Bank Holiday looms

It was only last night when I checked my Venga Boys calender that I realised we have another bank holiday on Monday. As I had forgotten about it I'd made no plans, It's completely thrown me sideways I don't mind telling you. I was lying in bed toying with a walnut whip thinking what to do with myself when I sat bolt upright and scared the cat, 'Cockle Cove' I shouted.

Cockle Cove for those in the dark is a lovely little seaside resort just twenty minutes from Sellafield. I've spent many a happy bank holiday weekend at Cockle Cove. I used to go there with my friend Roy from the Merchant Navy. We don't see a lot of each other any more since he had his ears pierced and started an unhealthy obsession with Bucks Fizz. We always used to frequent the Agincourt tea rooms run by Fred and Ada, they used to do a twist on the old 'Chicken in a basket' and were famous for their 'Scampi in a hankie'.

Mind you the last time I went was with my friend Everard. We entered the Cockle Cove Fancy dress competition which is held every year. They used to run an unusual pet competition but we never did very well at that. Two years ago a little boy won with a stick insect. I know we came nowhere close with a tin of salmon. Anyway, I digress. We thought we had it sewn up one year going as a pantomime cow. I was at the front batting the eyelids and Everard was behind in charge of squirting the udders. We came second that year to Maud Shadbolts take on Ingmar Bergman. We'd walked from the bed and breakfast in the outfit so at the end of the day we had to make our way back still dressed as the Cow. As it was getting dark we decided to take a shortcut across a field and halfway across Everard started screaming, "There's a Bull coming!, What on earth shall we do?"

"Well I'm going to pretend to eat grass" I said "you'd better brace yourself".

Happy Birthday Maam

For those of you outside of the UK our dear Queen celebrated her 80th birthday last week. I celebrated with a few friends this past Saturday, what a day!

First thing in the morning I went round to Mauds to help her blow up some balloons she'd let down and saved from Christmas. We were soon joined by Ethel and Doris who had been to morning service at St. Michael the Mounter. We threw caution to the wind and decided to have a game of draughts before moving on to Dr. Golightlys for a slice of honey sandwich cake and a glass of his parsnip wine. Then my best friend Everard invited everyone around to his place where he served cheese straws and a touch of his red ruby, before surprising us all by coming in from the kitchen carrying a tray of little fruit cakes.

'Everard,' I said, 'When you whipped away that doily I had the surprise of my life! I didn't know you had it in you, I was expecting an iced finger. What a gay day! You've been hiding your whisk under a bushel, get out into the world and make your mark. I'll have a word with my good friend Crispin Touche and see if he can't get you a position under the head chef at the Queens Hotel. But meanwhile let's all form a chain and celebrate down at the 'Happy Bullock'. We'll have one or two in there, then we can move on to the 'Bunch O'Plums' and the 'Friend In Hand' before finishing up at the 'Cock and Trumpet' for the Royal Toast. They've got Faith Gudgeon on the piano this morning so we can sing 'Land of Hope and Glory' then have a collection to get her a new hearing aid. Come along all form a chain behind Everard and we'll conga down to the Bullock.

Well we all arrived in one piece and the festivities began. Maud was drinking Egg flip and Cider, Ethel was drinking Rum and barley wine, Doris started with a bottle of Guiness and a Manhatten cocktail and Everard went mad with a Macademia and Lime. As for myself I had a small port and a packet of salt and shake whilst keeping an eye on the others. Not that it made much difference because by the time we reached the Cock and Trumpet Maud had steam coming out of her ears, Ethel was crying, Doris had to be carried in and propped against the piano and Everard had lost all feeling in his left leg and swore he could smell marzipan.

Mind you an hour later you would have sworn he was as fit as a fiddle because he was stood on the bar doing the splits over a candle singing a medley of Kenn Dodd songs. 'Tears', 'Broken Hearted' and 'There Goes My Everything'.

Happy 80th Liz

Talking of hospitals. . .

The letter from Gran last week reminded me of a spell in hospital I had myself. I was about to go on tour with two plays. We were going to perform 'To Have And To Hold' on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesday and 'She Only Reached The End Of The Bed' on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Unfortunately during rehearsal I touched on an old nerve and outstretched myself, the next thing I knew I was in a bed with the legs raised. I remember Dr. Golightly calling to see me and clutching my hand as he told me that I'd never play croquet again.

But, one had to make the best of it, I was lying there one rainy afternoon - I'd just finished reading 'The War Cry' and was waiting for a friend to bring in 'A Young Soldier' - When suddenly my thoughts turned to last Summer, and one day in particular. I was wandering hither and tither looking for a four leafed clover and hoping my luck would change . Then, suddenly, an old gypsy woman appeared as if from nowhere. I recalled her first words to me "Hello dearie, how are you off for clothes pegs?"

