Archive for the ‘Rants’ Category

Utopian Times

August 18, 2017



Driving at snails pace through Shoreham High Street, getting dirty looks from foot sloggers wanting to cross the road away from the pedestrian crossings, a bus holds us up because it can’t get in the allocated bus stop bay owing to badly parked cars. So I’m waiting alongside a white convertible BMW Beetle that’s parked the wrong way round, the owner and his daughter just getting in, and the driver in front of me starts indicating, and her reversing lights come on. I have nowhere to go, and the Beetle driver can’t get out as I’m stuck alongside him.

Clearly the driver in front thinks I’m being difficult, she wants that soon to be vacant space, perhaps I should have got out and kindly asked the by now heaving high street traffic to back up to allow me to reverse and let the Beetle driver out, then wait for this individual to get the parking space. I hold my hands up and mouth the words, “where do you think I can go?”, to which she begins gesticulating to me by joining her thumb and forefinger in a circle, then making a sideways motion, back and forth, like she was milking a cow, or something like that.

She eventually shakes her fist at me and moves forward, indicating to turn left, and I mosey slowly on my way.  Later on, I took the parents and wee Freddie in to town to get a watch strap for Ma, and pick up the old boys watch, both from Ross’s jewellers opposite Coronation Green. The watch strap would take 15 minutes to sort out, so we repaired to the Tom Foolery coffee shop that opens out with a view of the Adur across the ever busy High Street, for a hot chocolate and rest for the aged P’s. The first thing that hits you as you sit down is the taste of exhaust fumes in there, really quite strong, but hey, what harm can that be doing you? Not sure I’d want to be working there mind you, gasping in all those exhaust fumes day in day out.

As all of this was happening, I was thinking to myself, what we really need are more people in this town, four car families preferably. Let’s get campaigning to build ever more estates, without improving the traffic flow, or infrastructure, just chuck in a roundabout here and there, think of the extra council tax revenue, and with the ever diminishing mortality rates caused by the pollution levels, a cracking turnover of humanity. But then I realised, someone has already thought of that, and it’s being put in to action all around us. How lucky we are to live in such Utopian times.


