Band Stand-up.

Crikey, you Ramsgatonians certainly know how to throw a party! There were more people on the platform at Birchington train station. I should have stayed there and saved myself £2-40. I would, however, have missed the wonderful Cajun band which made the trip worthwhile. Well, that and the white Rastafarian wearing a high-vis waistcoat. Got a good giggle out of that!
Er... was he meant to be part of the entertainment, because he did seem to be trying, in vain, to look serious and important?
It was all a bit too much for me, so I packed up and strode off to The Artillery Arms to see if I could pull a corker. I'd like to think that, even though I didn't manage that, I had more success than the poor girlie behind the bar, attempting to pull a pint!

Not A Fit Mother.

Oh dear! I had my sister on the phone, last night, in floods of tears because Social Services had taken her baby away, their reason being that she was not a fit mother.
The main reasons for her distress being A) It's difficult to keep your figure after having a baby, B) She'd seen loads of mothers who were much fatter than her, so why was she being picked on? And C) Surely there were much better crater.. critore.. er, reasons for taking a baby away from it's mother.
While I have every sympathy for the poor thing, I am starting to wonder if she may have been adopted.

Or maybe I was!

Men Questioned Over Sheep In Car.

>>Three men have been arrested after police found two sheep in the back of a car in Herne Bay, Kent.
The three local suspects, aged between 18 and 22, are being questioned on suspicion of theft.
While dealing with the incident in Canterbury Road, police then noticed a car driving erratically.
When the car was stopped, 10 boxes of stationery were found in the back. Two men were arrested in connection with theft and driving offences.<<

As reported on BBC news page.

Call me lazy if you like but you just can't make up stuff like that!
Do you think that the stationary was for ransom notes?
Besides, it looks to be a hot one today and I'd like to save my energy for a hot date tonight.
No doubt, however it goes, I'll fill you in once I have been!

Greg Hairy Arse.

Strolling along Margate seafront last night, I bumped into an old Polish friend of mine called Greg. Greg is a really, really lovely bloke but has this problem of being overly hirsute, in fact, I'd say he's the hairiest person I've ever met but also one of the friendliest and fun-loving. He reminds me, in many ways, of Bigfoot from that wonderful film, Bigfoot And The Hendersons.
After chatting for a while and establishing that we were both at a loose end, Greg suggested that we go back to his for coffee and, er, biscuit. Never one to scoff at a kind offer like that, I escorted him onto the premisis.
As smashing a bloke as Greg is, he does get some funny ideas in his head from time to time, the lastest of which was to have his chest waxed.
Well honestly, you should have seen it. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry! He looked like someone had dropped an albino camel into a gorse bush.
"It's lovely!" I told him. "How long do you think it'll take to grow back?"

The coffee was lovely but I declined the biscuit on the grounds that it would be almost impossible to enjoy it while I was laughing like a drain.

Knob Of Butter.

It's very comforting, I'd suppose, living in a town where most people are quite predictable, which is one of the reasons that I like to pop over to Ramsgate from time to time, to break up the monotony of that comfort.
In all my travels, I don't think I've ever come across another place quite like it for the underlying, nay found-a-mental, madness of the populace!
Not that I'm complaining, though. Far from it!
Anyhow, while letting my new hair-do down in Churchills last night, I was accosted by a rather scruffily suited (and a bit smelly) older gent, brandishing a saxaphone and completely mullering Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street, until the stocky looking barmaid, that I thought (and I'm still not entirely convinced otherwise) was a fella, told him to desist before she mistook his sax for an endoscope.
Feeling a bit sorry for the poor chappie, because he did seem a bit depressed, I engaged him in conversation and, to cut a long story short, escorted him home.
As it turns out, it wasn't just a smile that he had problems raising and, try as I might, there seemed to be no rectifying the matter. Mind you, as his flat looked and smelled like he'd used the whole thing, at some point, to prepare a village sized spaghetti bolognese, I was experiencing a few problems, myself.
"It's the vallium," he opined "been giving me problems for years."
"Perhaps you should stop taking it, then." I suggested.
"Oh no," he replied "I really can't cope if I stop."
"This is coping, then, is it?" I enquired, giving him a gentle flick on the flap of tubular skin hanging from his groin.
"I know," was his retort "it's a bummer, isn't it?"

