General Chat

Hopefully we will no longer be renting in Huntly and have a house in Cambridge where you and your lovely wife can come and visit us.

It took us years to do house alterations and decorating.. but we got there in the end. The lounge at one stage was bare weatherboards on the inside.. what a lot of cobwebs behind the plaster boards. If we did anything we certainly tried to go about it the long way. First stripping the paper and then deciding to get rid of the boards that it was on.. we could have saved taking off layer after layer after layer.

He had been planting trees along the other side of the fence on one of our properties. They are on transport land on the side of the motorway. Now we are going to alter that house but have a builder who is going to do it.

We spend a lot of time on motorways. Going back and forth.

Persie, I've been rather tied up with other things since arriving back fro NZ, particularly with my involvement with the 'Blisterhood'.

That has now settled down, but I have a house to redecorate.

Since arriving back from NZ I have become rather lazy. I blame my trip to your beautiful country, which really was stunning, but the holiday, as such, was hardly relaxing with 6.00 am starts on many days and full days on the Coaches until 5.00pm.

I want to revisit but this time drive myself so that we can stop where we like and for as long as we like :-D :-D :-D

We had a couple of Wimpy bars here in NZ in Auckland way back in the late sixties - early seventies and they did not really get off the ground.

I thought Allan would have got back to this thread long ago, he did a lot of researching for it when in NZ.

Welcome back,Allan---You've been much missed..
Wimpy(no E) was an also an early hamburger chain in the U.K. Over-cooked "meat",served on a plate,supposedly cooked 'to order'-the frankfurters were better. I used to go there to recover from visits to the dentist-the coffee was weak and cool enough not to further damage my ill-treated mouth,and they left you alone.

N.B. Nationwide is/was something else entirely !

Definitely nationwide, and in the Middle East in the 1970's.
I was amazed to see them in Jeddah, on my way to Riyadh.

lol Maggie, :-D

I'm surprised more people didn't make the WIMPEY connection. It was a very large construction company in the North of England and' presumably, Nationwide

Allan, just noticing your comment about WIMPEY reminded me.
WIMPEY were prevalent around Hythe/Southampton in the 60's and 70's, because of the building of businesses around Fawley Refinery. Donkey jackets were also very popular.
My late brother in law (surname Murphy) was considered 'posh' amongst his friends, as his donkey jacket didn't have WIMPEY emblazoned along the back :-D

Glad to be of help :-) .Its the way you tell um :-D :-D ;-)

Thanks, Barbra :-D :-D

I did have some issues a couple of years ago which stopped me from finishing the story, and pure laziness since then hasn't helped :-(

But it will be finished ;-) :-D :-D :-D

Here we have a ditty from Allan .if you need a laugh today have a read .its worth it ;-) :-D :-D :-D :-D :-D :-D :-D :-D <3

Actually, WIMPEY was a large construction company in the UK in the 50’s and 60’s, possibly later, which undertook major civil and housing construction works. The company employed many Irish tradesmen

The Company name became an acronym for We Import More P*ddies Each Year

Allan

Gosh I have lived here in NZ all my long life and ddn't know natives of NZ cities were known as Wimpeys. We have a Wimpey Street in South Auckland, I don't know what the residents call themselves.
A Wellington Bomber - yes.

as an aside,was that Wimpey as in nickname for a Wellington bomber? or Wimpey as in the construction(sometimes of airfields) company?
or even as a native of a New Zealand city?

nudge

At this, the cab drivers face started to resemble one of his renowned crumbles and tears started to course down his face. His visage was such that the attendant group of astonished and embarrassed onlookers were not sure whether he was experiencing agony or ecstasy.

“I do beg your pardon” he said, blowing his nose on the sleeve of Holmes’ coat.

“My third dish was tasted by no man. It was a special one I created for my soon to be wife. I would put pieces of sponge in a bowl, soak them in sherry, or port, or rum sometimes all three at once. Then I would lovingly place pieces of fruit on top of this and pour in jelly. Once the jelly had set I would pour in custard and then top that with whipped cream.”

Here he gave a quick shudder of remembrance before continuing.

“I used to send one a week to the Sergeant-Major’s daughter. Oh! She was a lovely lass in those days, with the face of an Angel. Nowadays, naturally, it looks more lived in, possibly by a tribe of Barbarians and Vandals. Still, I suppose we all change with age, but most of us manage to retain some resemblance of human appearance. I know that it is a woman’s right to be ugly, but my wife abuses that right. But, as I say, I’m talking of many years ago when all this first happened. Well, I’d been sending the girl who was soon to become my wife this delicacy on a weekly basis. After a few weeks her father turned up on my doorstep complete with shotgun in hand and accused me of trifling with his daughter’s affections. He said we had to get a Special Licence, so off we went. Once his shotgun was licensed, he marched me off to the wedding venue”

The cabdriver’s tale now had them all enthralled more than the Wife of Baths tale could have done hundreds of years before.]

