Last night I had a word with “My Boy TM ” about his noise in the mornings. He promised faithfully that when he got up this morning he would be “as quiet as a mouse”….
…In the Warner Brothers cartoon “Hare-Way to the Stars” (released on March 29, 1958) Marvin the Martian’s Illudium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulator fails to blow up the Earth. Marvin is disappointed, because he was expecting an Earth-shattering “KABOOM!” He should have given up with his Illudium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulator. He should have tried being “as quiet as a mouse” up
What I find particularly frustrating is that when it’s not silly o’clock in the morning, “My Boy TM ” actually can creep around the house. He really does move in true ninja fashion. I’ve long known that I will meet my maker having popped my clogs from the shock of him creeping up on me. He *can* be quiet if he tries. He just can’t do it at 5.45am.
Seeing as the temperature had soared today, ‘er indoors TM suggested we went to the beach for a walk. So we went to Dymchurch beach for a paddle. The tide was out, and we waded through several hundred yards of mud to the sea. The sea was a tad cold, but fun – I’ve not gone for a paddle for a few years. We thought we’d have some chips, but the queues at the chippies in Dymchurch were a tad long, so we drove down to Littlestone and had chips on the beach there.
Much as I like a stroll along the beach, or sitting on the beach with chips, I can’t see the attraction of spending all day there. The place was heaving with “The Great Unwashed” who had spent all day (and probably all week) there. Leaving aside the discarded cigarette ends, picnic wreckage, barbecues and inflatable dinosaurs they had left behind, “The Great Unwashed” were also at the beach themselves, spoiling it for decent people (i.e. me).
One gaggle of pikeys were loudly bemoaning the fact they had no money to spend on drink to drink. Presumably they had money to spend on drink for other purposes. One of the “normal people” was having a go with a metal detector, but every time he found something, he had to fight a swarm of opportunistic pikey children out from under his feet to investigate his find. And in the chip shop another bunch weren’t happy that they didn’t get a number to let them know when their order was called. Instead the friers would call out what food was ready. This wasn’t fair because why should this bunch remember what they’d ordered?
As we drove out of Littlestone it struck me that for all I’ve fancied retiring to a house on the seaside, the thought of sharing the seaside with the pikeys it attracts would do my head in...