Strong and Stable Tory Fable

May 12, 2017



Under-fund the NHS, Strong and Stable Strong and Stable

Tell the Doctors you know best, Strong and Stable Strong and Stable

Under-funding Education, Strong and Stable Strong and Stable

Tell the Teachers you know best, Strong and Stable Strong and Stable

Transport System Worst in Europe, Strong and Stable Strong and Stable

Tell the Punters you know best, Strong and Stable Strong and Stable

Election Fraud Impunity, Strong and Stable Strong and Stable

Knew you’d get away with it, Strong and Stable Strong and stable

Bring back Hunting Kill the Foxes, Strong and Stable Strong and Stable

Think you’ve won the vote already, Strong and Stable Strong and Stable

Lies, more Lies, then cosy Fables, Con the Masses, Strong and Stable

Dog Walkers

December 12, 2016

Dog Walkers

My last scribe mentioned the sad loss of dear old friends, and for many of a certain age, this will have been a familiar tale, the older you get, the more funerals you find yourself attending. There is another all too familiar kind of bereavement, of which I was reminded quite starkly today, when I heard the news that one of my fellow dog walkers had lost one of his dogs, Toby, to cancer. Roy is a well known character among us dog walkers at the Adur Rec, many of us mimicking his calls of frustration to Daisy, his little Jack Russell. “Daisy!, Daisy!”, we’d hear from wherever we are in the park, in a high pitched squawk of irritation as Roy struggles to convince her to let go of the tennis ball. The ever patient Toby would look on, hoping someone would wrestle the ball away from Daisy so that he might have a chance of running after it, and I, among many others, would try to help him out on occasion. Toby was a ‘bitzer’, we never were too sure which breeds might be involved. He was brown and black coated, about the size of a small Labrador, and had a deep bass line bark, in direct contrast to Roy, and Daisy’s diminutive yap. The two dogs would run around Roy, with Daisy demanding he throw the ball constantly, but then teasing the life out of Roy and Toby by refusing to relinquish her hold of it after clamping her jaws around it. This will be ringing bells for a lot of dog walkers I’m sure.
Roy himself walks awkwardly, owing to a childhood disease which partially crippled him, leaving legs which didn’t form properly, or at least, make everything a constant struggle for him. He’s in his 80’s, and when you see him with his walking stick and his ball chucker, Daisy snapping at his heels, and Toby roaming, hopeful of an unlikely opportunity to chase that ball, it brought a smile to your face. This week Roy was a bit subdued, he told me Toby wasn’t well and that he was worried about him, he was off his food, losing weight, and he’d be taking him to the vet later that day. As I stroked Toby it was evident he’d lost a fair bit of weight, but as with all dogs, his spirit was good, and he was keen to get involved. I didn’t quite realise this would be goodbye to that patient old boy with the deep woof. You can’t help but hope against hope that they’ll make a recovery. Roy’s voice told me he wasn’t optimistic.
Today, (Sunday), as I was walking Fred, we met with another dog walker, she had Daisy with her as well as her own dogs, and she gave me the bad news. Fortunately Roy lives in a street where his fellow dog owners are a close knit community, and they all make an effort to help Roy out when they can, even just by taking the time to walk at his pace around the park, to keep him company, but also to give Toby a chance at getting to run for the ball, and giving Daisy a run about also. Two of them had taken Roy in to Brighton, while this lady had said she’d look after Daisy in the meantime. I got down to have a wee natter with the bereaved pooch, she was letting out occasional whimpers, betraying her wounded heart, but still keen get get her snappers on the ball they were rolling around with them. You can’t help but feel for Roy and Daisy, it’s the worst kind of feeling to lose a loved one, but it’s reassuring to know he has a lot of good people rallying around him.
Earlier in the week, me and Fred bumped in to another of his old friends, George, also a Bichon Frise. George is a bouncy, lively, portly ball of energy, he just runs and runs round in circles, jumping up, and hilariously tries humping peoples legs as often as he can get away with it. His owners are away on a cruise, so Caroline has been looking after him, but it’s not going as well as it has done in the past when she’s looked after him, she told me he was pining, and off his food. I said that as Fred and him got on so well, and George knows us from years of meeting up at the park, why not drop him over for a play date for an afternoon. Caroline thanked me, and also explained that her dog, Bertie, would be grateful of a rest from George’s amorous advances. So there we had it, Fred’s first play date. It went like a dream, and Fred seemed to enjoy having a playmate to run around with, but it soon became clear George is a bit adhesive, I had a new shadow. Once he had investigated the house and garden with Fred, he decided to stick to my side after that, and snuggled up to me on the sofa, until I realised he’d been chewing at my jeans, as I stood up there was a damp feeling, and I looked down to see the large wet patch where he’d slobbered all over me. After a few times with the same nuzzling slobberthon, I decided to sit at the table, and he settled by my feet. He also pants heavily virtually all the time, which makes you feel out of breath just listening to him, sitting at my feet, I was pleased to hear the panting stop, and hoped this meant he had settled.

By the time Caroline came to pick George up, he seemed quite content, so I hope that continued once she got him home, and we extended the offer to look after him again any time should she feel the need. Non dog owners may not understand why I’d take time to write about our canine social circle, but they become every bit as important as any humans in your life, if not a little more so because they are so dependent on you. I, and many others I’m sure, feel terrible for poor old Roy, his Christmas has been ruined before it even got going, that in itself is a sign of just how important those little critters are to us.

Festive Lemons

Facebook may have many faults, but it also has many good points, not least of which, maintaining contact with people you don’t get to see too often. An old buddy, Jim Powell, recently suggested a get together, and to that end, he started a Facebook group to make it happen, calling it, ‘Festive lemons’. Last night was the culminating result of his idea, and grand it was to sit around the fire at the Duke of Wellington pub in Shoreham, and catch up. Jim, or, ‘Speckled’ as he is affectionately known, was once a lodger at my old place in Crown road, many years ago now, when he was a spotty youth, and deaf as a post when asleep. He had his alarm wired to his stereo system, which would vibrate the entire house when it went off, waking everyone except him, many was the time I’d have to barge into his room, and roll him to one side so that I could reach behind the bed to unplug the damn thing, and he never woke up, complaining later that his alarm had failed him yet again. He’s come a long way since then, and is now a hard working husband, and father of two delightful children. His efforts mustered a good turn out, and being the elder statesman as it were, made me feel even older to see this young group showing all the signs of time marching on in the shape of sense, sensibility, bald spots, and greying hairs, and that was just the girls! No, no, not really, but you get the picture. I managed to hang around for four pints of Conquerer, a rather tasty alternative to Guinness, but made my apologies for being a pansy in the drinking stakes these days, and was first to depart (Fail), not before having enjoyed a most enjoyable couple of hours with old friends.

