Leisurely Scribbles (part 5) (Part 1)

Hobbies & Pastimes Hobbies & Pastimes: Chat / Discussions
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When I first saw that ad Solo I seriously thought it was a trailer for the film, I says to myself what a lovely sharp clear remastering job, I’ll have a look at that, then I heard the dialogue, alas they ruined it, commercialism knows no bounds these days.:frowning:

Spitty’s thread reminded me of the old Dublin Metropolitan Police, they, just like the London bobbies, had a big black tit on their head for a helmet, my grandfather’s generation as kids used to call the local copper “Tit face”, then run for their lives, you didn’t mess with the DMP, they were all six footers.
Here’s a good example of a DMP officer I came across online, a fine figure of a man as they say.

https://i.postimg.cc/YqJzYCG9/DMP-policeman.png

This article below would have been a real “scoop” for the climate change enthusiasts had they been around then. :smiley:
But it sort of puts the damper on looking forward to Spring doesn’t it?:shock:

Coldest Irish April for 36 years.

Strabane, 12 April 1917 - There has not been as cold a spring in Ireland since records began, according to a British meteorologist, Dr Mill.
Ireland is currently in the midst of a brutal spell of April weather. Frost is playing havoc with crops - snowfalls around Dublin are heavy and frequent. Sheep have perished and, in Ulster, a girl living five miles from Strabane was said to have become ‘insane’ after she lost her way in a blizzard and wandered in the fields all night.
Trains have been forced to stop running in various parts after the snowfall was too deep to plough through. There is no likelihood that conditions will ease in the coming days.
(Article from Century Ireland, a fortnightly online newspaper, written from the perspective of a journalist 100 years ago, based on news reports of the time.)

15583

Bad weather is a pain, the perfect storm seems to loom, we need to Bob and Weave.

15584

Fine figure of a fellow that DMP chap…certainly looks the part with his helmet. Our lads only had a pimple on top of their helmets .:frowning:

I don’t ever remember seeing a small bobby when I was a kid. They were all giants so perhaps there was a height thing in those days. You had to be be big to join our gang mentality… anyway it worked as they always loomed over us…but whilst we may have been scared of them we respected them at the same time. If a bobby waved his truncheon at you…you listened and if you shook with fright you were innocent and if you didn’t you were either a real hard nut…or guilty. No psychology needed back then…just a bit of common sense. :smiley:

I watched a programme the other day about underground fare dodgers and was shocked at seeing how some of the public spoke to and openly daring the police to have a go if they dared. Didn’t make for easy viewing knowing that no matter how much they are armed to the teeth with flak jackets, spray guns, tasers, lasers, stun guns and not forgetting the walkie talkie what little authority the poor sods really have these day. No respect for the uniform at all and when I think how we used to want to know deep down that there was always a bobby just around the corner whether we liked it or not…waiting to give us a friendly warning clip round the ears just in case we were thinking of doing a bit if mischief… It was comforting.:smiley:

15585

Yes you respected the coppers back then if you had any sense, not only did you get a clip on the ear from the cop but you also got a good hiding from your dad too.:wink:

Strangely enough Dixon of Dock Green was my father-in-laws’s favourite program on TV, come to think of it he actually looked a bit like Jack Warner, a little shorter maybe.
He was a TV engineer and the house had TV’s everywhere waiting for repair, it used to drive his missus up the wall, I did a lot of my courting sitting on a Pye 14” mahogany TV in the hall before we got married, it was a huge long thing that incorporated a record player and radio, sort of a TV-O-Gram, it must have weighed a ton, lovely piece of furniture too, those were the days when all the TV cabinets were made from wood, yes REAL wood, remember that stuff. ;-):smiley:
God help him he was a terrible businessman, when he’d deliver a repaired set and the ordinary people hadn’t got the right money he’s tell then to forget it but the next time don’t ask him to fix it, but manys the time he still repaired it for them, an auld softie.
He was branch manager of a big British TV rental company with several branches over here and was a well liked man in the area, he knew everyone, his wife used to joke that he was more popular than the Lord Mayor, of course that was in the days when we actually had popular politicians.:slight_smile:
He had just mastered the new colour TV’s in 1970 when he died after a short illness, God rest him he was just 60 at the time, his wife died two years later, they were very close, so sad.:frowning:

This is the type of thing I mean, doors an all on it, very costly items back then, but look at the work that went into them.

https://i.postimg.cc/wxb48jSx/c3fec52c2f3528977bfc64c78b96f6ea.jpg

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Seeing that work of art, and knowing the gubbings, and, a geezer that used to be here, is strange, never understood the workings of a “Dropper”.

