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.