Shoreham got busy

It seems as if you can see a crane from just about anywhere in Shoreham at the moment, from the 7 storey concrete monstrosity being erected on the old Parcel Force site, the flood defence scheme cranes on both sides of the River Adur, and further up river by the Ropetackle North development, materials and labour are being poured into our once peaceful town. The Shoreham Adur Tidal Walls project is part of a government investment in flood defence schemes in West Sussex, allegedly at a cost of £25 million, which by the usual cost assessments standard, will doubtless end up as £75 million, but should benefit everyone in the long run. It could be argued that they can’t build properties at the rate they are when they’d likely be under water in 20 years, or less, so perhaps this tactic of smothering the area in ever more houses will help guarantee its safety from inundation by the sea. Inundation by people and cars however, I mean to say, I’ve noticed there have been gaps in the traffic jams recently, and we can’t have that, more should be done to make the traffic jams continuous, to keep track with the unreliability of the rail service. Also, to sustain the global warming which is coming along so nicely, we clearly need ever more humans, driving ever more cars, and using ever more fossil fuels, unless of course that wise old sage Donald Trump is right in his climate change denial, probably is, as he’s another super intelligent President elect, much in the same mould imtellectually as that former Pres, George W Bush, they both ‘know words and stuff’. Just tuck that soap box away for now.

And finally, with Greg Lake of ‘Emerson Lake and Palmer’, passing away this week, some lyrics from his fine addition to the Christmas song catalogue.
I wish you a hopeful christmas
I wish you a brave new year
All anguish pain and sadness
Leave your heart and let your road be clear
They said there’ll be snow at christmas
They said there’ll be peace on earth
Hallelujah noel be it heaven or hell
The christmas we get we deserve

Jeremy Hunt, you’re a . . . .

April 26, 2016
Jeremy Rhyming Slang Hunt

Jeremy Rhyming Slang Hunt

So David Cameron says the Junior doctors are “quite wrong” to strike against the government imposed contract which will cost lives and lose a generation of future doctors to other countries. He also says he has confidence in the idiot Jeremy Hunt, well that only proves that Cameron isn’t fit for his job either. How much more will this shower of wankers get away with before people finally wake up to what they’re doing. Destroying the NHS, turning education over to private companies, (with absolutely no evidence that academies are better), which half of them have vested interests in, and criminalising the poor, forcing the sick and disabled to work. If some of those that voice how proud they are to be British used that voice to shout out against this governments attempt to strip away anything worth being proud of, we might, just might, be able to make the silver spoon fed pricks look up from their Financial Times and quake at the thought of actually being held to account at last.

Good Times, Sad Times, Wild Times

February 15, 2015
For some years now I’ve been researching the family tree, along the way unearthing a remarkable story, with a previously unknown Jewish heritage, or more precisely, a Spanish Portuguese Jewish heritage, otherwise known as, ‘Sephardim Jews’. The overall story of my research (written up so far that is), can be found at, at the page- ‘My Ramus Family Tree’. On the off chance recently, I googled ‘Hampstead Sephardim cemeteries’, and sure enough a few came up, so after checking which would have been closest to my Great Grandfather’s home in 1911, the Hoop Lane cemetery in Golders Green, London, I found their e mail address and rattled off a message to them, asking if they might have a record for Henry Ramus, died 20-11-1911. Imagine my good fortune to get a swift response letting me know they did indeed, and he was, they assured me, the only Ramus they had at that or their other Jewish cemetery at Edgware road, they also sent me the plot number, row, and section, where I could find him.
I set off yesterday to catch a train up and find his grave, also hoping to find the grave of his business partner and friend, William Walker Sampson, who I have found is buried at Hanwell cemetery in West Ealing, for the fascinating story of these two, (mainly Sampson, owing to the early death of Henry), check out the page at under ‘The Ring Master and John William Godward’, an insight into the art dealing world of Christie’s in the early 1900’s.  I never tire of the trip to London, especially crossing the Thames as you approach Victoria Station, and the underground now appears to have a new celebrity, in the voice of the Victoria Underground tannoy, a lovely West Indian lilt, hammed up to the eyeballs, telling us how, “evry ting be cool runnings”, among many other highly amusing pieces of useful information. All around were smiling faces at the sound of this humour filled accent, and it occurred what a great idea to amuse and raise the spirits of the passengers.
After a few changes I arrived at Golders Green underground station, and once outside, consulted my pocket A to Z, turn right into Finchley road. A news seller confirmed I was on the right path, ten minutes later I turned into Hoop Lane, a nice sounding, but unremarkable road. It wasn’t long before I spotted the graveyard, and a few hundred yards later, the entrance. I had been feeling a tightness in my chest, probably wind, but it added to the experience I thought, there was a gatekeepers office, and a helpful attendant soon pointed me in the direction I needed to be heading, section A, row 10, plot 30. I felt sure I would be going back to that attendant pleading stupidity when I couldn’t locate the grave, but no, it was all quite straightforward. And then there it was, a fine looking, long domed marble cask, laid out horizontally in the Sephardim tradition, in immacualte condition for 104 years old. Inscribed were the words, ‘Sacred to the memory -of- Henry Ramus, who departed this life July 20th 1911 Tamuz 24th 5671 In his 39th year To the everlasting sorrow of his widow, sons, relatives, and very dear friends’. As I read the inscription, I could imagine his wife, May, aged just 29, their sons, Reginald and Neville, aged 10 and 6, William Walker Sampson, and doubtless many other family and friends, stood around this plot. The next thing that struck me was that it appeared to be a double plot, with what should have been May’s plot laying empty, unfortunately she died in 1956 at Brighton, and had dementia towards the end, so I guess her space next to Henry had been forgotten by then, which was a bit sad to think of. The whole experience definitely stirred something inside me, maybe more wind, but I prefer to think not.
Henry Ramus headstone at Hoop Lane cemetery, Golders Green, London

