Ageing and Andrews

I’ve been thinking about age recently; I’m approaching another landmark birthday.  As one gets older, landmark birthdays are separated by more years but seem to come with increasing frequency.  Generally, as they age, men lose hair where they want it and grow it where they don’t.  They spend less time washing their hair and more time washing their faces – my thanks to a man named Andrew for that last observation.

“A man named Andrew” sounds like a title for a western.  I wonder what others there might be in the series: “The Magnificent Andrews”, “A Fistful Of Andrews”, “For A Few Andrews More”, “Pale Andrew”, “The Good, the Bad and the Andrew”, “The Wild Andrew”, “Pat Garrett And Andy The Kid”, “Andrew Cassidy And The Sundance Kid”, “The Outlaw Andrew Wales”, “Andrew”, “Andrew Rides Again”. Of course, there are also the classic old TV westerns: “Shotgun Andrew”, “A Message From Andrew”, “Flowers For Andrew”, “Sentenced To Andrew”, “Old Andrew’s Sister”, “Cannonball Andrew”, “Hopalong Andrew”, “The Lone Andrew”.

Phew, I think I’ve got Andrews out of my system now. And westerns.  Perhaps I should turn to music for a change of pace and a bit of light relief; something by the Andrews Sisters, perhaps?

The birth of Scoffle

Scoffle started in mid 1950s London. Teenagers, as they were becoming known, were developing their own cultural identities through rock and roll music, dance and other ideas imported from their exotic and distant American cousins. Although it would be many years before the term ‘fast food’ found its way into popular parlance, the hamburger was already finding favour amongst the newly empowered Youth on both sides of the Atlantic. It was only a matter of time before a fusion of the terpsichorean and epicurean occurred.

The poor “washer-uppers” of London’s myriad cafes and coffee shops soon started using the implements of their trade, as substitutes for the unattainably expensive musical instruments used by the jazz and blues musicians, who influenced what was to become scoffle. In 1955 a down and out plongeur, named Terry Dagenham, assembled a band, which was to set the blueprint for all scoffle combos thereafter. Terry, who chose the stage name “Lenny”, was quick to see the musical possibilities of a piece of string stretched between two waitresses, and it is he who is credited with being the first to carry a rhythm by striking a steel draining board with a knickerbocker glory spoon.

Many other scoffle legends were to emerge over the next five years, including the incomparable Cheryl Croydon and her “Milk-shake Mamas”.  Cheryl and the girls will be remembered for the enigmatic “Two espressos after sunset”, the heart-rending “No starters for table nine” and the epic “Fifty covers before midnight”.

It is Lenny Dagenham however, who was the undisputed king of scoffle. He became as famous for his novelty songs (“Does your relish lose its flavour in the ice-box over night?” and “My old man’s a waiter”) as for his more serious compositions (“Rock Island Diner” and “Seven golden burger buns”).

Unfortunately, the scoffle boom was short-lived and, as the sixties started to swing and the British public started to develop more sophisticated tastes, eschewing the coffee bar for the Chinese restaurant, the hits even dried up for Lenny Dagenham. In 1961 Lenny teamed up with Cheryl Croydon for the innovative “Shake, rattle and spring roll”, featuring Cheryl on chopsticks, but it was not well received by scoffle purists and didn’t threaten the charts.

Scoffle was gone, but no forgotten. It is believed that, prior to forming the Beatles, John, Paul, George and Ringo had all played in scoffle bands – maybe – and scoffle continues to influence song-writers and musicians to this day – probably.

Lenny and Cheryl are no longer with us, but who can honestly say they can order a cup of tea and a slice of toast, at their local greasy spoon, without remembering them?

Navigation by Spam

Have you noticed that slices of Spam don’t have a uniform texture? Each slice contains changes in colour and contour, which look rather like a map of a region of wilderness; albeit, a pink one. Living, as I do, amongst the hills of England’s Peak District, I am familiar with such charts. The other uncanny thing about this tinned meat / cartography correlation is the fact that ‘Spam’ is, of course, ‘maps’ spelled backwards.

Maybe I should point this wonderful phenomenon out to Hormel Foods, owners of the Spam licence. Perhaps specific maps could be incorporated in the Spam manufacturing process. Imagine setting out on some intrepid expedition, with your survival and navigation equipment:

High tech wicking base layer – check
Thermally efficient middle layer – check
Durable, ultra light, breathable outer shell layer – check
Bivi bag – check
GPS – check
Emergency flares – check (I withstood the temptation to insert a 1970s fashion joke at this point)
Water purification tablets – check

Hey, wait a minute! Where’s the Dark Peak region 1:25,000 scale tin of Spam? OK chaps, I need to plot a course to our revised first expedition objective, the village store, tinned food shelf.

