)!
The fete really took a down-turn when young Wayne-Storm Nuggett held up the treasurer at gun-point, but as PC Bottle was close by (although trying to discuss trial procedures and sentencing arrangements with Kassaandrene Nuggett), he avoided the confrontation as expected, and it was left to Mannerings to smack the little bastard over the head with a bottle of ‘Old Tosser’, Brilliant Ale. That stopped him is his tracks, but the glass went everywhere, including down the cleavage of the silly bint Wayne-Storm Nuggett was talking to, and provoked a shrieking match with ‘compensation’, ‘prison’, ‘police harrassment’, ‘paedophile’, (God knows where that one came from, but she isn’t very bright…)!
Miranda stepped up (two short of a dozen Guinness), slapped her round the painted lips and told her to piss off back to her roots, whatever colour they were. And she did!
So we had a good evening after that, and we all felt the effort was worthwhile…or did we…?
Bloody fete!
Well it was an absolutely bloody disaster!
The blasted marquee from Mr Rajah’s colleague (‘Kharthoum’s Bestest Bell-End’) collapsed suddenly in the wake of Mr Tremblett’s delivery lorry, and hurt the committee members so much that the Air Ambulance had to cart them all off for X-rays at Guildford General! Miss Astracanza Gnewght’s sister; Artisaresolenonsicle (what a stupid name that is), began waving all sorts of unpleasant items at the judges for the spring onions, and she had to be restrained by PC Bollachi, who’s father used to be a prisoner of war near here.
The weather was appalling, and when we realised that the wet weather insurance only covered clouds of frogs, or something equally ridiculous, we also found that Miss Pratt had got the date wrong on the form, so the policy was for 1977! Stupid woman!
Nobody turned up for the ‘Silliest Hat’ competition, although the prize actually went to one of the judges (Miss Gloria Sebastienne-Crabbster’), because she was staying for the weekend with our Guest of Honour, Lord Bellchambers-Whigg, (who seemed somewhat frisky on the day). We’ve asked her to give it back, but as her Mayfair address seems to be somewhat dubious, we are getting nowhere at the moment.
Miss Agnes Moletail and Wilf Nuggett had an actual verbal abuse scenario, because Mr Nuggett’s daughters, Kyyllene, Toniiettalene and Kassaandrene, decided to try and emulate the Spick Girls, or what ever they’re called nowadays, in a terrible song called ‘Terrraywhtchyawhannnnwhayerreeeeeellyreeeeelywhannnnnnn’, or something ridiculous like that. The gibberish didn’t actually set the assembled ladies from the ‘Cassock Society’ ablaze, and the Vicar had to be prised from inspecting the changing rooms, but at least, when those awful girls had squeaked and banged to a halt, there was peace in our time – mainly because the incessant rain had fused all the electrical plugs, and a blissfull powercut ensued.
Mannerings was superb as he stood, arms and legs akimbo at the bar. The stance was mainly down to him tasting the ‘Old Brewer’s Armpit’ since nine o’ clock, and that the barrel had tipped over twice. All the drainage from the said barrel was saved however, and safely decanted into our electric kettle, and one of Miranda’s plastic encumbrances. (don’t ask).
The prize for the best stall went to Bunty Binstock, for her ‘Snogs for a fiver’ extravaganza. She collected £1,295 within the six hours, and indeed, Mr Peter Aloysius Hitch mentioned much later in ‘The Bells’ that he had never enjoyed himself so much. His pension for the coming six weeks has all gone however, and he is now wondering what he’ll live on…
Miss Auntonia Brussel-Sprite amazed the somewhat soggy crowd of well-wishers with a display of intimate apparel for the firmer figure, (which is actually why we had to restrain Mr Wilf Nuggett and keep him from alleviating his fantasies…(It’s all very well keeping these men under control, but when they keep giving them the come-on, well; there’s no answering the case is there)!