Henry Ramus headstone at Hoop Lane cemetery, Golders Green, London

This is the top of Henry's gravestone, with the inscription

This is the top of Henry’s gravestone, with the inscription.

Sad Times
It was with great regret that I heard our Uncle Don had passed away last week, with the funeral at Chichester last Thursday. I couldn’t go as I was going with the old man for his lung specialist check up at Worthing hospital, and Ma couldn’t go as she is still recovering from deep vein thrombosis. It’s been a blur of hospitals and doctors at home for some while now, I have a far better knowledge of the geography of Worthing hospital than I ever wanted, and know virtually all the doctors names at our local medical centre now too. Dear old Don was our Auntie Sheila’s second husband, an ex copper, and salt of the earth, an absolutely lovely bloke, full of good humour, but had come to the point where he was happy to be going. Cousin Matt told me Don had instructed him to make sure no one tried to bring him back if he were in hospital and things went wrong. I’ve seen this, and heard it, a few times before. Ill health and old age are difficult enough, but many times worse when they have lost the person they truly loved, and it becomes a struggle to actually want to go on, despite all the best wishes of loved ones around them. Don will live on in our memories, but right now, Sheila’s children and Grand children, who adopted this lovely man as their own, will be hurting the most, so I hope their memories help them through this horrible time.
Wild Life 2015
I have to say I thought our local council showed themselves up for the waste of space most of us consider politicians to be, letting us know that the company behind this concert at Shoreham Airport had sneakily gone behind their backs and set the wheels in motion before our inept halfwits in local government could act. I couldn’t really care less about the concert, despite the fact that pretty much the entire town will be hearing it whether they want to or not, but what got to me was that the idea had been mooted, and from that point our trusted representatives had put their collective blinkers on while the industrial strength machine that is SJM Concerts, got on with its business. I have to say, my age reveals itself when I admit to not having heard of 95% of the line up. I had already been told by a friend in the music industry, Dave Lamb, that if this mob were behind it, it’s going to happen, but you would like to think that elected politicians, voted in to represent their constituents, would at least make sure they were in a position to say yes or no to this concert going ahead. What we got instead was, ‘oh deary me, erm, it looks like these big boys have hoodwinked us by doing their job properly, if only we had been capable of doing ours’. I know the concert will obviously be popular with a great many, especially the younger fraternity, and I sincerely hope they’re not disappointed, but I wonder how many of our inept councillors will be there, and in what capacity. I suspect, in a quite comfortable position, as revered guests, a reward for being crap at their jobs, or for turning a blind eye?
Shoreham Fort, Volunteers, Professionals, Babies
Researching the Fort history has been an ongoing pastime for some while, but recently I have unearthed a few gems which help explain the position regarding the status of the Fort soldiers. From the beginning I had believed the fort to be garrisonned by professionals, and indeed it was built to accommodate as such, but their is also a wealth of evidence suggesting the heavy involvement of volunteers, or militia. I have so far traced 12 children born to soldiers stationed at the ‘Shoreham Redoubt, Lancing’, as it was known back then, the earliest birth, that of Frederick William de Velling, born 17th Jan 1860, son of John de velling, Gunner, Royal Artillery, and Sarah de Velling, nee Langham. The latest birth I found was for John William Burrows, 10th November 1891, son of Joseph Burrows, Sergeant, Royal Artillery, and Bridget Burrows. So we know for sure there were professional soldiers stationed at the fort, it would seem, for the entire time it was manned, but it took a couple of old newspaper stories to shed new light upon this mystery.
These are some of the birth certificates of babies born at Shoreham Fort, and the death of a Gunner

These are some of the birth certificates of babies born at Shoreham Fort, and the death of a Gunner.

