You be carefull what you are rescuing spitty as I hear that you can get a pretty hefty reboot from that there Salami…though it could just be a rumour put about from that Pizza lovin thread lot 
[SIZE=“1”]for those that are faint hearted …don’t look[/SIZE]
The day you run out of one liners Spitty will be a sad and gloomy day indeed, but there’s plenty of ammo left in that head of yours, and it’s only a case of come the hour, come the man.;-)
I overheard two 30 something men talking about the vagina Museum on the bus today, they were right in front of me, one of them said to the other “Next time I’m in London I might stick me nose in and see what it’s like”
Then the other fella says
“I believe there’s great craic in there Sean, they did an excellent job with the lighting, the Fanlight Fanny display is brilliant, and if you spend more than 30 quid in their shop you get a free fanny bag”
Jaysus, I ask yeh, what is the world coming to.
We are off early tonight to a very posh affair, the annual jewellers ball at the Mansion House. I’ve been going there almost every year since I was a teenager, I remember winning a spot prise for my teenage pimples, I was dancing with a girl named Dot at the time, she had to dash home early as her father had a stroke, it was a case of Dot Dot dash stroke, haven’t won anything since, Phyllis won a hamper two years ago.
At the grand jewellers ball
In the Mansion house hall
We all danced to the music of yore
Then Lady Prunella, tripped over a fella
And her pearls spilled over the floor.
Yes I remember that night well, she only got a few back, the following year single pearl rings came into fashion in Dublin.
Hello, Scribbles.
Hope you are all well.
Hope the night went well. At one time I had to do the Annual Ball thing…evening gown, high heels, best behaviour and went through a spell of raffle winning the most useless prizes ever.
After the heart stopping shock of your name being called out there was that embarrassing traipse up to collect whatever it was you had won…for instance one time it was an all singing, all dancing Teasmade. Remember those ! Amidst gales of laughter and knowing winks you returned to your seat wondering what they knew that you didn’t…and you soon find out .
I have yet to encounter anything that was designed to scare the living daylights out of you as that Teasmade did and if like mine it also had a radio you were doubly cursed. :shock:
Preferring peaceful waking upping I detest noisy alarm clocks of any kind which didn’t endear me to the blasted thing when being shot awake to that terrible noise that sounded like a submarine in a crash dive… that’s of couse if the demented hissing and gurgling did not wake you up first and when it did finally splutter out tea you were well past any Yorkshire Gold moment. I think the fact your mouth was so dry from shock Teasmade thought you would drink anything after that.
Banned it to the attic till I could dispose of it to someone more worthy of its morning terror attack and lessons were learned after that Teasmade as you will not find a happier non prize winner anywhere on this planet than I. 
Yes last night was very enjoyable Solo, meeting all the old bosses and fellow workers from the past, it’s the same every year, no matter how I try to divert them the conversation always reverts back to shop talk, ah well I suppose it’s only natural.
Phyllis won a useful prize too, a bottle of Hennessy VSOP Cognac, €74 a bottle I believe, it died a very quick death at our table. it always amuses me that so many people who say they never touch a drop will always try “a teeny weeny drop” of an expensive drink, teeny weeny drop me arse, the women lapped the stuff up in no time.
We never had a Teasmade thank God, I too like to be wakened gently and not bombarded back into reality by bells, gurgles, and boiling bubbles.
I don’t think anyone in their right mind ever actually bought one, they were made to be given to people as raffle prizes or presents to folks you hate, there was never a week went by on “The Sale of the Century” that a teasmade wasn’t on the conveyor belt, getting shut of them was not easy, I think the finally gave up and threw in the tea-towel.
Thank you Sweetie, we are all scribbling along nice and leisurely, no sign of the ink running out yet.
The Mad Scribbler.
He began to scribble as soon as he could dribble, he was a scribbler on his dribbler
He scribbled on his cot and he scribbled on his Nanny, he scribbled on his uncle Joe, but never on Auntie Fanny.
He scribbled on his little body, he was all covered in ink, he scribbled on his eyebrows, so much he couldn’t blink.
He scribbled on the blackboard, also on the teacher, he would have scribbled on her forehead, but then he couldn’t reach her.
He scribbled on his girlfriend hand when they were at the pictures, and when she offered him some sweets, he scribbled on her Dolly Mixtures.
He scribbled on the preachers prayer book, when they were getting wed, and he spent the honeymoon night scribbling on the bed.
He read the local library books, trying to improve his jargon, but the librarian had to bar him, he was scribbling on the margin.