15587

Tough School, tough kid, I went to a tough school, and the class I was in contained some of the best bare knuckle students. Last night, I bumped into a fellow who was in the same year as me, and I enquired about some of the names that were big noise back then, and, was surprised that the toughest of the tough had departed this world.
Upon Googling his name, a result came up because of his status as an ardent football fan which stated, he passed on a decade and half ago to cancer.
Its strange, he was a sort of legend, locally infamous, sure to live on in local infamity.

15588

Past reputation is a funny old thing spitty…through our school days there were 2 brothers…one a saint who was bound for better things and one a sinner who was hell bent on ending up in jail as he was thoroughly ‘no good’ to all that knew him.

All seemed to be going as predicted by those with so called second sighters who could predict all that was going to happen in the future. The saint got a good job, was the twinkle in proud parents eyes whilst our sinner just went from bad to worse barely escaping going into the slammer and was the despair of his parents…then they both took a shine to my childhood friend.

She chose the saint, fell preganant and our saint denied all knowledge, blamed his brother and walked away.

That sinner married my friend so she would not be shamed and it was kept very hush hush and whilst they had their early problems they became devoted to each other…then came the car crash which almost killed my friend but left her a virtual cabbage which took years of rehabiltation to even gain back something of what she used to be… Our sinner spent those years looking after her, encouraging her, caring for his brothers daughter and keeping the home going.

Those that had predicted he would end up no good said “she was the makings of him” but I and my friend knew she had the better man and that if you want to see bad you will see it regardless of the good that is within.

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Very interesting posts there Spitty and Solo. You never really know how children will turn out in adulthood, and it’s foolish to try to predict.

Reminded me of the Smith family on our street, four boys and a girl, the eldest boy Paddy, nicknamed “Whacker” as anyone called Paddy was in Dublin those days, he was the terror of the street, any balls that went through windows Whacker Smith was the culprit, If your prize pigeon was nicked it was he who nicked it to sell on, he was blamed on everything, though in fairness it wasn’t always him. he hated school and would go on the “Mitch”, that was to be his downfall with the law.
I liked him, there was kindness somewhere inside his tough exterior, he had no respect for authority but he always had respect for old people and would happily do chores and run errands for them for nothing.
Whacker was finally sent to an industrial school as they were called back them, notorious places in Ireland back in the 50’s, but I won’t go into that it makes me too angry, this place was in Cork, a long train journey and well away from his family in Dublin so visits were very rare especially to a family on the breadline.
He was let home for two weeks in Summertime, but he still had to wear the school carb so all the other kids would know he was an “Offender”, hairy rough tweed short trousers that made big red rings on the skin around the lower thighs, jacket of the same material, skull cap, thick wooly socks and hob nailed boots. He spent three years in that dump before he eventually ran away aged 15 and ended up somewhere in Scotland and that was the last we heard of him for a very long time.
Then I bumped into his sister in the local one night in the 70’s and asked her about Paddy, I nearly fell off me stool when she told me he was a priest in Mexico!
She laughed and said “Yes Jem I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s a fact, he joined a Spanish order in England and was ordained two years ago”
“Seems there’s hope for us all then” Says I to her with a wink.:slight_smile:

Here’s an old song I always liked about a gentle giant.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=/KnnHprUGKF0

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Grant, a semi rogue went Jehovah, the Estate must have been some sort of ecclesiastical training ground.:shock:

15591

Been on here a while now, a lot has changed since Googie Withered.