“I’ll give her father his due,” he continued, “He did give us a Society Wedding. It was held in the hall above the local Co-Op. I remember it as if it was yesterday. If it was tomorrow I’d cancel it” he sighed

“Her father gave us a haemorrhoid barometer as a wedding present”

“Don’t you mean an aneroid barometer?” queried Holmes

“No sir, I don’t! This one was a real pain in the rectum. It never told the correct time of day, not once in all the years we had it”

Holmes sighed, “Barometers measure air-pressure to give an indication of forthcoming weather”

“Ah!” exclaimed the driver, “That could explain why it never chimed either”

“Still,” he continued, “I got her a nice present. I asked her what she would like and she said a coat made from an animal skin, so I bought her a donkey jacket. Pity about the WIMPEY on the back, but it was a bargain”

(Author’s note: for a full history of the Co-Op movement, Google ‘Rochdale Pioneers’ or even ‘Toad Lane’. Honest!

Agree, Diane - more please Allan!

PMSL Allan

good to see you are continueing with this, about Bl***y time :))

you have a great imagination and a way with wit hun, would have loved to have had you as my dad ( when I was a little girl ) telling me bedtime storie's lol.
Keep up the good work

Diane

They then continued with their conversation, as though there had been no idiotic interruption

“So tell me,” said Holmes, “What did you cook in the Mess?”

“Not very well phrased, sir, but I specialised in Puddings and had three signature dishes”

Unbeknownst to any party present on that historic day, the phrase ‘signature dishes’ would become one of the great culinary clichés of a future era

“There was my Rice Pudding. Men would die for that. Unfortunately, some of them did, mainly recruits who ignored the veterans warnings not to go back for seconds.”

“Very rich, was it?” asked an astonished Holmes.

“No, sir, very filling. They say an Army marches on its stomach and they certainly did after a plate of my Rice Pudding.” He said with pride in his heart and with tears in his eyes.

“Kept them going, did it?” asked Holmes

“No sir. Just the opposite! The Medical Officer said that if had had had access to my pudding at the great cholera outbreak in Ghyppibheli he could have staved off some of the more visible aspects of the disease. The M.O. explained to me that apparently the pudding set solid in the stomach. That could probably explain the marching on the stomach phrase. As my pudding set, the men’s centre of gravity shifted and they toppled over. It would probably also explain why, on the days my pudding was on the menu, the men from the Royal Engineers would be at the rear of the cookhouse with barrows. Apparently, they were using the left-overs as a substitute for concrete!”

A horribly fascinated Holmes made the mistake, particularly in the presence of the ladies, of asking about the driver’s second signature dish.

“Well, sir, that would be my Spotted Dick”

A deep silence descended on the room.

The occupants also kept very quiet.

The cabdriver’s eyes glazed over at the memory, giving them the aspect of two boiled eggs in aspic

“I only ever produced my Spotted Dick in the Officer’s Mess. Such a sight was not for the common soldier, much as he was used to seeing all manner of stomach-churning things on the field of battle”

Miss O’Hara blushed that shade of red which gave rise to her nickname, and which was to stay with her long after she had gone with the wind.

Mrs Hudson merely smirked, whilst the men paled, started a low whistle and looked everywhere but at the driver.

Unaware of the affect his pronouncement had produced he proceeded on, lemming like, to the edge of the abyss

“The officers all agreed that they had seen nothing quite like it. Its fame even spread back to Blighty and many a new subaltern arriving fresh from England would shyly ask me to show him my Spotted Dick. Even the M.O. was amazed saying that in all his years serving in all manner of countries, mine would surely win first prize. He even gave me some cream to put on it, but I refused, telling him that the only thing to go on a Spotted Dick should be nice thick custard”

Watson saved the day, (and hopefully this thread)

As a medical man himself, he shook his head to clear all manner of images, even then knowing that he would have nightmares for weeks, and managed to croak “And your third dish, pray?”

“There’s no need to be like that, doctor, most of my dishes were fairly edible!”

Not for the first time, Holmes wished that he had taken up a more sedate profession like bare-back tiger riding or polar bear washing.

Suddenly, there was a tap on the door. They all turned to stare, but it was Angus M E MacUp who broke the silence.

“Good heavens! I’ve never notice that before.” He said, looking at the still dripping tap

Holmes crept silently to the door and swiftly opened it. A shapeless body fell in. The face was devoid of any distinguishing features and a huge growth appeared to have affected the right hand.

“Were you listening at the door?” enquired Holmes

“No, sir” replied the cab driver, “I had my ear to the keyhole because there was a terrible draught blowing straight through it
.
“What? Your ear or the keyhole?”

“Take your pick, sir”

“And what’s that in your hand?” demanded Holmes

“That, sir, is my black pudding butty, I originally hail from Lancashire and like to keep in touch with my roots.”

Not so much hail, more a thick mist, thought Holmes to himself

(Author’s note: for some of the forthcoming jokes (?) puns (?) and puerile wit, this geographical fact had to be established)

“I suppose that is one of the delicacies which is a hangover from your catering Corp days?” said Holmes, unable to keep the sneer out of his voice

“Not at all, sir, my wife made this for me this morning, but we did actually meet in the Catering Corps. She was the Sergeant-Major’s daughter but…..”

“She was rotten to the Corps” finished off Holmes.

“Very droll, sir; that’s the first time I’ve heard that one….today!”

Inspector Lastrade could not resist getting in on the act.

“And I suppose,” he said, “That if she was the Colonel’s daughter she would have known what Reggy meant.”

Holmes and the cabdriver stared at the Inspector.

Ah, Allan - you've set me up for the day, thanks! Chuckles off >>>>>>>>>>>>>