Well we struck up conversation and soon I found myself sat next to her campfire with a cup of nettle tea and a sponge finger. I was so overcome I agreed to buy three dozen pegs, and she was so overcome she started telling me my fortune by saying "You have a trusting nature, never turn your back on anyone, but your biggest attribute is that you have a wonderful memory, yes a wonderful memory"

I thanked her for everything and walked slowly away deep in thought at what she had told me. Then suddenly something hit me on the back of the neck, it was a large turnip. I turned and there was the gypsy woman behind me.

I'd forgotten to pay for the pegs.

A letter from Gran

I was just sat down this morning for a cup of tea and an arrowroot biscuit when the postman pushed his bundle through my front flap. Quite an eclectic mix this morning. A final demand for a gentleman's support I bought on a whim when I went through those dizzy spells, an invitation to Lee and Geoffs for a Sunday buffet (no mention of whether its a stand up running or a sit down fingers) and a letter from my Gran. She's not been herself lately and now she's in the cottage hospital.

Dear Grandson

As you will see I am in hospital again.

This time I am in traction and strung up in a very strange way. My right leg is connected to my left arm by overhead pulleys and my left leg is connected to my right arm by overhead pulleys, which means that it's a bit difficult to write this letter because every time I put my left leg down my right arm shoots up in the air and I lose my pen. I have tried writing on my side but if I do I usually finish up with my left arm between my legs and my right leg around the back of my neck. In fact last night I went to scratch myself and did a complete somersault. I think I've put myself back about three weeks.

Mind you, the woman in the next bed is worse off than I am, because although she's strung up like me she's on a waterbed. She only has to sneeze and she's up and down like a fiddlers elbow. The worst thing is meal times. Every time her knife slips the air is full of peas and carrots, to say nothing of gravy. We had rice pudding yesterday and half of it is still on the ceiling! So you musn't grumble I suppose, there is always someone worse off than ourselves.

Much love, Gran x x

PS. They're just coming round with Lancashire hotpot, I'm putting my umbrella up!

Oh what a woman she is my Gran, she's 89 and her youngest daughter is 24. She would have been older but my Grandad had a stutter.

Be nice to your coalman

The first week of January this year was one of the bleakest I remember. I was lying on my rug in front of the fire, thinking 'I wonder how long my Welsh Nuts will last out? I've seen neither sight nor sound of the coalman, I wonder if he's topped up Lee yet?'

Well, I should have guessed. Lee was in a worse state than I was, and the only thing that was keeping him going was some coal-dust brickettes and an old railway sleeper.

'Lee, You've not been upsetting the coalman again have you?' I asked. 'I've been waiting all week for him to drop his nuts, and my coal cupboard is bare. only I know what you're like. You can't stand anyone with grubby hands, but you know as well as I do It's no good standing at the door holding out your nail brush and a tub of cold cream. He's selling coal not lace handkerchiefs. I know what started it mind you; You were alright with him until that day last summer when he made that comment about your new curtains, but you have to live with a bit of criticism these days. People like him aren't going to touch their forelocks for you. He's got something you want, not the other way round. So be nice to your coalman and we'll all benefit. Next time you see him in the street, beckon him over, offer him a beef tea and pat his horse a few times. And next Christmas try to think of some little gift that's a bit different; the whole world gives him soap!'

Well for once Lee took my advice and made him a beef tea, and it was amazing but overnight the coalman changed into a different person. It just goes to show how a little thought can fill your coal cupboard, helped, of course, by a beef tea.

I tell it like it is and call a spade a spade, I've always spoken my mind and taken risks. In fact I was the first person down our street to try a bounty bar.

You can't beat a winkle

It's a little known fact that April 17th - 21st is national Winkle week. For those of you outside of the UK a winkle is a type of sea mollusc that is eaten from polystyrene cups at the coast with pepper and vinegar. In honor of National Winkle Week I reproduce here a poem written by Maud 'fingers' Moxby who used to play the rising organ at the Gem Cinema. Maud wrote this during Winkle Week of 1939 which helps to explain the wartime feeling.

YOU CAN'T BEAT A WINKLE

Three cheers for British winkles,
They're the finest thing for you,
Three cheers for British winkles,
They will help to see us through.

They're always cheap and cheerful,
And there's lots of them about,
So do your bit for Britain,
Go on, take a winkle out.

They will help us win each battle,
And that's what we all seek,
So lets all pull together now,
And start our winkle week.

So come on, grab your winkle,
And attack it with a pin,
And shout our winkle slogan,
'It's better out than in.'

Maud won a gold-plated winkle pin for this poem. She also wrote another one called 'Have Faith In A Winkle' but the judges deemed it too religious.

In the words of Shirley

Where do I begin? This is my second attempt at a blog. I had one before and got bored with what I had written and wanted it to go in another direction. So here it is. My second attempt. I might even try and use pictures on this one. Be sure to drop by again for more thrilling entries like this one.