The first story I came across, in the Brighton Gazette, dated 27 Oct 1864, told of a cracked gun at the fort needing to be changed, explaining how the guns had previously been fired, ‘partly by the Coast Brigade, and partly by the late 4th Sussex Shoreham and 1st Sussex (Brighton) Volunteer Artillery.’ . It states further on how, ‘the gallant Major of the 1st Sussex Volunteer Artillery is always anxious for the corps to learn something about gun mounting, and to the small number of the Coast Brigade stationed at Shoreham being insufficient to perform the task, he offered to dismount the old gun, and remount the new one’. So there you have it, proof evident of professional and volunteer working side by side. I expect that day must have been one of excitement for the people of Shoreham, seeing a large detachment of soldiers alighting at Shoreham station, with a 12 foot barrelled gun to replace the condemned fort gun. With no footbridge to cross, I don’t imagine they would have floated a heavy gun like that over the river, but who can say. I rather imagine they would have marched through town, across the old Norfolk Suspension Bridge, and around close to where the river footpath meets the Brighton road. Where were the photographers then??

It was an article I found in the Newcastle Journal, dated 12th Nov 1859, which finally nailed the situation, and gave a surprising addition to the story. The headline was ‘The Coast Brigade of Artillery’, and the column begins, “Horse Guards, S.W., Nov.1. Her Majesty having been pleased to approve of an augmentation to the Royal Artillery of one major, seven captains, eight lieutenants, one sergeant-major, one quartermaster sergeant, five staff-sergeants, 24 sergeants, six corporals and bombardiers for the purpose of forming a new brigade, to be called the ‘Coast Brigade of Artlillery’, the present invalid artillery being amalgamated therewith’. Further on it says, ‘As its name implies, the Coast Brigade will be distributed among the forts, batteries, and towers of the United Kingdom’. Towards the end the article explains, ‘The instruction of the Volunteer Artillery companies will be one of the principal duties of the brigade, and too much attention cannot be paid to uniformity in the manner of imparting instruction’
This letter was signed off, ‘By command of his Royal Highness, “The General Commanding-in-Chief. “G.A.WETHERALL, Adjutant General”
So there you have it, the Coast Brigade appears to have been an early version of Dads Army, if we can’t get a TV show out of this then there’s something wrong! After all, Nicholas Lyndhurst’s Grandfather, Francis L Lyndhurst, was making films at the fort just a few years after the last soldiers left, and with Nicholas having played the time traveller in Goodnight Sweetheart, surely a script almost writes itself.

Politicians Lies

March 21, 2014

Cattle slaughter Written April 1996

(Nothing has changed)

Lies, M.P s and B.S.E 

Day to day is hard enough
when struggling to survive,
without the added pressure
of the politicians lies,
which after he‘s been questioned on,
he backtracks and denies.

He tells you what it suits him,
like the safety of your meat,
yet experts who‘ve been testing
can‘t confirm it‘s safe to eat,
the only thing that‘s on his mind is
will this cock up cost his seat.

He‘ll lie again, deny his words
and say it wasn‘t so
he‘ll say he‘s been misquoted
by the lowest of the low.
He thinks we‘re all so stupid
that we really wouldn‘t know.

While we‘re all left to wonder
just what food to eat for best,
the politicians thinking of
how wisely to invest
the proceeds of directorships
that feather his own nest.

He votes on his own wages,
while pegging others back,
he keeps us to the guidelines,
but cuts himself some slack,
unless there‘s an election
he can‘t even get the sack.

Proper Rant Time

May 9, 2013




A little while back, a friend, Bunny, mentioned to me that he wouldn’t be asking me to quote for work he was having done at his place, because, in his words, “no disrespect, but I want a proper firm in to do it”. Work comes my way whether I want it or not, mainly I’m grateful if it doesn’t, as I enjoy my pastimes, and having the time to spend on them, so I took no offence, and told him so. I understood, he wanted what he thought would be the security of an established company, whereas I run my jobs, using trusted trades that I know personally, and without taking any profit from them, and this is where punters miss the point, ‘trades’, time served men that are good at what they do.



Well, Bunny has since caught a massive cold from this so called established company, leaving him and his wife and newborn with an unnatural disaster in their new home, even the council building inspector called the work, “fucking shit”, and it isn’t in their remit to pass judgement on the work they check. So Bunny asked if I’d come and take a look at what this firm had done so far, with a view to giving him a price to put it right, stop laughing at the back there!