15592

Nipped to the shops this morning for a few things loaf, eggs etc and at the bakers after my large farmhouse was sliced by the death by thousand cuts machine the assistant told me they had stopped supplying plastic bags to put the loaves in. I told her that try as I might I could not fit all the the bread in my 2 coat pockets and the slices would crumble at the thought of ratttling around in my shopping bag. She shrugged so I left…breadless. Shops and stores started this packaging nonsense now they are dropping it like a hot potato :confused:

Now I am all for doing my bit and I’m proud of the amount that goes into my recyclying bin compared to t’other one but a bit of common sense would not go amiss with those who should be helping us to do our bit…like tell the customer before slicing the ruddy bread would be a start or get paper bags big enough to pop a loaf into as I can still wield a bread knife and cut a mean doorstep for toasting :wink:

Old clip about packaging :smiley:

15593

:lol: Great video Solo.

Talking about JW’s Spitty, one of my son’s old mates, who could safely be described as a devoted lifelong common wastrel, is now going around canvassing for souls as a JW.
I think they do it for the gear they get to wear, not to mention the few bob, this fella never wore a suit of clothes since he made his confirmation and now he’s parading around like Lord Muck in a three piece handmade mohair suit, highly polished leather shoes and carrying a brown leather briefcase, when I asked him does he really believe all the stuff he preaches, he just smiled and fingered the material of his suit jacket.:wink:

Ah, the new “wonder” material—plastic? led to the death of the Clondalkin paper mills, and the Irish Glass Bottle Company, all good Dublin employers.

Man cannot live on bread alone
He needs a plastic bag to take it home.

I would have thought you were a home bread maker Solo, the bread they make today is woeful, full of water and tastes like raw dough, as for sliced pan, they can keep it, I never touch it.
There’s only one shop around here that makes decent bread and we use it when Phyllis hasn’t made any of her own bread, the shop is family owned and has been here for as long as I can remember, they never used slicers or plastic bags, just wrap the bread up in that brown tissue paper stuff, you used to be able to ask for “a loaf for cutting” that was a loaf that was not fresh so easier to slice at home, how you get it home is up to yourself.
I can remember going there for bread for my mother, it would still be hot and I’d be pinching a hole in the centre of it nibbling away on the way home, then getting a clatter on the ear from her when i got into the house, she also made sure when buttering the bread that I got the slices with the big hole in the middle.:smiley:

I kneaded a song to go with bread.
I’m afraid this is the nearest I got to it—Meatloaf. Dough know how it came into me head.:slight_smile:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=/k5hWWe-ts2s

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Reasons I have not made my usual bread… :cry:

I am tackling the garden jobs…well I say garden but due to the constant rain which has made every living thing growing there think yipeeee…Lets keeep on growing and try for the jungle look…which they have responded to with great success making my job a tad harder this year…well a lot harder if the truth be known as I am also a year older and unlike my trees and bushes I am growing down instead of up.:smiley:

As I am the last here to keep what should be small trees and bushes for the birds to nest and play in that means I must pay the usual hefty price of cutting back, leaf collecting, ivy and clematis pruning and all the other joys of being a garden owner…but I do love doing it as it is so satisfying… except that is for the roses and brambles.

I react rather badly…well very badly… to rose thorns and bramble stings and despite wearing chain mail type gloves they always GET me…and those blasted brambles laugh at you now they know there are no products that you can safely use to keep them in check. They simply throw their branches out everywhere in gay abandon and shout look at me and blow raspberries at you…well blackberries really but you know what I mean.:shock:

Anyway this is a bit of convulated way of saying scratched and swollen fingers can’t knead dough. :wink:

I suppose I could try singing Knead your loving to the brambles and if I thought it would work…I would ,:-D:-D:-D

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Yes Spitty, but it’s very hard to get recruits for religious orders these days, especially in the Church of Iceland, where many are cold but few are frozen.;-):smiley:

It seems Prince Philip suffered a wobble recently, not to worry Phil me lad, not a bit of harm in it, I had several wobbles meself on the way home last Saturday night and I’m still as right as rain.;-):slight_smile:

Ah I see Solo, a very busy lady art thou indeed.