Edible golf tees

In these times of financial hardship, an increasing number of people are turning to the old war-time practice of ‘make do and mend’. I thought I’d share a few tips, inspired by those passed down to me by my parents and grandparents.

• Grow lots of carrots and use them for everything. Here are some ideas to start you off:
  • Edible golf tees
  • Novel wine bottle stoppers
  • Aerodynamic improvements to the fronts of roller-skates
  • Cut into the right shapes, artificial goldfish
  • Any labour-saving device, which can be fashioned from a carrot
  • Exciting and original knee-cap decorations
  • Very realistic toy carrots
• Short car journeys are less fuel efficient, so always use the longest possible route to any destination.
• When following a recipe, don’t rush out to buy missing ingredients. Just substitute a carrot for each item you don’t have in the cupboard. Carrot and butter pudding has become a particular favourite in our household.
• Treat your house spiders as pets. They’re free, don’t need feeding and look after themselves whilst you’re on holiday.
• Save money-off coupons from magazines, your local supermarket etc. Boiled up with some grated carrot, they can make an appetizing meal.
• Potato peelings can be sewn together to make stylish and eye-catching leg-warmers.
• If you must buy new clothes, sew fragments of old clothes to them immediately after purchase. This will make them last longer and stop poorer people from feeling jealous.
• Individual strands, from a carefully dismantled hair-net, can be tied together to make an excellent hair-net.

Swiss cheese and pickled eggs

I ran for a bus this morning. It didn’t ask me to, but I thought it would appreciate it. It didn’t. Later on, after much pondering I concluded that the reason for this is that:

a) Buses are inanimate and incapable of even the most basic reflex action, let alone independent thought or reason.
b) They don’t like me.

After this early set-back, my day took a turn for the worse. I discovered I’d run out of Gruyere, apparently as a result of having eaten it previously. I find consuming Gruyere a remarkably uplifting experience and often break out in a grin at the mere thought of it. Imagine my mood, having anticipated the ultimate in cheesy delight, only to be disappointed. I would have consoled myself with fish, chips, peas and a pickled egg, but had neither the time nor the gastric capacity. Although the aforementioned FCP&PE is my favourite meal, bar none, it isn’t something I can eat that often, requiring twenty-four hours of fasting in advance and a minimum of one hour on the couch afterwards, doing very little other than digesting.

Tomorrow I’ll go and buy some more Gruyere. I’ll leave in good time, so I don’t have to run for the bus. I’ll saunter up to it, effecting complete nonchalance and taking care not to make direct eye contact with it. I’ll return home later, elated by my cheese acquisition and emboldened by the fact that, at least once, the bus ran for me and not vice-versa.

The adventure – Part 1: Troffle at eleven

That morning,  I strode purposefully through the portals of the old family pile, knowing that I was about to make a difference. I was armed with a considerable amount of soft cheese and a pair of pink jelly shoes. Hidden from prying eyes by the kitchen garden wall, I packed most of the cheese into the hollows at the backs of my knee joints and smeared the remainder into my hair. Taking care to conceal my beautifully polished Chelsea boots in a plaid shopping bag I keep behind an old privet hedge for this specific purpose, I forced my feet into the jellies; not only were the shoes rather tight, but my mild, anticipation-induced perspiration had rendered my feet a little sticky. Now was not the time to be put off by tight and incongruous footwear, however. Ensuring I was adequately shod, having secured the little plastic straps and buckles, I set off once more, heading across the lower field into Blimpton Wood, a route guaranteed to throw all but the most persistent and accomplished pursuer off the scent. By rather circuitous means, I arrived on the outskirts of Throgmere-under-Panda a little before eleven o’clock. A creature of habit, I stopped in a ginnel, to toast a teacake on my Blewitt. I consumed my elevenses with relish, washing it down with two drafts of home-brewed troffle.

Having cooled my Blewitt off in a nearby beck, I returned it to the poacher’s pocket of my windcheater, from whence I had retrieved it earlier. I checked the wind direction by means of my portable flabskit and made for a back-alley with which I was familiar.

Five minutes later, having attained my objective without detection, I settled down behind a an old water-butt to await the arrival of my unsuspecting quarry.