Now many years have passed and his eyes are not so good, his scribbling days are over, he’ll soon be in the wood.
And when he dies and leaves this world, his family and his mates, he’ll be standing at heavens entrance, scribbling on the gates.
(Jem 2019)
When I came out of the local at closing time last night I had to wait outside in the cold and rain for the wife and her two sisters to come out, I thought at first they might be yapping to someone inside, but no they were waiting outside the toilets to go inside, there are three cubicles for the women I’m told, she said there was a queue outside. Why do women have to go to the toilet in twos and threes anyway? Next time I’ll wait inside.
Why is there a queue there I wondered, when the men’s has only one cubicle and four urinal bowls, there is never a queue with the men. I presume most of the women would only want a pee after drinking, same as the men, nobody uses a pub toilet for a number 2 except in a real emergency. I suppose if the landlord built another cubicle there would still be a queue.
I remember a time when the old landlords used to refuse serving women because there were no toilet facilities for them, the bad old days of open discrimination.
I wondered is there any such thing as “Toilet rage” you know like road rage?
I must ask the missus has she ever seen any women fighting to get into toilets like they do over the merchandise at the January sales, you never see men doing that either do you?;-)
I don’t think the men would put up with waiting, action is internationally understood and it speaks louder than words, just ask Johnny below, no messin with him when he wants to go.
Pure poetry there which deftly explained what Scribbles is all about. The Bard would be proud of you Jem ;-)
Doing a quick browse of the dailies and swiftly by passing the usual dross I see that Dublin Airport has fluffy bouncy type animals causing problems as they are being sucked up into jet engines. A case of Hare today…gone tomorrow and whilst the obvious comments such as hair raising or finding another grey hare comments made you smile let’s hope they sort that one out. o’Hare Airport wasn’t mentioned by the way so maybe they have sorted it. 
I will have you know it takes years for us women to perfect these toilet skills…and somethings just can’t be rushed. :-D:-D
Thanks for that video Solo, so all is revealed, I knew they couldn’t just go in and go, wash the hands and come straight out again.;-)
Animals on the move.
I took this photo about four years ago, we were on our way to meet friends in the East Wall docks area and it was a beautiful day, we hadn’t been down that way for years and never even heard of the three bears sculptures, Phyllis just fell in love with them and had to have a snap taken. Maybe it was just as well as they are not there anymore as I have just found out.
Spitty this snap is just crying out for a caption, don’t pull any punches, I can take it.;-)
“If you go down to the 3Arena today, you’re in for a big surprise… the city’s most famous three bears are finally on the move.
For 20 years, the 8ft statues were seen striding purposefully outside the venue at the East Link Bridge. Now the bronze trio are marching on to a new home in the city centre.
The new location of the statues, which were created by Irish sculptor Patrick O’Reilly and donated by Harry Crosbie and family to the Department of Children and Youth Affairs, will be decided by minister Katherine Zappone who wants the bears to be more accessible to children.
O’Reilly is the acclaimed artist behind the Queen Maeve statue, which holds a bull’s head aloft on Burlington Road, and the fantastical coloured figures the Boundary Kings on Thomas Street. The bears also have a brother at the beach in Greystones, Co Wicklow, and another at Adare Manor, which is the largest figurative bronze ever made in Ireland”
Source : Niamh Horan
May 26 2019
Always liked bears from my Winnie the Poo days. Now you wonder if by moving those 3 bears that so far have stood the test of time, whether the move for more accessability to children…and others…will simply result in unwanted damge…somethings no matter how well intentioned are just best left well alone.
I see that King TUT is being dug up yet again with a new series tonight. I bet the poor lad never imagined his orifices would be the most looked at, poked at peered into, prodded, x-rayed and tut tutted at and over by so many.
Bet those embalmer chaps never told those kings they were stuffing full of bits and pieces that after life meant giving up all privacy rights. Puts our tar and feathering of old to shame.
If there is an after life I bet old Tut is thinking ‘Enoughs enough…give it a rest will you and let a fella have some peace’
Wonder if all this rain is Tuts way of showing he’s a bit miffed with it all.
I don’t know if it’s just me but I seem to get an eerie feeling when I see programs of old bodies and bones being dug up from old graveyards and elsewhere, “Experts” scraping thigh bones and skulls with trowels and knives etc., they seem to think it’s OK to do this type of thing after X amount of years, to me it’s just not right at all, leave the dead alone I say. Legal bodysnatching is alive and well.;-)
Who really wants to know what Dick Turpin or whoever ate for his last meal anyway, I hope he enjoyed it, he paid the ultimate price for his crimes, now let him rest in peace. As my old granny would say “Mess with the dead and you’ll never have an hours luck”
I often wonder why descendants of the dead don’t object to the digging up of remains from very old graveyards, I’m sure even King Tut has descendants somewhere too.