I’ve seen some crap work standards before, and this was up there with some of the worst shyte I’ve had the misfortune to look at. Bunny already had a surveyor in to check it over, leaving him with a fat dossier which basically took the whole job apart, finally condemning the lot, and recommending everything that this firm, oh fuck it, GIBBS AND SON, had done at his place, be taken apart and redone, but properly, the building inspector has apparently said the same. Part of you wants to say, “I told you so”, but what’s the point, Bunny is my friend, and he’s been well and truly screwed, so obviously I’m not happy about that, not at all. But mainly, how do scumbags like this get work in the first place, which apparently, Bunny said, was exactly what the building inspector said too, and I have since heard from a branch manager of Howdens, and a local structural engineer, both of whom have had dealings with these cowboys, and both with horror stories of this mob to readily recall.



The problem is, that these unscrupulous gits play on the greed of the customer, I know because I’ve lost jobs in just the same way, undercut by a firm that don’t use trades, but get labourers to do the trades jobs, take the money at the earliest possible moment, then do a runner, never answering the phone to hear the complaints. They turn up in their pristine sign written vans, with company logos on their shirts, and even the Japanese style flags hanging from the scaffold in some cases, eagerly showing some spurious accreditation on headed note paper, which tells you nothing of their quality, just the fact that they may have paid whichever bullshit mob it is, Checkatrade, Trustatrader, etc, to con the customers into thinking they know what they’re doing, all of these accreditations are worthless. Bunny was telling me how the old boy, the father in the Gibbs and Son, was only there for a bit at the beginning, leaving his labourer to do most of the work. He went on to tell me how the labourer told him at one point, as he was doing some roof carpentry work, “I really shouldn’t be doing this”, to which I asked Bunny, “didn’t that set the alarm bells ringing then?”. Also, how smarmy this Gibbs was when having mistakes pointed out to him, dismissing the genuine grievances, before going on to demand money for the disastrous work done so far, of which they had unwisely coughed up 12 of the 18 grand price already, he’s even been pestering them for the other six thousand pounds since then too.



Basically, Bunny now needs to take them to court, and it will take a good deal more than the original price to put things right, not least of which because the original price was an unrealistic one to do the job properly anyway, but now that the cowboy work has to be taken apart too, it’ll be that much more, and nobody knows just what a nightmare is to be found underneath their cock up of a job, so you couldn’t really price it without heavy contingencies. If Bunny wasn’t a friend, I would say no out of hand, but as he’s likely to be quoted a hefty amount by some other, ‘reputable’ firm to put things right, I’ll probably get involved and try to keep costs down for him.



I know times are hard, and everyone is looking for a bargain, but as a life rule, if something seems too good to be true, it’s because it isn’t true, and their are a lot of unscrupulous thieves out there, just waiting to prey on peoples greed. If you want a major job done, get three or four quotes, check other work of these companies, speak with their previous customers if you can, but if you see a price way below the others, think very carefully before you jump in. I know how it is, you get a price thousands of pounds cheaper, and already you’re spending that money saved in your head, well here’s another worthy life rule, ‘you get what you pay for’.


Payday Pigs

February 21, 2013

Payday Pig, and EasyLoans, 888Casino,
you make me wanna puke my guts,
not bet, or borrow thief loans

You PPI mis selling scum,
fuck off with all your phone calls,
don’t beat your, ‘you can get a refund’ drum,
you parasitic weasels.

Wonga Wonga fuck you too you make me spew
By phone, or e mail, TV too
Aimed at illiterates the names are clues

Bombarded everyday by shit
My eyes that see, ears sick of hearing
I’ve really had enough of it
I need to get a beer in

But there’s the thing, as when you’ve had
A pint or three to lose your wit
You’ve got your phone to borrow, bet
One call and bang, you’re in the shit

February 1, 2013

Not for the first time, I’ve been finding out that no matter how well things may be looking in the sphere of your own lifes orbit, you can never be in control of what’s going on outside of that orbit. When last I wrote, it mentioned the sad passing of Peter Weller, production manager at Watercraft when I joined as an apprentice, and the man that interviewed me, and gave me the job back in 1980, I also mentioned the battle that our long time family friend, Paul Powter, was waging against cancer. It is with the greatest sadness that I write now, that he finally lost his battle, and to be honest, I haven’t felt like writing since, and I can’t even imagine how it is for Mavis, Ian, and Dave, his wife and sons. There are never any words to ease such a loss, but there will always be the memories, and that is the only consolation left to be had when someone dies. Paul was certainly not the sort of person to let the grass grow under his feet, an inspirational character that met adversity with a smile and a steely resolve to overcome whatever life threw at him, as well as making the most of that life while he was living it, he and Mavis made the most wonderful couple.