To be continued…

Vegetable confusion

Are you easily confused by vegetables? If so, you might be interested in the ‘Vegetable Simplifier™’ – new from AnnestyCo™.

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Yes! With the ‘Vegetable Simplifier™’ you can feel better than beetroot, superior to sorrel, lord it over lettuce and rule the radish.

How does it work? Well, just place the vegetable which is causing you consternation in the simplifer and press the ‘SimpliVeg™’ button. Within minutes the ‘Vegetable Simplifier™’ will have simplified the vegetable to a level where even the most vegetably challenged of us can look it in the eye without confusion or fear.

All this can be yours for 99.99 + tax, in the currency of your choice.

Order now and get a free herb negotiating kit (while stocks last).

Please allow up to 14 years for delivery.

Please note:
Owing to the fact that the ‘Vegetable Simplifier™’ and ‘herb negotiating kit’ are figments of the writer’s imagination, there may be a delay in the fulfilment of your order of anything up to for ever.

I know where the bees are going

I think I’ve found out where all the bees are going. They’re hiding inside the light fitting in my cellar. I can hear them buzzing away in there, but they know I suspect something and have lookout bees warning the light fitting hive if I start to look in their direction. Somewhere just beyond my peripheral vision a spotter bee performs one of those intricate little dances, which communicate so much to those of an apian persuasion. The dance of the spotter bee says “Watch out, he’s turning his head towards us.” My gaze fixes on the light fitting, but the bees, having been pre-warned, have already fallen silent.

I discussed this phenomenon with a couple of friends, both of whom tried to fob me off with the same implausible explanation. They suggested that the electrical wiring of the light fitting is generating the noise itself. They allege that the fluctuating electro-magnetic field, generated by the alternating current of the mains electricity, causes tiny mechanical effects in the wiring, hence the noise.

“Aha!” said I “If that’s the case, why does it stop when I look at the light fitting?”

They suggested this is because my ears are on the sides of my head.

“For goodness’ sake” I said, “I suppose you’re suggesting that I’d still hear the noise whilst looking at the light fitting if I had an ear on my forehead?”

“Well, yes.” they replied.

But they’re wrong. It’s the bees.

Apples and meths

Why oh why do people put stickers on apples? I eat an apple most days and these things are the bane of my life, well my lunch-time anyway. What are they supposed to be telling me? That I’m looking at an apple? I think they usually have the variety of apple printed on them. I’m not sure if this is intended to promote brand loyalty; in my experience, all it promotes is apple sticker loathing. Anyway, how is apple brand loyalty supposed to work? If I like the taste of a Cox’s Orange Pippins, I’ll go out and buy Cox’s Orange Pippins. No amount of well placed apple sticker advertising will persuade me to switch my allegience to Granny Smiths, for example. If the stickers actually tell me which distributor is responsible for ensuring my lunch-time apple is available at the local greengrocers, I can’t say I’ve noticed, and what would be the point anyway?

“Good morning Mr Greengrocer. I’d like half a dozen Cox’s Pippins, but they must be from ‘Scroggins & Co. – farm produce and fruit adhesive specialists’. I understand from their stickers that they are the premier grower and distributor of said apples.”

Some apple stickers have a the words ‘Peel here’ printed on them. Don’t fall for it. ‘Peel here’ actually means ‘You will struggle for the next ten minutes and end up gouging a chunk out of your apple, whilst getting a small amount of apple and apple skin wedged hard under you finger nail. Oh, and the sticker will still be there.’

When you finally manage to remove one of these evil little labels, does it reveal a pristine, shining patch of apple skin? Does it buggery. It leaves a nasty, sticky patch of apple sticker adhesive, which will attract every mote of dust in the vicinity, now that its protective label has been prised off. The only stuff which seems capable of removing the adhesive completely is methylated spirits. I tell you, there have been days when my apple sticker induced frustration has been such that I’ve been tempted to chuck the apple away and drink the meths.

The power of dressing gowns

So, it’s Sunday morning and I’m in my dressing gown. Why is it called a ‘dressing gown’? I don’t wear it when I’m getting dressed; I take it off first. Perhaps it’s a contraction of something like ‘addressing gown’.

“I addressed the large and unruly crowd, my un-amplified voice carrying to the back, thanks to the excellent acoustic qualities of the House of Lords’ principal lavatory. My ultimate authority was assured by my choice of blue paisley silk ‘dressing gown. The mass acquiesced and the day was saved.”