Enough To Test The Patients Of All Saints!

Chatting to my good chum, Lawrence of Eastbourne, on the phone last night, he was telling me , with a note of disgust in his voice, that Eastbourne council had recently granted permission to Berkeley Homes to convert their old and much loved All Saints Hospital into 53 sympathetic apartments.
I'm not quite sure what a 'sympathetic apartment' is (maybe they're going to keep a nurse on for each flat?) but it all sounded spookily familiar to our recent Sea Bathing project (I wonder if that was done sypathetically and they've kept a pigeon on for each flat?).
"Not to worry," I told him, after pointing out the coincidence "they're having a beer festival just up the road at The Winter Gardens in Margate soon, so I may pop along for that and have a stab at blotting the whole sorry business out for a while."
Well, it's not nice to keep shutting hospitals down, especially as virulent plague seems to be becoming increasingly more rife, these days.
Actually, on reflection, closing hospitals could alleviate that, somewhat.
But I'm straying from the point, which was, as it turns out, so Lawrence informs me, that Eastbourne also has a beer festival of their own in their Winter Gardens.

Now then, what gives here?
Is Eastbourne modelling itself on Margate?
If so, I really think that someone ought to point out the error of their ways before it's too late and we end up with half the Country being set on fire!

Flying Visit.

Dr. 'Sam' popped round to see me last night, for the first time in absolutely ages!
I know he's a busy boy, what with all of his business, leisure and marital pursuits, but I'm afraid I was a little huffy with him all the same. Well really, I have needs and feelings too, y'know. Also, I'm not able to go around to his place (wife and kids and all that) and after a close call with his wife and his mobile phone, I can't even text him anymore.
So, panting and drained, we drew up a plan to arrange further meetings via his blogsite (which will also remain unnamed), using coded keywords to discuss venues and times.
As he couldn't stay long because he had some important research to complete, regarding The Theatre Royal in Margate, I'm afraid it was all a bit add-hoc. Anyway, and without giving the game away by going into too much detail, whenever he uses the phrase 'in my opinion', it means he's up for a bit of 'how's your mother'.

I get the feeling we'll be meating quite a lot, from now on!

All Around Me Are Familiar Faeces...

...worn out pleases, worn out faeces.

So much for my holiday in Weymouth, I may just as well have gone to Margate!
Portland Bill, with it's ships of war and bloody great big prison, somehow managed to come across as a touch more cheerful than Weymouth's main seafront.
Maybe an idea for Margate, eh?
Forget about all that arty, farty Turner Centre nonsense or once-a-month fish market (what bloody good is that to anyone?). Let's get a prison erected there and bring in some drab and dreary looking boats with guns on them, rather than the drab and dreary looking ones that are already there without guns on them.
I'd suppose, with a bit of deft dredging, that we could even have Portland Bill's treacherous 'five tides crossing' just off the harbour arm and put on 'chav dunking shows' at the weekends. I still haven't forgiven them for what they did to my lovely coat, yet and perhaps I never will!
And for the icing on the cake, the town could be renamed Margate Jimmy.

I think that would put things in perspective, nicely!

ps. While on the subject of arty, farty nonsense, a Southside friend of mine tips me off that they're holding some kind of wake at the now defunct IOTA gallery there, this weekend. Is there any truth to that? I certainly wouldn't mind popping over for that, if only for the opportunity to say "Well, I suppose it's back to the drawing board, then!".

pps. I must be particularly bored this morning to have come across A WAKE FOR GALLERY IOTA, authored by none other than IOTA's Autistic Dictator (strange title), which I hope may be of some use to anyone who is even more bored than I.

ppss. Just thought I'd add that to reflect my feelings on nazism.

Pan European.

While I'm on the subject of 'things, toilety in nature', I should pass comment on a toilet that my friend Nörbert recently had imported from his mother Fatherland. I certainly won't be passing anything else on it!
Being a voracious carnivore (and, of course, German), Nörbert has a few concerns regarding tape-worm and the such-like, so, in order to keep check on movements in his movements, he now has a toilet with a shelf built into it, so he can prod his poo about with a pencil before feeding the little fishies in the sea.
Disgusting!
In his own words, he declares "I, for zis food, am paying wery güt monies and should be liking to eaten it for myselves!"
I was thinking about taking a short break with him at his parents house in Ratingen, a charming little town that was never in a big rush to rebuild after the war, but now I'm not so sure.

The last thing that I want is to gain the reputation of being a shit-stabber!

Side Issue.

I don't know, exactly, how it works for you guys that are under the impression that you're straight, but whenever I'm in a public urinal, I do like to have a little peek at the equipment being used next-door. Just out of curiosity, you understand!
Just as well that I did, last night, in the Sea View's toilet. The chappie parked next to me had an impressive array of jewellery adorning his manhood and, when he started to 'go', the thing went off like a garden sprinkler, an effect akin to hitting the bottom of the drop on a log flume! I just about managed to jump out of the way in time.
He also had a pair of light, beige trousers on which, by the time he'd done, looked very similar to fake leopard skin.

I scrubbed him off my list straight away as, perhaps, a bit too much of a liability!