Dick Whittington's successor.  Good or bad depends on whether you're a mummy frog. Hmm...............

 

No,no,no,no,no. If all I got was 4 measly weeks I'd be shelf-stacking in Tesco. Yes, I've read about it. Trouble is most of the Consultants still regard everyone else as serfs, with one notable exception, about whom I shall say no more...

 

You mean there is someone else supplying you with beer?  So that's what BM meant by "... and he can explain himself"?

 

Oh, by the way, Lucy says it was very thoughtful of you to let the RT (well, Shaun, actually) have a cold shower during that hot spell.

Wasn't that Puss In Boots or is that the wrong panto?

 

That's funny because I got the impression that the NHS 'management' were actually shelf-stackers from Tesco. Do they greet your morning arrival at work with a delighted cry of 'Serf's up!'?

 

Not any more. Apparently some bugger let slip that I'd called them gullible fools and now I'll probably never get another consignment (or locate the chimney they hide their supplies up).

 

Tell Lucy that Shaun says while he enjoyed the cold shower to get away from the heatwave, unfortunately while he was in there for some reason all he could think of was cold, over-cooked sprouts, which rather disrupted his previous train of thought !

Pantos are all pretty much the same - good prevailing over eeville. 

 

The belles of Westminster rang out "Turn again Livingstone, Lord Mayor of London".  So Kenny looked at all his options; he was up against the fickle-hearted Shagger Norris and that very nice Mr Simon, plus a few other no-descripts - he would need help.  So he turned back to the centre right ( "will you help me boys and girls?") where he has welcomed by King Tone. 

 

The (k)night Howard was dismayed, "Drat and double drat, that's spoiled Shagger's chances"  At which point, of course, the audience all say "Boo" and "Hisssss" 

 

Livingstone was duly elected Mayor.  Shagger was heard (in a stage whisper) to say "I'll be back"  Cue audience "Boo", "Hissss".  That very nice Mr. Simon went back across the river to Southwark to tend his window boxes.  And while Kenny didn't get the girl as such, the prize was of far higher value to him........  Then we all join in the community singing - Oranges and Lemons or somesuch appropriate ditty.

 

A few years back, when another hospital, not a million miles from where I work, was trying to recruit locums from the Antipodes some bright spark decided to compare the, admittedly beautifully clean, & sandy, but shallowly sloping, beach to Bondi.  Come to the beautiful east coast, surf capitol of the UK.  Do what?  You know that bit in Apocalypse Now when they are discussing the run of some shallow surf and , of course, Charlie don't surf, well that's about the extent of it.  I digress.  No, the serfs rush excitedly into the hospital shouting "What's up, doc"

 

What an unfortunate Freudian slip, but you'll never find them.  Too many chimneys in the old mud hut.

 

Poor lamb!  That sort of thought dis-junction can have a lasting effect on a chap, you might have to lend him some of your magazines. Not the ones with hoof marks on them - he's already looked at those while you were at t'Castle  (These messages are all very well but trying to explain what they mean to a sweet but non-too-bright, and naive lobsterette is straining all my powers of invention).

But how can good have triumphed over evil? Evil (or, as top theologists call it, London) is still there. And so is Tony's flunky, Mr. Deadbrick. Surely that is a triumph of weevil over good. Why couldn't the stupid cockneys have elected Barbie instead of Ken?

 

Why was the horsepiddle trying to recruit extra staff. Wouldn't it have been easier to do what that nurse did and just kill off the patients quicker? Besides I remember (from my 'watch anything for a laugh' student days) Young Doctors. Judging from that your antipodeans wouldn't have been of any medical (or acting) use anyway. Like the idea of surfing in the fens, though. A sort of high speed bog-snorkelling, I presume?

 

Curses! I don't suppose you could conveniently forget the whole incident, could you. Or, leastways, don't let slip to Le Grand Ecosse.

 

Don't you believe it. Beneath that 'butter wouldn't melt on her shell' look lurks a scarlet lobster. Shaun says that he had to go and ask Soupie what some of Lucy's suggestions meant (and got a clip round the ear as a result). Last I saw, Soupie had told him to go and wash his mouth out with sheep dip!

Not often mentioned - but there was the episode with Barbie's little sister............bad newts!

 

Look, I know history is your thing but do try to get your act together about the geography of  East Angular - we're not all bogs and fens, some of us are desert and then there's the beaches, not to mention the Brecks.