The fete really took a down-turn when young Wayne-Storm Nuggett held up the treasurer at gun-point, but as PC Bottle was close by (although trying to discuss trial procedures and sentencing arrangements with Kassaandrene Nuggett), he avoided the confrontation as expected, and it was left to Mannerings to smack the little bastard over the head with a bottle of ‘Old Tosser’, Brilliant Ale. That stopped him is his tracks, but the glass went everywhere, including down the cleavage of the silly bint Wayne-Storm Nuggett was talking to, and provoked a shrieking match with ‘compensation’, ‘prison’, ‘police harrassment’, ‘paedophile’, (God knows where that one came from, but she isn’t very bright…)!
Miranda stepped up (two short of a dozen Guinness), slapped her round the painted lips and told her to piss off back to her roots, whatever colour they were. And she did!
So we had a good evening after that, and we all felt the effort was worthwhile…or did we…?
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Blasted fete...
At long last, we have resolved the quandary regarding who sabotaged the trestle table at the Fete Committee meeting.
Toniiettalene Nuggett had been re-enacting the scene from ‘Four weddings and a funeral’, (the bit when Scarlett (Charlotte Coleman), sits under a table with a young lass and tells her about ‘bonking’). The trouble was, Toniiettalene was telling Wayne-Storm a few more things, and he was learning fast…!
So we were right about referring ‘Snogs for a fiver’ to the Office of Fair Trading! Luckily, Bunty Binstock has agreed to take over at the last minute, and I’m delighted that she can join in – again!
Doris was unwell last week, having eaten something peculiar from Mr Rajah’s shop, and I’m taking over this small report, until she can return to her duties, and also the large Bombay Sapphire, which she had to leave on the side table in a state of near panic!
This is brief as I never write more words when less will do, if you see what I mean, don’t you know and don’t mind the fact that there isn’t very much to say at the moment as William still hasn’t returned from his night out ‘with the boys’. Felicity was home hours ago, then went out again, slamming the door in the process! I do hate these long Summer holidays!
I don’t know what the world’s coming to!
Mannerings
Toniiettalene Nuggett had been re-enacting the scene from ‘Four weddings and a funeral’, (the bit when Scarlett (Charlotte Coleman), sits under a table with a young lass and tells her about ‘bonking’). The trouble was, Toniiettalene was telling Wayne-Storm a few more things, and he was learning fast…!
So we were right about referring ‘Snogs for a fiver’ to the Office of Fair Trading! Luckily, Bunty Binstock has agreed to take over at the last minute, and I’m delighted that she can join in – again!
Doris was unwell last week, having eaten something peculiar from Mr Rajah’s shop, and I’m taking over this small report, until she can return to her duties, and also the large Bombay Sapphire, which she had to leave on the side table in a state of near panic!
This is brief as I never write more words when less will do, if you see what I mean, don’t you know and don’t mind the fact that there isn’t very much to say at the moment as William still hasn’t returned from his night out ‘with the boys’. Felicity was home hours ago, then went out again, slamming the door in the process! I do hate these long Summer holidays!
I don’t know what the world’s coming to!
Mannerings
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Only a few weeks left...
I’m SO sorry,
The weeks have just flown by, and we are nowhere near finalising the Fete arrangements.
Mannerings has been suffering from a curious form of dysentery, probably a strain from his years in Bombay, but don’t mention ‘strain’ as he becomes mildly apoplectic, makes a face rather like Terry Wogan’s toothy grin and rushes to his private thunderbox.
Miranda has also had one of her turns, and we can’t find the rubber tubing for the appliance. Felicity has gone away again (having spent most of Speech Day with the new Polo teacher), and William is still lost in writing his reports – that’s not a big problem, but he can’t spell very well, and gets confused and dribbles whenever the words ‘could do better’ arrive on his computer screen.
We still need more prizes. There are five in the garage at the moment, but one is being eaten by a resident mouse as we speak…! We have offered fifty, so perhaps a little bit of urgency could be injected into the proceedings please; committee? The bloody tickets have been printed for God’s sake!
Bunty Binstock has so kindly agreed to do the Cornish Ice Cream stall, but there is a surprise here, as now that Kyylliiee Nuggett is safely in quarantine, we can get the ‘Snogs for a fiver’ stall back on the road! So Bunts, give me a call, and I’ll arrange the laundry as appropriate!
