Ex Citation.

As I seem do be doing an awful lot, of late, I popped over to Ramsgate on Monday for a drink or two in that madhouse, otherwise known as The Artillery Arms. And, as also happens an awful lot, I wasn't let down on the entertainment front.
Walking into the place, I was confronted by an ex-boyfriend of mine, from several years back, now gone 'straight' (though he's seeing a hairdresser these days, so there's probably still a little curvature to his sexuality) and spent the evening with him, catching up on old times.
Now he always used to be a bit odd, but he seems to have developed that trait to the point where 'men in white coats' should be starting to show a keen interest.
While standing outside with him, smoking a cigarette and shooting the breeze, the police screeched to a halt at the house across the road (not an uncommon sight, I'm led to believe), and continued to interrogate one of the occupants. As if not entertaining enough in itself, my ex started poking his nose in (and he does have an extraordinarily large one of those. Shame the proportions couldn't have landed a few feet further south) to the point where he was pissing the rozzers off, big time!
Well, it didn't take too long before the whole thing started to get quite embarrassing, so I shuffled back inside, shortly followed by the ex who'd suddenly lost his brave, now that he was all alone.
Still quite aghast and not really sure how to deal with his sudden, childish outburst, one of the coppers came into the pub and gave him the sort of dressing-down that you'd expect a livid parent to give a five-year-old child. I'm sure his nose shrunk a little bit in the proccess. His ego and bravado certainly did.

Now I know that you'd have to have been there to really appreciate the moment but it was, by far and away, one of the funniest things I'd seen for a very long time!

Hats off to Thanet police for not taking any shit. And I never thought I'd hear myself say that!

Electric Planes On The Table At Manston.

While I'm all for new, modern and fangled appliances, I'm not so sure that there's any place for them in carpentry, at all.
Though I'm not, as such, a carpenter myself, I do come from a long line of them, dating back some 2000 years, originating in The Middle East.
So, upon recieving the exciting news that they were refurbishing the 'Restaurant At The End Of The Runway' at KLMIA (eww, sounds like one of those STDs), I thought I'd pop along and see if any of the burly builders needed tips from me.
Well, with all the complaints about noisy planes that Manston have been recieving of late, you'd really think that they wouldn't want to add to it by employing chippies that had never heard of elbow grease.

They're making a rod (probably on a lathe) for their own back, if you ask me!

DUMPT-ON

Many apologies to Vernon Glodatiada, who's home town got missed from my list.
I really didn't want to make a big thing of the fact the both Ra, msg, ate and Bro-ad stairs have their sewage outfalls located here, but hey, as anyone who rents one of their beach huts will attest, the 'blind salmon' make for some astonishing silhouettes at sunset.

PALM BAY

Moving to the north of the Isle, it is necessary, of course, for any island to have a special place for those that it deems to be wankers. Well, the name speaks for itself, doesn't it?

Unfortunately, due to population increases and immigration from the mainland (not just our own), there has been an over-spill into Margate, with the Palm Bay side being more heavily affected.

If it comes any closer (there have already been numerous sightings in and over Westgate), I may have to move!

BRO-AD STAIRS.

Similarly, a neighbouring town has its name derived from the huge amount of PC promotion of stair-lifts that didn't appear to be exclusively for 'white folk'.

It's worth noting that this has been countered, somewhat, by the later advent of a celebration known as 'folk week'.

Surprising how many people misinterpret this as something else, entirely!

RA, MSG, ATE!

Here's a little known 'solid fact' that I'd imagine you Southern softies of our fair-isle were hitherto unaware of!
How your Heras girdled, unemployment blighted town got it's name.

Having had, for many years now, access to a tome of such import and magnitude, bearing, as it does, information that, were it to fall into the wrong hands (ie the council or the police), it would surely spell our doom, I feel it safe(ish) to reveal this small snippet of knowledge without too much fear of recriminative harm being done.

It seems that, in days of yore, the southern underbelly of Thanet (nee Thor's Nut, though it's unclear as to which one they refer) was a popular holiday venue for the Gods, in a time when they thought it safe to roam the Earth without fear of being run over by some spotty oik in a clapped-out Vauxhall Nova that could (and invariably would), inexplicably defying natural, physical laws, reach speeds of almost 70 MPH. And during this period, one such God, an Egyptian fella who looks after the Sun for us, would visit frequently, soley on the strength of, as He described it, our wonderful interpretation of Chinese take-away food!

The rest, I think, you can work out for yourselves.