 

No, absolutely not.  Kind friends thought of you in your hours of need - and what do we get?  Where are the honed critques of  real ale?

Exactly - where?  Real beer drinkers..........but then all this is wasted.... another pint of Red Barrel, landlord.

 

So you understood all that?  I didn't - explain, please.

My niece is (or was at the time) into Barbies and got loads of kit from various relis. One was some sort of biker chic ensemble (I think) and after one look at all that (pseudo)leather was christened Klaus Barbie!

 

Sorry, I was rubbish at geog. Kept using the wrong colours on the maps (probably explains my confusion as to the firmness of the terrain in EA). But how can your beaches be deserts? Surely they must have water or what were the Aussie hossie surfers supposed to use? And what are the brecks (apart from Ready, obviously)?

 

What? You were expecting me to be able to write after drinking all that? Anyway, I don't do real ale (wine or fud) 'critiques' because I hate all that poncy verbiage that goes with it. What the hell does 'taste reminiscent of autumn bonfires' mean? Do bonfires taste different in the spring? Has anyone actually tasted a few bonfires to test this theory? I liked Mr. Chimbley's ales ('part from the stout but that's cos I can't stand stout, no reflection on Mr. C). I drank them and felt good during and after the experience. What the hell else does anyone need to know on the subject of beer-drinking? It's not rocket science! Now, calculating Lagrange points, THAT'S rocket science.

 

I can't. After sending my previous e-mu, Soupie caught up with me and washed my brain out with sheep dip. Perhaps you'd best have a gal-to-gal chat with Lucy.

Many moons ago I had a holiday job in Selfridges in London selling Barbies or was that Barbours?  Whatever.  I didn't understand the attraction of them then, and still don't.  There was also Sindy and Tressie.

 

The Brecks is the barrier between us and the Fens.

 

OK, accepted you don't like stout, fine.  When has beer ever tasted like bonfires,etc,etc? Unless you're standing there stoking the fire with a tankard in one hand.  Your critique,like you, doesn't have to be poncy.  Just say what you mean.  It's taken a mind-boggling amount of prompting to get you to say anything about the Old Chimney Ales. Was it all worth the effort, I ask myself?  Prob'ly as you were posative and succinct.

 

That's how myths start.  Two ignorant people trying to understand something that they don't so they make it all up.  I DID find my sprogs under a gooseberry bush.  I was told that's where they came from to I MUST have done. No more gooseberry bush so no more offspring.QED.  Quite how cold brassicas fit into the scheme of things .................ooooh.

So, you admit to mooning in the past. And in Selfridges!

 

Also, you admit at last that there ARE swamps in EA. I wasn't fooled by your desert theory for a moment. Do the Brex (Note correct contemporary spelling. Got to move with the times, y'know.*) keep the Grendels out as well as the water?

 

It's not true. I am not suck-sink ..... Well, OK, I did once when I spilled half my drink into it and there wasn't anything else to slurp! I think it's wines (as expounded upon by Jilly Whatsherface) that usually taste of bonfires, etc. Anyway, it's the principle rather than the specific analogy. I subscribe to the RT's style of reviewing, 'Drink beer. It's tasty and nutritious'. Unless, it's foul swill, in which case I wouldn't have hesitated to tell you (or try and get a direct refund from Mr C!).

 

Well, if the thought of cold, over-boiled sprouts have the same effect on Shaun as they do on me .....

 

*(Unless you are the Barclay twins, in which case you move with the daily telegraph).

But I was much younger then...and I got paid.

 

Never denied it.  EA is a sort generic term that encompasses Naughty Norfolk, Silly Suffolk, Comfy Cambs, and E..well, Essex. D'no*, haven't looked.

 

* text-speak

What? You mean you're not now and you don't? Maybe you should seek an employer with a more liberal dress code and salary structure.

 

Well, have you been attacked by any Grendels? That would be a good test of whether the brecks hold fast!

 

I don't speak text. It's against my religion.

? 'course I'm not as young as I was yesterday,  and I do.

 

Not noticably but it's difficult to tell here abouts, there are some very strange looking folks.

What? You mean you haven't worked out how to manipulate the space/time continuum yet? Beast Anglia must be even more of a backwater (or, as you insist you live in a desert, backsand) than I thought. Well, how come you have given up mooning then?

 

Local trolls or ems?