This has to be short but sweet, so I’ll leave you to ‘Songs of Praise’, and wish you a pleasant evening,
Phew,
Doris
The weeks have just flown by, and we are nowhere near finalising the Fete arrangements.
Mannerings has been suffering from a curious form of dysentery, probably a strain from his years in Bombay, but don’t mention ‘strain’ as he becomes mildly apoplectic, makes a face rather like Terry Wogan’s toothy grin and rushes to his private thunderbox.
Miranda has also had one of her turns, and we can’t find the rubber tubing for the appliance. Felicity has gone away again (having spent most of Speech Day with the new Polo teacher), and William is still lost in writing his reports – that’s not a big problem, but he can’t spell very well, and gets confused and dribbles whenever the words ‘could do better’ arrive on his computer screen.
We still need more prizes. There are five in the garage at the moment, but one is being eaten by a resident mouse as we speak…! We have offered fifty, so perhaps a little bit of urgency could be injected into the proceedings please; committee? The bloody tickets have been printed for God’s sake!
Bunty Binstock has so kindly agreed to do the Cornish Ice Cream stall, but there is a surprise here, as now that Kyylliiee Nuggett is safely in quarantine, we can get the ‘Snogs for a fiver’ stall back on the road! So Bunts, give me a call, and I’ll arrange the laundry as appropriate!
This has to be short but sweet, so I’ll leave you to ‘Songs of Praise’, and wish you a pleasant evening,
Phew,
Doris
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Fete update...
So far, the response for helpers has been disappointing, but we are determined to forge ahead. We also need more prizes for the Grand Raffle. So far we have four, and unfortunately, we are unable to use the same raffle books as Miss Biddle has suddenly become colour-blind, and decided that she cannot tell the difference between green and pink!
The Committee met for an Emergency General Meeting at ‘Muffpumps’, to discuss the matter over some ‘Tapas’ from Waitrose, and an exhilarating Chardonnay from Felicity’s recent cricket tour. (Why she finished up in Deauville, we have yet to fathom; she was supposed to be with the Rugby Club, (Cricket section), on their tour of North Wales or somewhere)!
Anyway, we managed a quorum, which was aided and abetted by Wilf Nuggett who arrived late and demanded an audience for him and his three sons, (who are training to be out-of-hours tarmac drive operatives), and also his colourfully dressed daughters; Kyyllene, Toniiettalene and Kassaandrene, who brought some ‘glamour’ to the proceedings. Miss Agnes Moletail rather spoilt the evening by becoming truculent and aggressive towards Mr Cecil Bagworth, but they eventually agreed to differ on the issue of who has the middle seat on the Committee trestle table on the day. (Mannerings used a very rude word at one stage in the altercation, and they were so surprised, they agreed to share the seat for half an hour each)! A vote of thanks for the diplomatic effort was carried nem. con.
So the list of stalls is as follows. It is by no means complete, and we would welcome new members to turn out for the day in the name of our favoured charity, the Dorset Retired Electronic Diary Operatives Home for the Bewildered and Confused.
· Electric shock machine – Basil Gunyon.
· Hoopla – Miss Cottle (as long as she doesn’t mind coming back after all the problems she’s had in recent years).
· Atomic Tombola – Bert Bissell.
· Make your own wig – Peter Aloysius Hitch.
· Face painting – Kassaandrene and Kyyllene Nuggett.
· Cornish Ice cream stall – Bunty Binstock (are you back yet dear)?
· Garden implements for rent - Miss Altracanza Knewcht.
· Children’s sports – Curate Oliver Goose-Steppe.
· Belgian accessories and apparel – Miss Auntonia Brussel-Sprite.
· Kumquat Chutney Competition – Ditto.
· Chocolate fountain – Mrs Strawberry-Fields and R.Forever Esq.
· Bar – Mannerings Webley-Bullock (until 3.00pm, thereafter Miranda Webley-Bullock until 5.00pm, thereafter William Webley-Bullock until bedtime).
