The fact that there is a plaque on the Naughty Step with all our names on it. 
I thought I saw that.
As it is still Christmas until the 6th of Jan - I read it twice:-D
All us oldies over here grew up with sterling money Fruity, some names for different coins stuck even when we went decimal then into the euro, nobody has yet come up with a decent ‘Slang’ word for the euro so folks still use ‘Quid’ for a euro as they did for a pound, even my two teenage grandsons say quid.
An old penny was a ‘Wing’ or a ‘Clod’ a halfpenny was a ‘Make’ then like yourselves sixpence was a ‘Tanner’ a shilling a ‘Bob’ I think we skipped the two bob piece and went on to half a crown which was ’Half a Dollar’ five bob was a ‘Dollar’ probably because you could get four Dollars for your Pound then, the ten Bob note was ‘Half a nicker’ like the woman with one leg joke.
I remember the Cadbury’s bar of plain milk chocolate being 6d forever and the smaller bar stayed at 3d all through my childhood, was there no inflation back then? why can’t they nail down prices like that today, you can’t blame the workers for price rises anymore, they don’t bother asking for more money now because they’ll be told “Your lucky to have a job at any wage” Greed again I suppose.
Sorry chaps and chappettes-been busy getting that CNUT boiler working…you know,the one that I’m told by ‘experts’ will not and CAN not any longer work. Well,with the engine from an old vacuum cleaner charging the heat-exchanger,plus a rotary pump from an old diesel-powered stockman’s tractor [now running on heating oil,having restructured the cpu unit for lower compression-which I am ALSO told can’t be done…w#nkers!] piped into the tank and operating the psi of the output…the bloody thing is chugging away in the corner of the kitchen! I admit I had to engineer a roundel flu to take the place of the psi outlet,but soddit…the bloody thing IS temporarily providing hot water ,despite the pansyboy “It can’t be done” govt “engineers” [oh,DO moi a favour!] insisting it CAN’T!!! SODDEM.
Now - Baked Alaska…I don’t recall who asked why the icecream doesn’t melt…but whomsoever it was - the answer is ‘caramelisation’.
Y’see,the pud’s put into a VERY hot oven just long enough for the outer merangue to melt-which forms an insulation layer,preventing the icecream from becoming fluid. It only APPEARS to defy the laws of physics…but once the outer shell has caramelised,it’s a formidable form of insulation,which,once it hardens and turns a brownish colour,has the ability to also prevent any fruit in the pud from cooking. Oh,boy-a 1-1 degree in physics [astro,to be precise,but general in requirement for a successful thesis]…and I’m on my knees,fighting off pain,inventing expletives,fitting parts of a long disused vacuum cleaner & an old tractor to a domestic boiler,because the experts-who are WAY younger,fitter and more widely read than myself-say it can’t be done! So I did it anyway.
No doubt there’ll be Hell to pay re the bloody government Elfen Safety muppets - but DILLIGAF!
[that’s an engineering technical term…one of you may have to explain it to Sweetie Pie]
I’m glad you figured out something yourself and didn’t despair, most experts are only that in name, good for you.
My son in law hails from Dundalk originally and his dear mother passed away earlier this year, she was a widow and had lived on her own. Her estate is to be divided between her two sons and two daughters. The house has been sold (lock stock and barrel) very recently and the new owners intend to move in around the middle of January.
What has that got to do with me you may well ask? Well I’ll tell you.
Her family thought it would be a nice gesture to gather in the house they were brought up in and have a New Years hooley there, a farewell to the mother and a farewell to the old house, I think that’s a great idea and knowing how the dear departed loved a good knees up she would certainly approve, Phyllis and meself are invited so we’ll be off on an early train tomorrow morning, book into a small hotel and Phyllis and the daughter will do a bit of shopping in the town, I will seek out a nice quiet Inn near a bookie shop and wait for them, they always just dump me in a pub when they go shopping I don’t like that one bit. 
I reckon it will be Tuesday when we get back so see yis all then.
I’m just thinking here, this year 2017 there have been several marriage related deaths, two brothers in law, one sister in law, two of Phyllis’s cousins, one very old aunt of hers, one of her nephews killed in a car crash, her eldest sisters dog, her brothers cat, and three field mice she trapped herself, I think that’s all if insects don’t count.
So I’ll love you and leave you till then, be nice to each other now.:-)
Well Pug I am seriously impressed. I’ve fixed things that others have said can’t be done, but that out-bodges any bodges I have completed, and that I assure you is a compliment. I admire your tenacity.
One minor one I did was when I was heading south in my 4L Vanden Plas hearse, when there was a series of bangs travelling under the floor followed a half minute later by the distinct smell of hot radiator water.
Burst hose I thought, but when I pulled over and poured water in the rad (I normally carried a gallon of fuel, a gallon of oil, and a gallon of petroleum spirit with me whenever I travelled) it promptly poured back out the side of the engine.
I couldn’t afford to pay for vehicle recovery in-sewer-ants, or pay for a tow, so I got out my toolbox, another essential I always carried, and cut the end off my hammer handle (No self respecting engineer goes anywhere without a hammer) then wrapped it in two layers of chamois to make a plug. I then tapped it in to said hole and then found a piece of broken pallet on the verge which I used to wedge between the plug and the inner wing.