But then that’s only my view, and I’m very old fashioned about certain things.
An old drawing of seasoned bodysnatchers at work, speed was of the essence.
We are where we are, is very annoying, sorry, wrong thread.
spitty…If we weren’t here, you’d be there, and if you weren’t there you could be anywhere but as long as you scribble something it doesn’t matter whether you are where you should’nt be …or more to the point where you should be
Now you try typing that after peeling onions :-D:-D
Jem…it is eerie seeing bones, no matter whose bones that are being handled and chatted over as nothing but objects and I also have no interest in knowing what they ate. It’s all a too disrespectful and granny was right…mind you that Dick turpin who ended up hung but became a bit of a romanticised hero didn’t have the masses of golden goodies that poor Tut had pilfered of him…but Turpin would have recognised daylight robbery when he saw it.
Imagine sitting on yer cloud watching yer most prized possessions being gawked at whilst some slave sitting on the next cloud who probably built yer tomb howls with hysterical laugher. The gods could not have made that one up. 
Quote Spitfire. “Sorry, wrong thread”
Could be worse Spitty, you could end up like me, on the wrong planet.;-)
They would be wise to leave King Tut alone, remember that old Egyptian curse “Cach ta sco tutu cach dala eg recit dom cu” which means “He who robs the graves of Egypt dies”
Guess who was watching “The Mummy” last night on the horror channel, the old Hammer version. Bet ya didn’t know I was fluent in Egyptian either. ;-)
Are yiz all standing by with your credit cards waiting to be screwed again by the greatest money spinner since the mobile phone, “Black Friday” conman’s day, God do these greedy buggers never run out of tricks, I was reading that very few items are actually reduced, it’s all designed to look that way, but it seems to have caught on now and everyone is hooked, serves yiz right.
I see Virgin has a “Red Friday” now, whatever that is, how about a “Green Sunday” when parents could bribe the kids to eat their greens? a penny a pea?
Our parish priest has got in on the act, God love him, he tries hard to keep up with the times, and the customers are thin on the ground these days, so Father Ryan is having a “Black Saturday” this week, he promises to do all confessions in two minutes flat, even if you committed murder. He’ll have an altar boy outside the confession box with a stop watch and a whistle, your time starts the minute you enter the box, if he goes one second over the time the whistle blows, then Father Ryan has to give you all your sins back, the devils refund he calls it. ;-)
There are a lot who will go in for this, the annual penitents, it’s not a bad offer, he usually takes ten minutes per customer.
I remember as an altar boy in the same church that Saturday evening confessions used to be packed with “Miserable sinners” as Fr. Ryan would mutter under his breath as he glanced at the assembled scared hopefuls and took his seat in the box.
After they’d all gone home meself and another boy had to stay back late to sweep the sins out of the confession boxes, no mean task I can tell you, but we were compensated by not having to serve any Sunday masses.
I have to tell you this about Frank Ifield, he kissed Phyllis on the cheer as he stepped off the stage in a cabaret pub here in Dublin back in the 1970’s, she was thrilled, and she still boasts about it to this day, nobody can say boo about “her Frank” in this family.
What about an Alter Ego?
My mate who has just died, prematurely, coined a line to replace, “How do you think I feel” to “how you Frank Ifield”.
God bless you Tommo.
Thanks for the line, a year has passed since I Broke my Nose, Sting would have been proud of you, had he known.
RIP Tommo.
58 years old.
I’m impressed but and I would type this in Arabic but as you are only fluent I will stick to English.
Being brought up by thrifty Northerners who knew a thing or two about catchpenny offers, my money stays safely in my purse. You don’t get ‘owt for nowt’ was the national anthem learned at the knee by us young uns. That saying stood then and it stands now more than ever. The only difference being is that if you did buy a so called over priced bargain…at least it was a genuine over priced bargain rather than the cheap imitations that they fob you off with these days.
As a teen I was fortunate to do some part time work that meant I met a lot of rising stars and saw them perform at some of their very first gigs. Some were good, some bad and some… for various reasons stick in my mind, Jet Harris and Frank Ifield being two.
