This year’s ‘Hootenanny’ was filmed on 14th December in Maidstone. Not even JH is sad enough to waste his NYE with that crap when he could be playing with his model trains instead.
Altogether now ‘HOOTENANNY!’ ‘5...4...3...2...1, happy 15th of December everyone...I mean New Year’
:wink:
We watched The Talented Mr Ripley for the 250th time last night (comes off Netflix on the 31st), Pratt Damon on a 1952 Lambretta C and Jude Law on a late 50s Vespa, absolute scooter porn.
We rarely make a false move in our transfer business. In related striker news, Crystal Palace FC 'pipped' us to the signature of Celtic's Osonne Edouard, who has, in 41 appearances in the vainglorious red and blue stripes, a grand total of 9 goals, including 3 in 13 appearances so far this...
Main meal for 8 all done and dusted, went to put Xmas pud in the oven to heat it through...and sat on the top oven shelf was a forgotten dish full of Yorkshire puddings. Doh.
Frozen the only way to go, taste better than the real thing. What were we thinking wasting our time doing all that peeling and cross cutting all those years? Make it work for you, or in the words of Tony Mortimer:
Don’t leave me alone like this,
Don’t think you can take the piss,
Won’t you...
Had our Christmas today for the first time ever, rather than tomorrow, due to my dad’s dementia, made sure people were on the road before the sundowning fully kicked in with him. A cruel disease that spreads its tentacles far beyond the sufferer. Good luck to all dealing with it.
You just cannae go wrong with Gladiator. Something in my eye at the end. The CGI work on Oliver Reed is quite something. Epic watch no matter how many times you’ve seen it.
A group of middle aged Eastbourne ladies I know always take a load of clothes pegs with them whenever they go to see West End shows, attaching them to the backs of jackets/coats of unsuspecting commuters on the Tube. Growing old disgracefully. Pegging as it’s known.
HRH never had the vocal delivery to make it sound remotely convincing that it came from her own mind and not that of a team of writers. Autocue pantomime, and an insult to the intelligence of those who choose to lap it up.
The state of those on the Brighton-Seaford line are beyond a joke, faded seat fabric completely worn through in places, windows you can barely see out of because they’re covered in a foggy film of cloudy grime that the depot cleaners apparently can’t remove, or it’s that the glass is so old it’s...