· Most interesting looking vegetable – Miss Amelia Nasturtium.
· Display of metal devices – Wilf Nuggett (if his bail order is maintained, otherwise his place will be taken by his elder son, Wayne-Storm).
· Village Historical Society – Herr Boris Dachsund. (Ex-Chancellor Dachsund is a mystery visitor to the Village, and so far, we are unable to contact him in his temporary office in Munich; he has taken rooms in The Priory for the time being). (Note to self; isn’t that where ‘Nunkie’ went for a few weeks…)
· Old Estate Pictures (and some newer ones) - Felicity Webley-Bullock. (Not all these belong to the family, and we have to ask the age of some of the purchasers, in case PC Bottle becomes interested. Mind you, he bought several for himself last year after the Golf Club tour to Amsterdam, which Felicity organised)!
· Combine harvester racing – Farmer ‘Tom’ Cobbley. (Far field on the Estate; wellingtons a necessity. All machines to be in line by 3.00pm).
· Cassock Appeal – Rev Norris Parsley.
We have had to refer 'Snogs for a fiver', by Toniiettalene Nuggett, to the Police Complaints Board.
This list is still being formulated, often changed, and usually distorted but if anyone wishes to join in, then, well, everyone is welcome!
Pip a doodle doo!
Doris
The Committee met for an Emergency General Meeting at ‘Muffpumps’, to discuss the matter over some ‘Tapas’ from Waitrose, and an exhilarating Chardonnay from Felicity’s recent cricket tour. (Why she finished up in Deauville, we have yet to fathom; she was supposed to be with the Rugby Club, (Cricket section), on their tour of North Wales or somewhere)!
Anyway, we managed a quorum, which was aided and abetted by Wilf Nuggett who arrived late and demanded an audience for him and his three sons, (who are training to be out-of-hours tarmac drive operatives), and also his colourfully dressed daughters; Kyyllene, Toniiettalene and Kassaandrene, who brought some ‘glamour’ to the proceedings. Miss Agnes Moletail rather spoilt the evening by becoming truculent and aggressive towards Mr Cecil Bagworth, but they eventually agreed to differ on the issue of who has the middle seat on the Committee trestle table on the day. (Mannerings used a very rude word at one stage in the altercation, and they were so surprised, they agreed to share the seat for half an hour each)! A vote of thanks for the diplomatic effort was carried nem. con.
So the list of stalls is as follows. It is by no means complete, and we would welcome new members to turn out for the day in the name of our favoured charity, the Dorset Retired Electronic Diary Operatives Home for the Bewildered and Confused.
· Electric shock machine – Basil Gunyon.
· Hoopla – Miss Cottle (as long as she doesn’t mind coming back after all the problems she’s had in recent years).
· Atomic Tombola – Bert Bissell.
· Make your own wig – Peter Aloysius Hitch.
· Face painting – Kassaandrene and Kyyllene Nuggett.
· Cornish Ice cream stall – Bunty Binstock (are you back yet dear)?
· Garden implements for rent - Miss Altracanza Knewcht.
· Children’s sports – Curate Oliver Goose-Steppe.
· Belgian accessories and apparel – Miss Auntonia Brussel-Sprite.
· Kumquat Chutney Competition – Ditto.
· Chocolate fountain – Mrs Strawberry-Fields and R.Forever Esq.
· Bar – Mannerings Webley-Bullock (until 3.00pm, thereafter Miranda Webley-Bullock until 5.00pm, thereafter William Webley-Bullock until bedtime).
· Most interesting looking vegetable – Miss Amelia Nasturtium.
· Display of metal devices – Wilf Nuggett (if his bail order is maintained, otherwise his place will be taken by his elder son, Wayne-Storm).
· Village Historical Society – Herr Boris Dachsund. (Ex-Chancellor Dachsund is a mystery visitor to the Village, and so far, we are unable to contact him in his temporary office in Munich; he has taken rooms in The Priory for the time being). (Note to self; isn’t that where ‘Nunkie’ went for a few weeks…)
· Old Estate Pictures (and some newer ones) - Felicity Webley-Bullock. (Not all these belong to the family, and we have to ask the age of some of the purchasers, in case PC Bottle becomes interested. Mind you, he bought several for himself last year after the Golf Club tour to Amsterdam, which Felicity organised)!
