Have I missed something?

I took a turn whilst I was in the queue at Boots the cash chemist and had to have a sit down behind the counter. I don't know what came over me. One minute I was passing the time of day with Mrs Shuttlecock and her bunions the next I was on my back with my legs up and Mr Coaltar wafting a bottle of smelling salts under my nose. Everard came straight round with his sidecar and took me home, putting me straight to bed with a poltice and mustard plaster.

I've just this morning felt well enough to get out of bed and make a cup of tea. You can imagine my surprise to find fifteen months worth of newspapers in the front hall and sour milk from my wisteria to my wonky gate.

To save me reading all of these old Echos could you just fill me in on the important events I may have missed. Ta muchly. Lal.

Recipe post a HIT! "official records show"

Well, what a whirlwind couple of days I've had. Haven't posted for months and when I do I'm deluged with comments and requests for cooking spots on day time TV. Richard and Judys people think I could be the new Rusty Lee. Actually I used to do a spot on a Sunday evening at the 'Cock and Comfort' in Chigwell as Rusty Cakeslice, of course nowadays you're not allowed to black up for comedy. Not even in Chigwell. Heigh ho.

Anyway, it got me thinking about putting a few more of my favourite recipes on here. Why keep them all in that kitchen drawer hidden by that bag that used to have some cake in it, a braddel and a biro in the shape of Pee Wee Herman.

The first scribbled recipe I found was from Dot Fairbright. You remember her, she was all swank and no drawers. She would never admit to having a fuller figure, although everything she wore looked as though she'd been poured into it, and that was like trying to get a quart into a pint pot! What was strange about her was that winter or summer, she always wore red wellingtons and a fox fur. I remember being behind her once in the fishmongers, she said in a loud voice. 'Oh, I think I'll have some nice haddock again today, as I'm entertaining someone from the council this afternoon.' Which I suppose was true in a way, because they sent someone round to look at her guttering. She said she was thinking of making Haddock de Poshe (what else?) I said to her. 'Oh, Dot, you are very continental in your ways, I'd never think of doing anything other than poaching it in a bit of milk', Well, she scribbled this recipe down for me on the back of a bit of grease proof paper.

Haddock de Poshe

1 fresh haddock
8 0z sausagemeat
breadcrumbs
seasoning
2 oz margerine

Wash the fish. Make a slit down the centre and then stuff with the sausagemeat. place the fish on greased paper in a baking tin, sprinkle with breadcrumbs and seasoning and place pats of marg along the top. Cover and bake for 45 minutes or until the eyes of the haddock look like W C Fields.

Yes, Dot fairbright always felt as though she was a cut above the rest, but Slack had her well taped. I remember Slack saying to me once, 'You can always tell what people are like by looking at the washing on their line.'

I was never quite sure what she meant by that but I do know that every time Dot hung her drawers out the local kids thought the circus was coming to town.

Comfort for depression

I've been lower than a snakes undercrackers of late. Just last night I was sat in the bath squirting the water out of my rubber duck, and thinking 'I'm sure that hole is getting bigger' when suddenly I felt the urge to yodel again.

You see, at one time I was very keen on yodelling, and in fact I even went out and bought myself a Tyrolean hat with a feather stuck in it. And every spare moment I would climb the nearest hillock and give a 'Yo-del-a-ee-dee'. But then one day when I was out yodelling with a friend, my voice suddenly took a turn for the worse. My 'yo' was alright, but I had a lot of trouble with my 'del' and as far as my 'a-ee-dee' was concerned, that dissapeared right up the canyon!

Well, I stopped squeezing the soap into funny shapes, and thought, 'I know, I'll make one of my favourite recipes, Swiss eggs. If that doesn't do anything for my depression and my lack of a good yodel, nothing will.'

It was amazing. After just one mouthful I could feel my yodel coming back and I've not lost it since, so when you're feeling a little bit down, having somewhat of a grey day, why not try my recipe for Swiss eggs, and whilst your at it, why not have a yodel tonight before you go to sleep

Swiss eggs (for four people)
2 oz Margerine
3 oz gruyere cheese
4 eggs
a little nutmeg
a little allspice
salt and pepper
3 tablespoons of carnation milk

Melt half the marg in a pie dish, then put in a thin layer of cheese, and break the eggs on top. Add the seasoning, and pour on carnation followed by the rest of the sheese. place some pats of marg on top and bake in a slow oven for 15-20 minutes. There you have it, Swiss eggs.

Yo-Del-A-Ee-Dee!

He's behind you!

It's been weeks since I last made an entry. It's the time of the year you see. During the run up to Christmas I'm always pushed busy wise as I have pantomime looming. This year I'll be involved in doing Aladdin at Cambridge, and not for the first time!

My agent, Brad Fitt, has also moved offices recently so I've not been able to get on the computer. He's moved to a fourth floor earie on St. Martin's Lane and there's still never a job at the top of them. He did get me a gig during the Summer as a warm up to the Dagenham Girl Pipers but that was only for about two bob and a toffee apple, hardly enough for me to retire to Hove.

So anyway, there you have it, offline for more than six weeks and nothing to say. Heigh ho.

Where does the time go?

What can I say? It's been nearly a month since I last entered. I apologise to all three readers but I've been a bit pushed busy wise and just haven't had the time.

It all went wrong after Everards birthday you see. It all got too much for me and I had to leave didn't I, well the ructions, First it was the vicars wife with her 'giddy' turn and to top it all off the last time she went out was when Pete decided to get the cake out. And that was a bone of contention with Slack because she always does Everards cake. As long as I can remember Slack has always done him one of her pineapple upside down cakes and this year Pete made such a fuss about wanting to do one she left him to it. He's been on a course and when he wipped the doily away Slack went mad. She said it was a bread pudding white washed. Of course thats when the Vicars wife came back in after another nip of something in the scullery. She was swaying backwards and forwards and I had to push her back. Well you see she took a tumble. The thing is she's got this big nose, I do feel sorry for her, but she fell straight over and sliced the cake with her nose. Oh the carry on. And then they all started shouting and bawling and I just had to leave.

What a gay day! what a tight night!

Everards birthday

I was just sat at home the other morning. I was having a cup of tea and a slice of queen cake for elevenses when I saw something being pushed under the front door. Well, I thought it's never that vicar again, from St. matthews trying to get me to join the choir. No, you see, he's been after me for years. I've got a very high voice you see, I had an accident when I was a young boy.

I fell off a hobby horse.

Anyway, I opened it and it was an invitation card to Everards birthday. I thought that's never come round again. I can remember the last one. Oh dearie me, I mean everybody was there, candle wick Kate, once a week Nell, non stick Nora, all these people. Some people I'd never even heard of. That's what makes me laugh. You see when he's ill nobody ever goes round. It's like last week he was ill and didn't get one get well card but when its a celebration any function they're all there. Swilling it back, swilling it back. I mean Sasparilla, the strongest drink he had there was some home made cowslip wine.

It's the games they play that kill me. Passing the parcel. I mean it's so big when they start and it's always a pair of earings or a brooch. Drives me mad.

And the vicars wife was there, and she brings her own in, what! Oh I've caught her at it. She keeps saying 'I must just leave the room for a minute' and when she comes back she's worse than when she went out. I followed her out once and there it was, behind the bin, a half bottle of scotch. And of course the Vicar says his wifes having one of her turns again, he says she goes all giddy and flushed. Giddy!

She smelt like a brewery.

Brads birthday

My good friend and muse Brad Fitt celebrates his birthday today.

According to Dlisted he is one hot slut.

The mention