Le Grand Pardessus here. 

 

Are you:

 

a)  Still alive

 

b)  Well

 

c)  Looking forward to Easter?

 

 

I've been hors de combat of late, what with my name of a railway station and the matter of an aunt's writing implement.  And work.

 

Still no signs, portents or manifestations from old Pinwheel, so any rumours about his impending membership of the choir of saints may have been slightly exaggerated.  Or maybe he's waiting for a second resolution.

 

But, and I speak as one who knows having lived here or hereabouts for quite a while now, he's right about Abbott Ale.  Greene King are a fine bunch of master brewers, but a few pints of Abbott can certainly leave you feeling like a long lie down in a darkened room.  He is, though, wrong about Southwold.  Best place for Adnams is The Nelson, but the Harbour Inn is handy if you happen to be down at the harbour and can't be bothered to cross the river to Walberswick, though I've never understood quite why anyone would want to.  I've just looked at that last sentence again, and it doesn't make a lot of sense, so that's all right then.

 

Just a couple of points from various SSIs going back into the mists of time that I wanted to clear up for you.  First, garbage.  Not chucked down mines or whatever, but mainly, in my experience, served up at the Saucy Chef.  Second, the spectral figure on Porthmeor Beach.  A potter with a metal detector?

 

You'll no doubt be glad to hear that as it is Lo Ling's birthday soon, she'll be getting a new dikshunry and a Mavis Beacon Typing course.  Pots, kettle, black, what?

I think I've gone mad ..... well, madder.

 

I could have sworn (and, in deed, have sworn vehemently) that I replied to your e-mu when it arrived but I can't trace any record of it so I suppose I must have aborted it somehow.

 

Anyway, I'm sure you got the gist of it.

 

What, you weren't paying attention either?

 

Well, I haven't got the foggiest what I said. Last Friday is another country they did things differently then.

 

Anyway, I was cream-crackered after a particularly venomous shift so it was probably full of expletives and devoid of meaningful content.

 

Better luck next time, eh?

 

Now, do I click on the 'Send' or the 'Delete' icon?

 

Fingers crossed, here goes!

Don't worry, happens to all of us.  Alarmingly frequently sometimes.  I'd put it down to a large and particularly intractable knot in the wire somewhere round Indian Queens.

 

And have you, perchance, overlooked the possibility that these holes which keep appearing all over St Hias are in fact the result of soup mining activities rather than tin.  And that we can all look forward in due course to Penwith District Council v Soupie at the Old Bailey.  Hopefully before Mr Justice Cocklecarrot.

 

Which reminds me of a joke, which is odd in itself as I can never remember jokes (and much else besides):

 

What do you get if you cross an elephant and a kangaroo?

 

Holes in Australia.

 

I like that joke.

 

Nearly cancelled me subscription to the Grauniad on Saturday.  In their beer column, they featured St Awful Tribute.  OK, it was the bottled version rather than the draught, but they really should know better.

But Tribute is an award winning beer ..... they just fail to mention that the award in question was for the most godawful pint in Cornwall.

 

I'm afraid your barking down the wrong shaft. As anyone who watched the classic BBC Nature Documentary, The Clangers, will know Soupie did her mining on the moon (hence the holes you can see in it on bright nights). However, she has now retired and lives on the royalties from Bachelors, Campbells, etc.

 

Talking of feeble elephant jokes I seem to vaguely remember this from my primary skool days:-

 

How do you fit four elephants in a Mini?

 

Two in the front and two in the back.

 

How do you know if you've got elephants in your fridge?

 

Big footprints in the butter and a Mini parked outside!