· Combine harvester racing – Farmer ‘Tom’ Cobbley. (Far field on the Estate; wellingtons a necessity. All machines to be in line by 3.00pm).
· Cassock Appeal – Rev Norris Parsley.
We have had to refer 'Snogs for a fiver', by Toniiettalene Nuggett, to the Police Complaints Board.
This list is still being formulated, often changed, and usually distorted but if anyone wishes to join in, then, well, everyone is welcome!
Pip a doodle doo!
Doris
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
The 2007 Fete! Best ever...
Dear Residentsia,
This is just a reminder for everyone to buy loads of raffle tickets for the Fete in August. There should be over fifty prizes, and we usually expect to be deluged with offers to donate these for the event.
The total so far is three. One of these (small, sticky plastic bottle of Sunny Delight) was used in the Tombola last year and has a sell-by date of June 2002. We have returned this to Shaarrlleenn Wiggis with our thanks, but no thanks. Thankyou though, Miss Gibble for the knitted wheelie-bin cosy, and Harriet Pickle, for a surprising photograph of last year’s prize-giving debacle, when the stage collapsed and our Guest of Honour, Lord Bellchambers-Whigg, after becoming slightly intoxicated while judging the home made wine. Miss Pratt still bears the emotional scars from the incorrect insertion of the antique bottle opener, so thoughtfully supplied by Alf Poggs, from ‘The Bells’.
The Vicar has also disappointed us by not being available to help. This is probably because the Committee felt that he was being too aggressive in wanting to make a surcharge on entry to pay for his new cassock, and we told him so! (Well, The Lt.Col did in a manner not quite associated with men of the cloth, but at least the message was made clear. The clenched fist may have been a mistake, but he will have the piece of stained glass removed at the day surgery on Thursday). His old one (the vicar’s cassock, not the Lt.Col’s), is fine as far as we can see, but he insists it requires replacing and is angling for the ‘North Pole Revelation’ – (with brass adjustable espagnolette bolts, and stainless steel brick reinforcement armpit rejoinders).
The blacksmith, Mr Wilf Nuggett, was to have given a display of long-wheelbase chassis welding, but as his case for aggravated behaviour towards Miss Astraganza Knewcht comes up soon, his presence is doubtful. His solicitor is also ill with a form of scurvy!
I hope to publish the list of stallholders soon, but if anyone is interested in helping, please just call round, as there are several gaps in the programme. We also need many more advertisements; (all of them in fact), so if you would send your copy round to the Estate Office, Miranda will take your money, and somehow put the wheels in motion. Best not to call after lunch though; she needs her rest these days…
Hip Hip…
Doris
This is just a reminder for everyone to buy loads of raffle tickets for the Fete in August. There should be over fifty prizes, and we usually expect to be deluged with offers to donate these for the event.
The total so far is three. One of these (small, sticky plastic bottle of Sunny Delight) was used in the Tombola last year and has a sell-by date of June 2002. We have returned this to Shaarrlleenn Wiggis with our thanks, but no thanks. Thankyou though, Miss Gibble for the knitted wheelie-bin cosy, and Harriet Pickle, for a surprising photograph of last year’s prize-giving debacle, when the stage collapsed and our Guest of Honour, Lord Bellchambers-Whigg, after becoming slightly intoxicated while judging the home made wine. Miss Pratt still bears the emotional scars from the incorrect insertion of the antique bottle opener, so thoughtfully supplied by Alf Poggs, from ‘The Bells’.
The Vicar has also disappointed us by not being available to help. This is probably because the Committee felt that he was being too aggressive in wanting to make a surcharge on entry to pay for his new cassock, and we told him so! (Well, The Lt.Col did in a manner not quite associated with men of the cloth, but at least the message was made clear. The clenched fist may have been a mistake, but he will have the piece of stained glass removed at the day surgery on Thursday). His old one (the vicar’s cassock, not the Lt.Col’s), is fine as far as we can see, but he insists it requires replacing and is angling for the ‘North Pole Revelation’ – (with brass adjustable espagnolette bolts, and stainless steel brick reinforcement armpit rejoinders).