And talking of work, come ‘er till I tell ya…

The wife had me nagged for months to fix the sofa, the stuffing in it had sunk over time, but mostly caused by her fat bum being plonked down on it every night, it had only sunk on the side she sits on, she also puts her legs up and falls asleep on it too, I don’t know how the poor thing has held out for so long.
So today I reluctantly commenced the task, I turned the sofa upside down and began to remove the tacks that held the cloth onto the base.
Now I have to tell you here and now that if there’s one thing I hate and that’s someone standing over me when I’m working, Phyllis knows this but there she was right behind me telling me not to damage the wood that the tacks were nailed into. I immediately downed tools and said “Missus, if you want the job done you know how I operate, no overseers please, so kindly stand aside and let me get on with it” “Just saying like” Says she as she went into the kitchen.
When I opened up the bottom of the sofa and took the cloth off I noticed something brown wedged into a corner of the wooden frame, it was a €50 note!, what a pleasant surprise. I called the wife who immediately laid claim to it. “Ah so that’s where it went, I knew it was in the house somewhere, thanks Jem” and the hand went out, a short lived surprise.
Anyway I measured, cut, and fixed several strong lenghts of wood over the foam in the sofa so that it’s now impossible to sink down anymore, then I used upholstery tacks to nail the cloth back, job done.
I sit in a matching leather armchair bought at the same time as the sofa and there’s no sign of it sinking, I suppose it’s all to do with the size of your bum and how you lower yourself into the seat.
They were expensive to buy at the time but are still in great condition, worth the money.
She’s sitting on the sofa now, albeit a few inches higher but happy with herself, she even gave me €20 from her €50 for a pint later on, so all is well that ends well, until I glanced at her laptop and there she was looking up leather dyes of all colours, if she’s thinking of changing the colour of the sofa and armchair she can whistle for another man to do the job, colouring jobs ain’t my function.:smiley:

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Jem that did make me laugh …mind you any man that can scribble about his wifes ‘fat bum’ has to be very secure of his foundations…or enjoys living dangerously. :-D:-D:-D

One time I had my hand down a sofa we had a soot fall. Could have been pure coincidence but it was something that you don’t forget so I am wary now of where I put my hand.

I had rented a small flat with an open fire from a Berliner who at the time were not noted for spending cash when not thought neccessary…a left over from war days I’m told…anyway there I was searching for my ID card when a black cloud descended… make that a very thick black cloud and unless you have experienced a soot fall you will have no idea where soot can go or what crevices it can creep into…and don’t let anyone ever fool you that black is not a colour because that cloud covered and coloured everything.

When I eventually surfaced from the black hole and could splutter a few words of what had happened to my grinning landlady she said… “Ja das ist gut, it vill safe me having to have it swiped now” :shock:

I know for a fact no jury in the land would have found me guilty if I had acted on what I thought I would do on one of those rare moments of madness that occasionally comes over one :smiley:

15597

There’s always one brick left to fall.:smiley:

Now that is an eerie coincidence Solo, we had the chimney sweep in at 9am this morning to clean it, did a marvellous clean job too, not a bit of soot anywhere, and how much do you think he charged?… you guessed it…€50, exactly what was in the sofa, God is me judge.:shock:

There was an old lad used to have a pint with us years ago, he lived on his own and loved a good fire in the Wintertime, he never had a chimney sweep in in his life, when he thought it needed a cleaning he spread a wide sheet of heavy aluminium foil around the bottom of the fireplace then lit a page of newspaper and sent it up the chimney. The chimney column roared and blazed for about half an hour then settled down and his chimney was cleaned, he wasn’t a mean Berliner, he was a mean Cavan man, they are twice as mean.;-):lol:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=/eFTLKWw542g

15598

It is becoming more difficult, to slot in a one liner, that may be my fault.:wink:

15599

Dissociation and all that.:slight_smile:

15600

As long as you can string a few words together and leisurely scribble em down there’s always hope for you spitty .:hug:

As Alexander Lowen once said “Life is not a mixture of matter and energy but energy in matter, bound in such a way that dissociation is impossible so long as the living process continues”.

Now pinch yerself and if you can shout “OUCH THAT HURT” you are still alive :mrgreen:

15601

Ok solo, I just need a reboot up the arse.:lol:

I rescued this from the Policeman and the Pizza Thread, as I thought is was worthy of a single insertion here.:slight_smile:

Today, 07:35 AM
#26

Mozzarella you? Hey! Gotta no respect?
What-a you t’ink you do, why you look-a so sad?
It’s-a not so bad, it’s-a nice-a place
Ah Salami in you face!…

:lol::lol: