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bonzo

Grrr

Are there any other articulate canines out there?
The watcher

Re: Grrr

I knew a boxer that was double jointed.
bonzo

Woof!

Er, what gender?
YKW

I knew a double jointed boxer too (wonder if same?) Was he called (something like) "Knock 'em out Norman"? Wasn't very articulate though (probably the brain damage). Deadly in the ring though.
bonzo

Growf

I sometimes wonder if you idiotic humans didn't call us 'Boxers' simply for the purpose of making pathetically unfunny references to pugilism and packaging. It's about time we had a forum restricted to canine use only.
Jim Splint (heir)

Re: Growf

I agree with you about having a forum just for people pretending to be dogs, then you can get out of Splint’s corner and leave that for Splint related matters only.
Fergie

Re: Growf

He's quite right really Bonzo, although the sheer arrogance of that species never fails to amaze me. Why they feel they have to assume this, frankly, comically superior stance is one of life's great mysteries. Still, it provides some amusement, and it's a change from sniffing things. Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?
admin

Notice to canine visitors

It would appear that a degree of segregation is necessitated in order to maintain some kind of order here. It is for this reason that we have been inspired and compelled to launch the Dogs Only section of our forum which is to be found HERE

We apologise for the inconvenience to our readers.
The Watcher

Re: Notice to canine visitors

Apologies accepted, now lets hope JPW and H Splint(that’s if it isn’t the same chap) start contributing to this excellent forum.
A Splint

Re: the watcher

The other day I bumped into my close relation JPW in the high street; luckily I was in a dodgem car at the time and was unhurt, but he was slightly shaken. I asked him why he hadn’t written anything in the new improved Bugle forum lately and hinted in a non sarcastic way that he had run out of ideas.
“Not at all,” he replied and after helping him limp home, he showed me his latest project, a book he had written.
“A book?” said I, “what’s it about?” I added, hoping he’d let me read it before his wife put it on the multi burner stove for background literary ambience.
“Oh,” he replied, “this and that, bizarre goldfish given as gifts from alien visitors to Earth; The Boltons, a place in London with strange connections to Staveley ; Heavenly Paradise a wonderful roving planet that looks just like Earth but isn’t , and
instead of religion they have table tennis.
“That all?” I inquired, noticing it was time for my medication.
“No,” he said emphatically, “there’s the Roswell crash, the cover ups, oh, and not forgetting a wormhole in a field near Staveley with a direct route to another planet.”
“Oh,” said I, “fiction is it?”
“No,” he said sternly, “it’s all true, in fact I’ve written a children’s book on the same subject just for clarity.”
“Do I know him?” I asked, but he like Queen Victoria was not amused so I humoured him by asking the title of the book.
“The Secret Order of Pie,” he said proudly, beaming like a newly polished lighthouse lens.
“Pi as in 3.141592653589793 etc?” I asked, remembering something useful from the days I spent in the liquorice allsorts evaluating department at Trebor.
“Yes, and know,” he replied, “it also hints at a secret order of pork pies that are delivered to London every week for the more discerning alien visitor to this planet.”
“Oh,” I said again, “can I read it, is it published yet?”
“No chance,” he said, “I’ve had some good acknowledgments up to now, but because I’m not Jaded Goody or a Sposh pice or a footballer, nobody wants to know.”
He thrust a bundle of rejection letters at me that I skimmed through, but what caught my eye (the swellings nearly disappeared) was the list of acknowledgments from various readers of high repute.
Without his knowledge I hand copied some of them in pencil and then back at home I transferred it to my computer (clever eh). Here they are, for all to see.


Endorsements


“I didn’t actually buy a copy myself; someone bought it me for a present. Did I like it? Well yes, in a metaphysical sort of way, although to be totally honest, apart from the amusing title and well drawn illustration on the front cover, I didn’t understand a word of it. No, that’s not entirely true. The poems were nice, oh and I liked the bit about wormholes. Nevertheless, it will always have pride of place on my coffee table.”

S. Hawkin.


“A great book, I recommend it to anyone about to learn the mouth organ. The references to the greatest exponent of the instrument that ever lived were spell bounding, or is that spell binding.”

S. Blower (sub editor of Harmonica weekly)


“I thoroughly enjoyed the book, although I must stress to the reader that it is complete fiction, all made up in the mind of the author. Many people get obsessed with flying saucers after they’ve visited Roswell, I did myself one night after seeing a strange light in the sky, however it subsequently turned out to be a wonky street light down on the old Dexter Highway in New Mexico. UFO’s, aliens and such like are all a flight of fancy and the real reason for the intrigue at Roswell in 1947 was an incident with a weather balloon and a roll of tin foil.”

Major I Keapstum. (Assistant security officer at Wright-Patterson. Catering branch)


“My goodness what a revelation, it’s nice to know someone at least has recognised the beauty of the perfect game.”

Chin, Chin Ping.( ex world champion table tennis player)


“Loved it, especially the part where the wasp stung Winston Churchill on his naughty bits.”

Harold Hitler from Woking (no relation)


“Captivating story line, stunning dialogue and mind-boggling similes, all mixed in with a interconnecting thread of adoration to the most revered pet ever sold by us ; the goldfish.

Best wishes in the future from Edmund Rowley (co- owner of Paradise Aquatics High Street, Neasden.
Dicky Ticker

Novel novel

I look forward to reading it, although (correct me if I'm wrong) I notice there is no mention of string. I regard this as a lamentable omission in any great work of literature. It's quite true about the pork pies though, any discerning alien will tell you the best pork pies came from Brampton. Sadly they don't now, you just can't get the secret ingredients any more.
JPW (its me)

Re: Novel novel and lack of string

Regarding string and the apparent lack of it in my work. I’ll have you know I’m an obsessive where string is concerned. I failed to mention this in my first book in case the authorities seized all copies, but my second book - Faster than Dark, aimed at children, who don’t have preconceived objections, is full of string, and not just the friendly tactile hand coiled stuff we all know and love, but the more scientific String Theory that shapes our lives.
Willy Curry

The string and not the thong

You'd be lucky to get fresh hand coiled string these days, but it's good to see such things are still appreciated in more civilized and cultured circles such as this. Kids today don't know what they're missing.
Biggles

Re: Novel novel and lack of string

In my experience, to aim a book at children, it is best to throw slightly in front of them and low over their heads. Bit like the old days when I flew Camels against the Tri decky biplanes.
I've completely forgotten

Re: Novel novel and lack of string

I used to fly a vicar's wellington, but those little blue pills made us daft enough to try anything.
Fr. Peter O'Foyle

Education

Quote:
"In my experience, to aim a book at children, it is best to throw slightly in front of them and low over their heads."


With the greatest respect, I have to tell you that you are wrong. I have been educating children for many years, and I assure you the best method by far is to throw the book edge-ways on, as it were, with a spin brought about by a flick of the wrist upon the book's release from your grip. The only thing you have to remember is to throw it 'spine first' into the spin for maximum aerodynamic efficiency. With a little practise, this method will prove to have near-flawless accuracy.
Chip

Chipping In

Don't get mad Slpint. Im not after peeing in your corner. I am just chipping in to see if I can get any adverts for chips to appear at the top of this page. Its a new hobby I've invented.

oven ready chips, fish and chips, wood chips, frozen chips, burnt chips, blue chips, egg and chips, chip shop, chip off the old block, shoulder chip, potato chips, soggy chips and pie and chips.

I also like kicking drain pipes.

Anybody with similar interests or wanting to exchange magazines and books to do with collecting asbestos roof sheets please get in touch. Photograph appreciated.
H Splint

Re: Chipping In

Who's Slpint?
bonzo

Pah!

I like licking drainpipes, and oddly enough I happen to own a veritable plethora of literature in several languages on the subject of collecting asbestos roofing materials. Still, I'm just a dog; I don't suppose I'm welcome in this 'monkey forum' any more.
Fergie

Re: Pah!

You tell 'em, big boy.
Big Jim

Re: Pah!

There's enough dog sh.t on the pavements without adding to it in Splints corner. Please keep your own crap in your own corner.
admin

Gratuitous link

Readers with an interest, academic or otherwise, in canine excretion may be interested in this article on the subject by Bob Rumptangle:

STOOL PROBE

Many thanks for your valuable time.
Chips

Flacid Epnis

Dear H Splint

Further to your recent enquiry:- Slpint is the inventor of the wooden support designed to be strapped to the epnis of those suffering from Dyslexic Impotancy. Spontaneous erections, such as those induced by the sight and smell of raw fish heads, can thus be preserved for use up to 3 days later. All good fishmongers stock this device which has the benefit of no side effects such as swollen eye balls common with some oral impotancy therapies.

Yours faithfully,

Chips
bonzo

Re: Flacid Epnis

Dailysex my ears - I knew you were a dog pretending to be human. You're that big daft labrador from Sludge Lane who's always hanging about outside Gusset & Stench's fishmongers on the main road. Have you no pride?
cars patrol chasing torre

lyric snow chasing cars patrol

snow cars chasing patrol audio lyric snow chasing cars patrol lyric snow chasing cars patrol
JPW

Re: lyric snow chasing cars patrol

Its bad enough have folk pretending to be dogs writing in here, but this takes the biscuit.
Percussion Section

Links Stink

Quite right. The old brick wall was far better, no dogs pissing up it, no links that stink, just good original BRAMPTON humour. All is lost in the name of Google Ads and 'phpbb' (who ever they are) claiming to create communities. BRING BACK THE BRAMPTON WALL we liked it.

Signed Mucho Decibelo ( Leading Percussionist Brampton Brass Band Bucket Bangers)

admin

Re: lyric snow chasing cars patrol

It's probably one of those 'modern' poets.

Regarding the resurrection of the aforementioned 'Brampton wall', we preferred it as well. Rest assured, our team of technicians is beavering away day and night. As we don't know where they hide the beavers, it means we all have to put up with things as they are until such time as they decide to stop beavering and deduce how to bring about the requisite changes. The adverts can be lost by switching off Javascript.
Mucho Decibelo

Louder Still and Louder

Thats good news about the BRAMPTON WALL. This calls for a musical celebration led by the massed Brass Bands of Brampton offering their interpretation of Schuberts Piano Quintet ' The Lambs of Spring' leading emotionally into 'The Pie Makers Mincer' by Heesa Chopin.

Choral

Wider Still and Wider
Will our Mouths be Set
Splint who made The Forum
Make it Wittier Yet

Followed by the Euphonium Sections rendition of Knees Up Mother Brown

But JAVASCRIPT ?? - What the ----- ? Where the h---s the delete button for that? We didn't even know we were suffering from it in the first place. No wonder there are so many dogs sniffing around this site.

[/i]Signed:- Mucho Decibelo
H Splint

Re: Louder Still and Louder

After reading the last few postings regarding the old Brampton Wall, and the efforts made to bring it back, I too caught a dose of severe nostalgia and had to go to Bolsover for an injection.
On the way there the bus stopped momentarily just outside the old Markham’s works and for a brief moment I stared longingly at what used to be the epicenter of engineering excellence. Filled with pride I wrote this poem as a tribute to the great man- Charles Paxton Markham, a man you gave Chesterfield so many things including Paxton road, which, ladies of a certain age will remember as the road to Zanzibar.

Charles Paxton Markham.



Goodbye Charlie, farewell Hollis Lane.
Your hallowed halls are still; the music stopped,
And only ghostly whispers sweep through the spaces that were once filled with splendor.