Phyllis may not be aware that Frank Ifield and the Beatles were connected right from the start of their careers
Explanation
http://www.frankifield.com/wack.html
In that article it mentions the Beatles copied Frank Ifields I remember you and I think Phyllis will agree…They literally murder it
Sang proper
Glad you copped that deliberate error Solo, it would have been ignorant of me to type the Egyptian message in Arabic, a language that is not easily recognised in this part of the world so I used English letters to get the sound right, tonk yo.;-)
I never go down without an excuse, as the old gangsters motto goes “Never plead guilty till your luck runs out”, although Phyllis has me sorted out well and truly, hard to pull the wool over her eyes these days, just one look and she knows when I’m fibbing, it’s the smiling that gives me away every time, I just can’t keep a straight face.
Good write up on Ifield that, you learn something new every day, whatever happened to one hit wonders Chris Montez and Johnny Roe, I liked their two hits at the time. Phyllis had one of those beehive hairstyles like Helen Shapiro, I think she used to use a whole bottle of lacquer to keep it up, it was a stiff as an anvil, she was a great fan of hers too.
I remember listening to the Beatles as an apprentice at work, they were on the BBC radio around lunchtime every week, that would be 1961 or 1962, you are dead right they were terrible, one song they really crucified was “Ain’t she Sweet” that stayed with me for a while it was so bad.
But they were a raw band then, George Martin’s arrangements and guidance in their recordings really brought out their talents and set them off to the top, Martin was a musical genius and a gifted maker of silk purses, IMO.
Wasn’t there whispers about Brian Epstein having a thing for John Lennon, and Lennon being disgusted with the thought, one never spoke of such things back then. Epstein committed suicide, he was a strange man.
It appears Chris Montez is still going strong and well into his seventies now, I’m sure he must have a pain in his backside singing the same old song (Let’s dance).
I won’t inflict it on you, here’s a much brighter song to cheer you up on this rainy night, it brings back a lot of happy memories to me.
I like to read about the old bread and butter actors who work /worked hard but never made the big time.
I always thought Charles Hawtrey was a shy timid man, gentle and kind, so I was very surprised when I stumbled on to this from Wiki, actually I was looking up that famous stage actor of the early 1900’s Sir Charles Hawtrey at the time, no relation by the way, but the comic Hawtrey took delight when others assumed that they were related, he even changed the spelling of his birth surname from Hawtree to “Hawtrey”.
Actually I used to feel sorry for him having spent so long in the business only getting bit parts and never starring in anything, I remember seeing him as a boy actor in the old Will Hay films.
“Little is known about Hawtrey’s early years or later private life. He guarded his relationships very carefully in an era (lasting until 1967 in England) when male homosexual behaviour was illegal and punishable by a prison sentence. His outrageous drunken promiscuity did not attract sympathy, nor did his general peevish demeanour and increasing eccentricity earn him many close friends.
If any of his fans asked him for an autograph, Hawtrey would swear at them and rip their paper in half. This upset many people, especially as some of the people asking were children, which angered their parents.
Kenneth Williams recorded a visit to Deal in Kent where Hawtrey owned a house full of old brass bedsteads that the eccentric actor had hoarded, believing that “one day he would make a great deal of money from them”.
Hawtrey spent most of his life living with his mother, who suffered senile dementia in later years. Another anecdote recounted by Williams[19] describes how during the filming of Carry On Teacher, Joan Sims cried out to Hawtrey that his mother’s handbag had caught fire after her cigarette ash fell into it. Without batting an eyelid, Hawtrey poured a cup of tea into the bag to put out the flames, snapped the handbag shut and continued with his story. He would often bring his mother on the set and then lock her in his dressing room when he was required to film a scene. Williams also recounted his gathering up of the sandwiches left over from a buffet for the “Carry On” cast. Williams was envious of Hawtrey’s acceptance of his sexuality: “He can sit in a bar and pick up sailors and have a wonderful time. I couldn’t do it.” In later years, Hawtrey would frequent local pubs, get drunk, insult people and make a general nuisance of himself, calling others in his local pub ‘peasants’.
Hawtrey hit the headlines after his house caught fire on 5 August 1984. He had gone to bed with a man and had left a cigarette burning on his sofa. Newspaper photographs from the time show a fireman carrying an ill-looking, emotional, partially clothed and toupee-less Hawtrey down a ladder to safety” Wiki.
It seems he was a nasty oul git, I’m sorry I felt sorry for him now.
He looks like he’s giving someone a piece of his mind in this photo, anyone else would be down on their knees thanking the lord they weren’t cremated alive, wonder what happened to the rent boy upstairs in the bed?
Surely that’s not cigarettes and matches he has in his left hand?:shock:
Things can be simple, if you work hard enough at it.
