The Thick End Of The Wedge.

Finding myself at a bit of a loose end, yesterday afternoon, I thought I'd go and visit one of my old stomping grounds, The Earl St. Vincent in King Street, at the arse end of Ramsgate's Eastcliff, as it were.
Nice atmos. in there, these days, albeit not as gay as I remember but the fun-loving spirit of the establishment still survives, er, sort of.
A few chaps at the end of the bar were debating the mystery of the identity of the, as yet unamed, fourth Telly Tubby, a debate that very soon encompassed the whole pub!
I could have nipped it in the bud, maybe, by pointing out that it was, in fact, Tinky Winky who was missing from their list but who the hell, in their right mind, is going to admit to knowing that?
Eventually someone did.
Praise be, I thought and let that be the end of it.
So, half an hour later, the recounting of tales of Telly Tubby derring do crossed the line into actual re-enactments of scenes from the programme, with grown men bouncing around the pub making ridiculous noises to the delight of other patrons and I figured it was time to leave.

I must confess to not being so sure about moving to Ramsgate any more. I'm also not so sure that all the sunshine there is doing anyone much good.

Dogging A Fled Horse.

Walking along The Minnis and enjoying the last of the glorious sunshine, last night (was it just me or did the sun seem to hang around for a bit longer yesterday), I noticed a car along the end of the promenade with it's windows steamed up and the whole thing rocking like there was an earthquake.
Ever curious, I thought I'd sneak up and give it a little closer inspection.
Imagine my surprise to see some young fella's face pressed up against the window, contorted with pain and distress and seemingly mouthing the word 'help', over and over.
Imagine my even greater surprise when this lad manages to roll the window down and, there behind him, thrusting for all his worth, is none other than my old proctagonist, Horse.
Not quite sure what to say, I decided to tackle him over the fifty quid that went missing from my flat at roughly the same time that he did!
"Oh, yes, sorry about that Jasey-baby. Here," He said, reaching down into wincing boy's pocket and removing his wallet. "take it out of this."

Obviously some people are not happy unless they're ripping the arse out of someone!

Back From The Dead.

Ah well, while we're at it.





Difficult to believe that Graham Chapman wasn't the son of God, isn't it?
And just like Arnie, what a lovely set of thighs! I believe he put his to much better use, though.

Easter Funny.

With Easter almost upon us, I thought it high time to start getting into the spirit of the season! My God, hasn't that Arnie got some lovely thighs!!!

Let's Put The Queer Back Into Beer.

I don't know about the rest of you but I'm getting pretty sick of, everywhere I turn at the moment, having this flipping Easter beer festival forced down my throat!
Blah, blah, beer festival this, blah, blah, beer festival that and blah, blah, beer festival what-bloody-ever.
Not being one to take that sort of thing laying down (though I don't mind it on the chin from time to time), me and my fellow Rotarians here in The Gay Capital of Thanet are going to stage one of our very own, the weekend after the 'warm-up' beer festival in Margate (Of all places. Honestly!) and it's going to be the mother, father, son and daughter of all festivals!!!
With almost 20 beers on offer, including one national award winner which has something to do with pigs, I'm told, and live music from local rock/ragtime/ballroom/skiffle band Rabid Hearse Bait, we're just about guaranteed to make the North West of the Isle rock! One of our lads from the sub-aqua club is going to have a stab at detonating the WW2 munitions ship, USS Richard Montgomery, which sank in The Thames/Medway Estuary during the 'big one', so that should help a bit.

This 'monster' event is going to be held in our palatial Church House on Saturday 14th and Sunday 15th of April and, as I say, promises to be the festival-to-end-all-festivals with an expected attendance of well over 50 people (over the two days of the event(including staff))!

For further information, please follow the link to our very own Civic Information site which, I'm assured, will be updated very soon to include more than 'just one line, hidden in January's Council meeting minutes'.

Looking forward to seeing you all there!

Disclaimer - Dear MI5/FBI, if it hadn't occured already, and before you come kicking my door down, I really was only joking about blowing The USS Richard Montgomery up, fully realising how ludicrously stupid and dangerous that would be (though, to be honest, Whitstable looks like it could do with a wash), especially in these times where at least 4 out of every 5 people is a terrorist, apparently.
Ease up on the weed, fellas!

Cock Problems.

Having suffered a drippy cock for a little while now, I decided to bite the bullet and call in a plumber to rectumfy the damned thing.
Often a daunting task, not just the worry that an awful lot of money is about to disappear but also the fact that they're reliably unreliable and an odd breed of human, I forged ahead in the futile hope that I would locate and procure Birchington's finest.
Well, apart from the fact that he was about 100lbs overweight (not so practical for someone that often has to squeeze behind cupboards), he seemed competent and very enthusiastic. And when I outlined the problem with my cock, he almost 'whooped' and did a back-flip!
"Can you fix it, dearie?" I asked him.
"Probably just need to tighten your nuts for you a little bit, darlin'" he replied, "and your cock will be just fine."
I had a feeling, before he'd even arrived, that this was going to be a bit of a carry-on. I hadn't imagined, even for a second, that it was going to be a bit of a carry-on film, mind you.
"I'll leave you to it, then." I offered, not really wanting to perpetuate this type of innuendo with someone large enough to be my entire family.

So, half an hour later he emerged, sweating, panting, sucking air through his teeth and declaring that someone had made a right balls-up of my cock (ooh, matron!) and that all the pipework before and after it would have to be replaced. Possibly my boiler and toilet cistern too! Luckily, my bath appeared to have escaped relatively unscathed but it was, perhaps, too early to say for sure, however, he was pretty certain that my kitchen sink would be ok so long as I didn't fill it right up to the top for a while. "Oh, and someone has plumbed all your rads in back to front." he also opined.
"Would you mind if I got a second opinion?" I asked him.
"Sure," he replied, "I think your sofa's rubbish too!"

Duh!

Joe Hoovers Witless.

As I now find myself considering a move to the sunnier side of the Isle, I thought I'd saunter on over there last night in an attempt to acclimatise myself.
My word, there ARE some great pubs in Ramsgate, aren't there!
I think my favourite, though, would have to be Churchills, being one of those 'closet' gay pubs that you come across from time to time. And some of the characters that you'll find there are quite remarkable! I found myself chatting to a chap called Joe for a while, a rather loud and brash individual that fancies himself as a bit of a ladies man, who took great delight in recounting the tale of an ex-girlfriend who used to hoover his flat in the nude while he followed her around, crevice tool in hand, making things (well, thing, anyway) hard for her. Personally, I couldn't see the turn on but, not wishing to knock anything until I've tried it, I'll have a little stab at getting Dr. Sam to help out with a reenactment before I poo poo the idea.
He then went on to describe his experience, in far too much detail, of a hugely endowed black woman that he'd met in America, who allowed him and his friend to perform an amateur mammogram on her, for a dollar each.
At this point I was starting to feel a little queasy, so made my excuses and went off in a vain attempt to find someone a little less eccentric to talk to.

What a pub!

I think I may have to trundle along there again, tonight.

The Pewter Twot.

Bearing in mind some of the terrible things that nurses must see, it's no surprise, perhaps, that they would have to develop quite an evil sense of humour in order to cope with it all.
When Ms Nightingale recommended The Pewter Pot to me, for a thumping good night out, I think she must have been aware of their somewhat bizarre initiation ceremony for new customers, insofar as their belief that they need to be thumped by just about everyone in the pub, at least once.
Luckily, I went there on a quiet night!
Even luckier, I suppose, that the landlady, a rather plump and gawdy woman in her fifties that likes to dress like a twelve-year-old St. Trinians student, refrains from such behaviour herself, preferring to save that kind of thing for hospitalizing armed criminals on the odd occasion that they may wish to drop in!
I even noticed customers from The Powell Arms breaking into a little trot as they came past the window.

I'm seriously thinking about moving to Ramsgate's Eastcliff. Having visited a few times, I get the strong impression that it hosts a huge, gay populace. And if any of you ever get invited to that old sea dog Eastcliff Richard's CTM (as I did, a couple of weeks ago), I'd strongly recommend a slice of his Navy cake.

It's moist, nutty and a bit special!

A Nurse.

I must say that it's nice to have the use of my hands back again. I've had plenty to say over the last couple of weeks but, after an unfortunate felching accident (must make note that using a match to try and locate hiding Hammy the hamster is NOT a good idea), I've been unable to bash anything out at all!
Still, the nurse that came round every day to change my dressings was a good sport and even helped out with putting mascara on my eyebrow stubble for when the well-wishers popped over.
She also turned out to be an absolute goldmine of information about the local scene here in Birchingstone and strongly recommended that I visit The Pewter Pot, on The Square, for a thumping good evening out.
D'ya know, now that the dressings are off for good, I may just amble up there tonight and see what all the fuss is about, if I make it past The Powell Arms in one piece, that is!

Anal Ysis.

I do have some very clever friends but, by a long chalk, my close chum Smartie has to be one of the cleverest.
Believe it or not, he can name any sweet that you'd care to come up with, just by having it inserted into his rectum! A talent that gets him invited to all the best parties.
Not long after I'd met him, and having gone through most of my sweetie tin without getting one of them wrong, I thought I'd fix his game by sneakily inserting my 'instrument of love' into him.
"Hah," I thought "pick the bone out of that one!"
After a moment of deliberation he declared "mmmm, that's a Treet!"

Well I'll be blowed (with a bit of luck)!!!