I poured the last of my spare water in to the rad, but it was nowhere near full, so my friend and I made repeated trips to a ditch to top it up.
That temporary plug lasted three weeks and several hundred miles at speeds up to the National Speed Limit, and most definitely not 95mph on the Newton Abbot bypass to make up for lost time, before I was able to obtain and fit a replacement core plug.
Mother, is the necessity of invention.
my mother never invented anything but talkin of rads - whilst residing in honkies once I arrived at another invited party in my old morris minor with no vacant street parkin available except one last spot which I bagged. as I stood on said wrickerty balcony having a singapore sling someone noticed water pouring from under a morris minor - I rushed out with horror only to find that I had run onto strong wire netting that they lay in wet concrete - everyone else had of course avoided the spot. well why spoil a good party so carried on with the gin slings and later the flat resident said take my car tonight matey and come back tomorrow with a solution.
well it wasn’t quite a solution more a gluey thing called bostik [remember bostik?] plugged all the holes in with bostik - ran the engine to harden the bostik and then filled rad with water - had to be done in a hurry as we were off to a christening in the new territories - it survived that run and seemed to set like concrete so just left it and sold the car 9mths later with bostik and rad intact!
a solder-lution perhaps?
Was your mouth out Gummy, your Mother Invented you! and empowered you with the gift of thought, to seek out Radical Solutions.
nah nah nah nah nah - no inventing there you mechanic - she just lay back and accepted the gift from god via his messenger my pa - they didn’t have to invent anything it was a “creation” from the heavens ; from the gods - get off with ya inventions!!
you are ascribing the miracle of birth to a mere invention - hocus pocus ; rats arses and fiddley dums!!
True true Gummy, we all came here as a result of good folks finding the exits and entrances, but some came as the result of a reslut.
I remember bostik well, and evo stick, and that dried polystyrene cement made a good slow fuse. Oh the joys of being a ten year old with the freedom to explore and experiment yet still survive allsorts of adventures before elfin safety spoiled it all.
Yep, “Danger Keep Out” signs were like a Red Rag to a Bull.
Good Morning chums,
I have the strangest feeling today is Saturday
I just have the strangest feeling, never having felt like this today before.
it is over here!
Hello Guys
Are we all sure it is Saturday.
To be truthful, I don’t know what day it is.
We’ve just had fish and chips so it must be Friday. 
Ummm…I just gonked at a gadget named ‘iPhone’ [note the capital P…it’s very important to that mobile communucation device’s ego] and it informs me I have two incoming calls [both missed-WOTTA shame] and that it’s currently 7c outside with windspeed of 28/35mph,gusting. Oh,plus it’s 13.50hrs GMT,with 33% chance of precipitation. Hmm…very impressive…now put the kettle on,y’little shit! …oh…Siri says kettles are a type of drum. JOLLY useful,that,when a chaps’s tentatively inspecting his jury-rigged boiler [which is still gently,though somewhat noisily,chugging,btw-yay!] as he gasps dryly for very hot,very strong,no sugar,drop of milk PWOPER tea like what my granddad usta drink-you could dissolve titanium in it,his tea was so strong! Oh,what a sad excuse for tea these modern ‘teabags’ are.
Teabags my ar5e! Tea DUST,swept off the conveyor belt into a box,then shuffled by weight into little heaps,to be squished,pressed,bagged and stacked…UNLIKE the tea LEAVES,which I can remember my granny [the one who was a shark-wrestler,NOT the one who used to kick-start jumbo jets] sniffing,before buying. Yup-that’s true,that is…I was about 5/6,so circa 60 years ago,when tea leaves were sold by the vendor in the effusion you required…so he’d blend,then they’d both sniff them,add a touch of this,a soupcon of that…ahhh,perfect;they’d kiss,he’d effuse granny’s wotsits,she’d lean over the counter and take gentle grasp of his trowel;'d stand making faces out the large shopfront window at passers-by…granny would rearrange her attire,the tea vendor would bag it,kiss her hand,ruffle my hair and I’d look up at him and wonder why he had lipstick on his neck-ahhh,HAPPY daze…
how true wot is you speak - the last and only time I was in the beautiful Cameron Highlands I did of course visit a tea plantation and didth do a guided tour of said machinery which was the original thereof and was informed quietly by one vendor type that the rubbish you buy and drink in the little clothe bags with strings is the dust thereof from the floor!!
the plantation was incidentally the last british owned in Malaysia and permitted to continue for the sake of tourism - the butterfly farm was also of interest and the whole area a mecca of old colonialism run by the locals!
we stayed in an old colonial Inn where they had stacked two double beds and a few singles into the once luxurious living room with a little coal open fireplace - the morning were somewhat chilly and foggy! the tourist buses were a regular feature disgorging their prey outside the multi story Hilton hotel - very garish!
ps: the rickety bus climb from the lowlands of Malaysia to the high hills of the CH’s is another story in itself