Er, well no, actually!

Frocking Hell.

Getting undressed in a bit of a hurry, last night, after pulling this really scrummy hunk outside Sommerfield, I almost lost my will to live.
Wearing one of my prettier dresses, pink and grey with a very tight pencil skirt to it, I threw caution to the wind and attempted to remove the thing in one swift motion, up over my body and head, the elasticated hem grabbing hold of 'Roger Bannister Rail' in it's rocket-like launch skywards.
With a tear in two of my eyes and a tear in the other, I ended up heading off towards QEQM for damage assessment and hopefully repair.
Much as I like the nurses there, though, they sometimes jump to conclusions without even a hint of background research and, as I was advised by a Florence that I'd encountered before, "If you're not careful Justin, you're going to break that Hoover."

Honestly!

Had she asked first, I could have told her that it hasn't worked for months.

Spot The Dog.

Not having much to do last night and feeling a little bored, I thought I'd indulge myself in one of my favourite pastimes of dogging.
So, box of Kleenex in hand, I headed off to Birchington's Gayza Strip, The Minnis, for a bit of voyeuristic fun.
Would you Adam and Eve it, for the first time that I can recall there was noone there, not a sausage! (pardon the pun)
So, after trekking over to Westgate and another little dogging niche behind The Nottingham Castle, I was disappointed again!
Right, I thought, let's haul ass over to Ramsgate for, perhaps, The Island's premier dog den, Augusta Road.
Not a flipping bean!
Starting to get a little frustrated, I toyed with the idea of Margate but, fortunately, managed to come to my senses and nicked off to The Artillery Arms for a Malibu and coke instead.
Imagine my surprise, when I walked through the door, to find about a dozen of my regular spyees ensconced about the place, taking it in turns to go in pairs to the toilet!
Well really, what good is that to me?

I may have to pop along there with my 25mm spade drill and sort this problem out!

New Look For Summer.

As is the wont of anyone that is proud to be gay, I like to have a bit of an image change from time to time, so, for the summer, I thought smart/casual with a hint of pink would suit me down to the ground. I must confess that the shell-suit thing was getting a bit tired so, one make-over later, and who wouldn't want to entice me into their bed, eh?
Well, there was this sweet chap in The Powell Arms last night that wouldn't, though I'm quite sure he'll come round after a bit of counseling.

Smart Dope!

I see that those decidedly decisive and divisive Dutch denizens of dope disection have finally managed to extract gene pairs from a marijuana cell and modify them to produce THCs that target specific areas of the brain, giving smokers the opportunity to choose the type of 'high'* that they experience, if this week's New Scientist Gardeners' Weekly is to be believed.
Not being a drug user, apart from the odd 'corned beef injection' (and whenever some twat spikes my drink), myself, this information is of little use. But it's interesting to note that one of their first considerations for its possible use, would be to enhance the way that people work!

I'd like to see how that pans out!



*As marijuana is a sedative, 'high' would be a bit of a misnomer, but 'low' has such a gloomy ring to it.

Blogged Up Doze.

With, perhaps, the most important event in Birchington's social calendar looming, I had to come down with a rotten, stinking cold and miss the whole flipping thing!
Yes, that's right, I missed bingo night at The Centre (last Friday) and am more than a little peeved!
No wolf-whistles when the caller whipped 'legs eleven' out of his bag or 'two little ducks' for me. 'Clickety click, sixty six' was denied me, as was the looks on the old folks' faces when the caller pulled out sixty two and some wag shouted 'clickety duck'.

Instead, I was ensconsed in my pit with nothing but a box of tissues and a bottle of Lucozade as my companions, though I must confess that that does happen, from time to time, whether I have a cold or not.

Ah well, looking on the bright side, that level of excitement would, no doubt, have shortened my life, somewhat and there's always next year, I suppose.