The blacksmith, Mr Wilf Nuggett, was to have given a display of long-wheelbase chassis welding, but as his case for aggravated behaviour towards Miss Astraganza Knewcht comes up soon, his presence is doubtful. His solicitor is also ill with a form of scurvy!
I hope to publish the list of stallholders soon, but if anyone is interested in helping, please just call round, as there are several gaps in the programme. We also need many more advertisements; (all of them in fact), so if you would send your copy round to the Estate Office, Miranda will take your money, and somehow put the wheels in motion. Best not to call after lunch though; she needs her rest these days…
Hip Hip…
Doris
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Return to the fold...
Dear Oliver,
I’m delighted that you have decided – quite rightly – to disembark from the aubergine market, and return to Dorset.
You see, there are so few of us these days, who are willing and able to leave Market Harborough by the A508, cross onto the A14, and travel through parts of the M6, and then via the MI, to start a new life considering how to circuit Oxford, (remembering to take a comfort break – The Old Dog’s Nadgers Inn does a decent pint of Hook Norton), and, as long as you don’t breathe the air near Southampton, you’ll arrive in Dorset a better man!
Funny business vegetable trading! We’ve never understood how can you make a living in food production in GB, what with all those stupid thick politicians pretending to know everything, and ending up importing labour, to do the jobs while we pay our own workshy to do nothing!
I really don’t know where we are all going these days! We keep bumping into old friends, and forgetting who they are, the Long Wheelbase is currently ‘hors de combat’, with a shattered suspension and a necessity for various body repairs, after Doris took the long bend on the A35 just outside Dorchester, at 75 mph and had to avoid PC Squiggley, who was coming the other way on his bicycle. It is understood the unfortunate policeman suffered an immediate and violent bowel movement, and, more worryingly, Felicity is still away with the Rugby Club (Cricket section), on an extended tour. She is their scorer.
I hope, finally, that you will support the fete now you are back! We still need someone to run the Cleanest Septic Tank Emptying Vehicle contest, and The Funniest Courgette and Tomatoes stall.
Hey ho…
Doris
Ps - Bunts, do you still have that ‘Welcome home’ banner, the one we used for Mannerings, when he returned after having his bits done?
I’m delighted that you have decided – quite rightly – to disembark from the aubergine market, and return to Dorset.
You see, there are so few of us these days, who are willing and able to leave Market Harborough by the A508, cross onto the A14, and travel through parts of the M6, and then via the MI, to start a new life considering how to circuit Oxford, (remembering to take a comfort break – The Old Dog’s Nadgers Inn does a decent pint of Hook Norton), and, as long as you don’t breathe the air near Southampton, you’ll arrive in Dorset a better man!
Funny business vegetable trading! We’ve never understood how can you make a living in food production in GB, what with all those stupid thick politicians pretending to know everything, and ending up importing labour, to do the jobs while we pay our own workshy to do nothing!
I really don’t know where we are all going these days! We keep bumping into old friends, and forgetting who they are, the Long Wheelbase is currently ‘hors de combat’, with a shattered suspension and a necessity for various body repairs, after Doris took the long bend on the A35 just outside Dorchester, at 75 mph and had to avoid PC Squiggley, who was coming the other way on his bicycle. It is understood the unfortunate policeman suffered an immediate and violent bowel movement, and, more worryingly, Felicity is still away with the Rugby Club (Cricket section), on an extended tour. She is their scorer.
I hope, finally, that you will support the fete now you are back! We still need someone to run the Cleanest Septic Tank Emptying Vehicle contest, and The Funniest Courgette and Tomatoes stall.
Hey ho…
Doris
Ps - Bunts, do you still have that ‘Welcome home’ banner, the one we used for Mannerings, when he returned after having his bits done?
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