It has been fortunate that I’ve had a great deal of varying things going on, to immerse myself in work and research to fill most of my waking hours, maybe it’s a cowards way out of dealing with stuff you’d rather not face up to, I don’t know. For whatever reason, I’ve kept busy, and a lot of it unpaid, but just for the experience, such as the architectural building design stuff, time consuming, but rewarding when it’s all been passed. I await a decision on the first set of plans next week, while I’ll be away snow boarding in Andorra, and I have another one in progress on Shoreham Beach, but thankfully that one has been delayed for a bit owing to a lack of resources for the moment. In between that, and general carpentry, which brings in the bacon, I’ve been researching family history events, which have led me into a most unexpected, but hugely interesting world of art and book dealing from a hundred years ago, involving first class trips back and forth across the Atlantic on White Star, and Cunard Liners, first edition literary masterpieces being auctioned off in London, bought by ‘New American’ money, and leading on to links with Sir Harry Preston, one time owner of the Royal Albion, and Royal York hotels in Brighton, as well the Duke of Windsor, all of which I will attempt to bring together over on my family tree page on this site.




At a local level, it would appear Shoreham is once again under attack from developers, this time with an unbelievably ridiculous proposal to clear away the remaining industry on the quayside between the Lifeboat station and I think as far as the old Parcel Force building, I’m not sure of its full extent yet, but either way, it’s either the brainchild of a halfwit, or, more likely, another money spinner for major developers with no vested interest in the area whatsoever. They will talk of bringing employment to the town, but what they won’t mention is that the vast majority of the labour force will come from outside the area. Regardless of that, at the moment, the quayside has industry, which in turn means jobs, so removing all that industry and replacing it with residential dwellings is about as far removed from benefitting the town as it’s possible to get, leaving a larger population to chase fewer jobs available. And you can’t possibly talk about this without mentioning the disastrous traffic situation in and around Shoreham already, with no sign of it abating, what kind of cretin thinks squeezing a few thousand more residents next to an already over capacity coast road will do anything other than make matters worse, it really does beggar belief.




More and more I hear people talk of how Shoreham is being changed, and they’re not saying it’s for the better, so my answer to them is, ENGAGE, have your say, write to the Argus, or the Herald. More importantly, find out which councillors are backing these schemes, and let them know you’ll be voting against them unless they change their views, namely, one Mr Mendoza for a start, who has come out quite openly stating he believes it to be a good idea, creating a great ‘Gateway’ for the town. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard him use the word ‘Gateway’, it was a term employed by the architect firm, Liam Russell, when applying to stick a block of flats where a bungalow currently stands on Shoreham Beach, another scheme that Mr Mendoza claimed was a good idea in his opinion, saying then that he believed these flats would make a great ‘Gateway to Shoreham beach’, conveniently ignoring the fact that it isn’t even close to being the entrance to the beach. Ben Stride, a Shoreham Beach representative on the council, also expressed support for flats at that location in a scaled down design, so I would encourage any beach residents to let him know their thoughts on that matter too, because the re-application for those flats is in the post already. Apathy is the enemy, so rattle off an e mail and let them know what you think of their desire to further ruin this great town.



Overpopulation is the barely voiced dilemma which is the human disaster waiting in the wings, and unhindered over development is the fuel to help that disaster along its way. When that arsewipe BLiar was busy ruining all the institutions in this country, one of his nifty little ideas was to open the door to unchecked immigration, snorting with derision at any protesters, that only around forty thousand eastern Europeans would take up the chance to come and work here, but that it would benefit the country, the only people it benefited, other than the cheap Eastern European labourers, were the employers that exploited the situation. Well last week it was announced that Polish is now the second most spoken language in the UK, with over half a million speaking it. Nice work BLiar, mind you, I could go on all day about the poisoned legacy that scumbag has left this country, before jetting off around the world getting paid fortunes on the lecture circuit, presumably giving a masterclass on how to fuck up a country and make a tidy wedge in the process.

Regulate This

November 25, 2012




There’s a lot going wrong in this country, nationally and locally, and it seems that as the electorates complaints multiply, the politicians response is to strip away any existing laws which impede their progress, the latest one being involved with Planning Regulations. Apparently Mr Cameron considers the public to be a nuisance when they have the audacity to complain about, out of keeping, or over the top developments, he seeks to remove our right to object, under the guise of, “getting the economy going”. Well, on Shoreham Beach between 8 and 9 o clock every weekday morning, we get to see just what such a lack of thinking lands us with, queueing traffic of half a mile just to leave the beach. There are a number of mitigating circumstances, but the basic reality is that building countless blocks of flats along the quayside has more than doubled the poulation of Shoreham Beach since the first block of monstrosities at Emerald Quay were started in the late eighties, with no thought of any kind to what effect this would have in the future. Now this Government seeks to make it even easier for unscrupulous developers to do whatever they please, a green light for over development.
These schemes always come with the usual bullshit about, ‘creating jobs for the local economy’, which is patent nonsense, the firms come in with the same workforce they brought from their last building site, and when they’re gone it means we are then left with far more residents to compete for whatever local jobs are going. There really is no plus side for the already existing community. Overall though, isn’t it about time someone started talking about trying to reduce the population?, we don’t need more houses, we need less people, so kick that immigration door shut for a while, and try to educate the masses about the virtue of small families, globally.


