Candida CAMRA.

Following the enormous success of our inaugral beer festival, here in Birchington on 14th April, I figured that we'd gained enough experience to be able to help that 'Thanet CAMRA lot' to see where they went wrong with theirs, the week previously.

That's just the kind of helpful soul that I am!

So, after a bit of research and a bit of 'being fobbed off', I finally managed to get hold of the chap that calls all the shots, as far as their beer festival is concerned.
My kind offer of help, by pointing out some of the things that were missing from their festival, such as karaoke, cribbage and the sale of home-made, iced buns, was met with an extraordinary tirade of abuse. And very shortly into this assault, it dawned on me that my protagonist was none other than 'Father Ted' from oop North. The nice chap that necessitated intervention by the police, at our festival.

What ever happened to the beardy weirdy, pipe smoking, chunky knit jumpered, beer pacifist CAMRA stereotype of yesteryear?

The Sultan Of Saltaire.

It's my dream to, one day, have visited the Gay Capital of every County in England. So, with that thought niggling in my mind, I decided to take Clarence, AKA 'Love' (pronounced 'Loöv'), a good chum of mine, up on his offer of a visit to his home in Bradford.
What a beautiful place he lives in!
He's actually in Saltaire, a NW suburb of Bradford (pronounced 'Bratfart'), and that place is just bumfun central.
Seriously, here's what saturday night looks like from Clarence's balcony.



..er, looking back into his flat, that is!

Gosh, if the standard of living were acceptable to a normal human being and the indiginous populace weren't so 'pig ignorant', I think I'd like to go and live there.

Lost Boys.

Unfortunately for myself (and probably everyone else), I have the hardest time blogging unless I'm either drunk or hungover. It just doesn't work for me, otherwise!
So, after being invited to friends' last night and drinking a couple of bottles of wine, a few G&Ts and some grappa, I find myself fit-to-blog for the first time since fags were banned from pubs.
I must say I think it's pretty unfair that the government has been allowed to target homosexuals in this way but, when you think about it, this sort of thing has gone on since time immoral, hasn't it!

Who will be next, I wonder? One would hope that it'll be taxi drivers being banned from the road or old people being barred from post offices but, thinking about it, that'd be far too sensible a thing to do!

Nope, I've a feeling it's going to be trannies being ejected from church. Who would take communion, then?

Ashes To Ashes.

Having lived for months in dread and horror at the prospect of not being allowed to smoke in the pub any more, I now feel quite the fool and am getting the idea that this ban is actually the 'breath of fresh air' that the pub trade has needed for some time, now!
So long as the weather holds out, that is.
Last night reminded me of The Queen's Silver Jubilee, with people spilling out onto the street and mixing with all and sundry that happened by. And, as expected, quite a few of the non-smokers were out there too, their only other choice being to be stuck inside with the bores and cowards that simply don't have the gumption to enjoy a fag (I could show them a few things there)!

I think I may go shopping for my winter coat now, before all the nice ones get snapped up. I've a feeling that coat manufacturers are going to have a bumper year, this year.

Jobs for unwanted barstaff?

A Month In Crinkley Bottom.

Has it really been a whole month since my last post? I was going to say 'entry', but that certainly wouldn't be true! Mind you, 'post' would be a bit of a grey area (more about that, shortly) too, coming to think of it.
Any-old-road, I met this, erm, older gentleman from London, last month, and have spent a little time at his place, in his company and that of a few of his stockbroker friends.
Quite an eye-opener, if you'll pardon the pun.
It simply hadn't ever occured to me that people in 'high stress' jobs would, naturally, make very interesting bed companions. Well, involuntary twitching of the sphincter need not neccesarily be a handicap in all walks of life.
And I must confess my surprise at discovering that he was 74 years old. I thought he was in his 80's, going by his appalling state of decay!
Still, he had a few beans to chuck around and I've been curious about that kind of lifestyle since hearing Eastcliff Richard constantly gloating and banging on about it, so I thought I'd give it a whirl.
Rather enjoyed it, I must say!
Though I have put on two stone in weight and developed an aversion to dried prunes, on the strength that they remind me of the poor old fella's somewhat knarly pair of knackers.

The things we'll do for money, eh?

Compromised Principals Syndrome (CPS).

Refreshing to see that even the World of Blog is not immune from our ever growing (out of control, like a cancer and so on...) litigation culture, with threats of legal action being bandied about like seagull poo, at the moment.
And people seem so proud that they currently have this weapon of ultimate defence/attack at their disposal. They also seem quite proud that the house they bought in 1995 for £50,000 is now worth over £200,000.
Why?
Because the same people that instigated all of this (solicitors, estate agents, building societies, government), stand to make heaps of cash out of it, so it's been 'sold' to us as the way forward?
Surely not, you say!
Well I, for one, don't believe that it has as much to do with improving my quality of life, as theirs.

And besides, what use would a World, where everyone has had their arses sued off, be to me?!

Raiding Party.

Not normally one for turning up anywhere, uninvited (except, maybe, ECR's blog, but I don't think he minds as much as he makes out), I found myself tagging along with a handfull of revellers to a party they were going to, in Ramsgate, last night.
I thought I'd inadvertently stumbled across Narnia, when I got there.
As it turned out, it was a fancy dress party with a 1940's theme.
I've been to a few of those, in Birchington, but they call them Nostalgia Parties, here.
Anyway, to cut a short story, long, I met this lovely young stud called Jamie who was wearing the most stunning hat, and I think I may be in love!
I also met, oddly enough, a collection of some of the tallest people I'd ever seen in one place.

I think I may also still be a bit pissed!

That Ramsgate, it seems, is quite a fun place to be and I really think it's time to haul my cute ass over to visit some of their estate agents.