And now, with the Leveson inquiry, the politicians are keen take control of the regulation of the media. Don’t get me wrong, the media needs regulating without a doubt, but not by the only mob that most of us consider just as ethically low. Obviously M.P’s don’t want us knowing what they’re up to, which is exactly why we should have the press continuously exposing their fraudulent claims, or as a recent quote I stumbled upon says, “To learn who rules over you, simply find out who you are not allowed to criticize”. Most people may think this could only be the case in some war torn, or dictator led country, and for the most part they’d be right, but I would just remind you of the 82 year old Walter Wolfgang, that got thrown out of a Labour party conference in 2005, for heckling Jack Straw, (just by saying, “nonsense”), with the police using powers under the ‘Terrorism Act to detain him and forbid re entry to the conference. Once the laws are in place, they will be used, and often with nothing at all to do with the original intent of that law.


In between all of the above, we’ve just had the disastrous Police Commissioner elections, unwanted by the electorate, with a dire turnout of around 15% on average up and down the country, with a large percentage deliberately spoiling their vote, which is as clear an indication of their objection to the whole idea, as the ballot slip will allow. Once again, the biggest fools in the country erroneously believe that they know better than, (in this case), the Police Force, just how the Police Force should be run, and so they’ve organised a method to try and get their people in, on a fat pay cheque of course, although in many of the authorities, the voters showed just what they thought of the political parties, and ended up with Independent candidates winning. The most high profile losed being that fat bag of wind John Prescott, so there was at least one small bonus to be enjoyed. Basically, I don’t really see how the election can even claim legitimacy with such a low turnout, although I look forward to following the fiasco as it plays out across the Forces up and down the country, that’s presuming the press haven’t been gagged from writing about anything other than garden parties and coffee mornings by then.


Amid all of this, just to put an industrial hose on my brothers fireworks, despite being vindicated by a panel of experts regarding his health, the DSS have told him they will be appealing, they simply could not care less how water tight his case is. I say the DSS, (they’re actually called the ‘Department for Welfare and Pensions’ now, D.W.P), but it has come to my attention that this whole process had in fact been outsourced to ATOS Healthcare, for the pricely sum of £100 million, these vultures have been doing this up and down the country, and the internet is awash with their sickening stories. Only today, there is the story of Carl Lewis, a man suffering from terminal cancer, who is awaiting a major operation, has had his benefits cut, and declared fit for work by the ATOS Healthcare assessors. So called ATOS doctors are being investigated by the General Medical Council over allegations of improper conduct for not putting the care of the patients first, and therein lies the problem, ATOS is a private outfit, of course they’re not going to put the care of the patients first, I imagine they’ve been dangled a healthy carrot by the Government to get as many off the payroll as possible, and then the Government can feign ignorance of the situation even though it was completely their idea. For those of you that would like to read some of the complaints, copy and paste the following link, and share it with anyone you may know in the same situation:-


I was going to do a little history piece, but I’ve run out of time for today, so I’ll give it a go during the week. As this has been a less than light hearted blog, I’ll finish with a joke my mate Ben sent me from Oz:-
An old German Shepherd starts chasing rabbits and before long, discovers that he’s lost. Wandering about, he notices a panther heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of having lunch.

The old German Shepherd thinks, “Oh, oh! I’m in deep shit now!”
Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to the approaching cat. Just as the panther is about to leap, the old German Shepherd exclaims loudly,

“Boy, that was one delicious panther! I wonder, if there are any more around here?”

Hearing this, the young panther halts his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees.

“Whew!,” says the panther, “That was close! That old German Shepherd nearly had me!”
Meanwhile, a squirrel who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the panther. So, off he goes.

The squirrel soon catches up with the panther, spills the beans and strikes a deal for himself with the panther.
The young panther is furious at being made a fool of and says, “Here, squirrel, hop on my back and see what’s going to happen to that conniving canine!”
Now, the old German Shepherd sees the panther coming with the squirrel on his back and thinks, “What am I going to do now?,” but instead of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers, pretending he hasn’t seen them yet, and just when they get close enough to hear, the old German Shepherd says…

“Where’s that squirrel? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another panther!”

Moral of this story…

Don’t mess with the old dogs… Age and skill will always overcome youth and treachery!Bull Shit and brilliance only come with age and experience.