Listen, listen, smell the smell.
If you can tell, then you are blessed.

Recall the days of joy and pride.
Names like Kariba, El Chocon, Dinorwic did provide,
Sustenance, that kept the soul alive.

You are not forgotten.
Every sturdy shelf can say thank you Charlie.
Mucho Decibelo

Nostalgia

Aaaaah - The Nostalgia of SPITAL BOTTOM.

Ah SPEETALIO as pa pa used to sing out as we drifted on gondolas, afloat on golden water, to moore along side Markham's Machine Shop. Many a treasured hour slipped by as we listened to the busy buzz of the surface grinder chewing its through a piece of inch and a quater carbon steel plate. And then the moment we treasured most of all as the same piece of carbon steel, ten thou to small, took wings through the open window and landed in the bottom of our craft. Thats how pa pa , a poor immigrant grew wealthy, recycling Charlies cocked up jobs. The happiest days were pure Phosphour Bronze and White Metal Bearings.

And thats how I went deaf, listening to the grinders and pnuematic scrabblers, and was enabled to follow my passion for percussion instruments and big brass bands. In different ways we all owe much to Charles (Charley) Paxton Markham

. Signed - Mucho Decibelas
Lady Splint

Re: Louder Still and Louder

Regarding the article my husband, the late Sir Harold Splint wrote concerning Charles Markham, and more to the point, Paxton Road and the road to Zanzibar. I used to be one of those ‘lady’s of a certain age’ back in my youth, and I remember vividly sitting in the back of his Morris Minor (with a leaky soft top) and him showing me the stars shining over the Orient. It was years later that I discovered that they were the lights from Staveley Works, and the so- called shooting stars we used to see from time to time were the discharge and sparks from the cast iron pipe shop.
Bessy Slag

Northern Lights

Its not funny. There's a lass here got sore eyes by having her her face pressed up against the rear widow of that same Morris Minor. It seemed so romantic at the time, gazing at the Northern Lights behind the welding shop. Never again - not without welding goggles.
Pious Porkio

nostalgia

My grandpapa also gondolier, he sing dirty tune to preety ladies from Robbo's and sail sparkling waters of river Eeper gathering rats for recycling. Is a no joke.
Jim Splint

Re: nostalgia

Talking about granddads ; for those who remember the old Brampton wall, in the days when a pork pie used to mean something to folk around here, I wrote a poem about my granddad’s legendary wallpapering ability. Unfortunately, due to technical difficulties and a bad dose of heavy pruning, the masterpiece was cut down in its prime and cast into the dustbin of necessity (does that make sense? It sounds clever anyway) However, some kind lady ( who will remain nameless for scientific reasons) E-mailed a copy of it with instructions to re submit. So I have-

Me Granddad

As a nation we love competition.
From tallest building, to heaviest cat.
We give prizes in Jarrow for marrow.
And at Ascot for silliest hat.

So I’ve looked in a big book of records.
And found things quite strange and bizarre.
But there isn’t a prize for wall papering,
Me granddad’s best subject by far.


If there could be prizes for papering,
I’m sure that me granddads would win.
Even some one off the tele,
Wouldn’t stand any chance against him.

You might say he was close to obsession,
All around him there wasn’t a bare wall.
But he only papered up to the dado.
He‘d no ladder, and wasn’t very tall.
Jim Splint

Re: nostalgia

Had another E-mail this morning (that’s two in as many years) from the same, ‘I wish to remain nameless’ female benefactor. She told me that she had foreseen the problems with the old Brampton wall, and copied all the Splint related stuff for prosperity,( hers or mine) Anyway she sent me a complete list of it all, un- purged and glistening. I in turn am fully ashamed, apart from the poem I wrote about why I didn’t go to university, so here it is again.

University Challenged

When I recall the fifties, it was such a far off dream,
For Secondary Modernists to reach for academe.
The stakes were high; state schools were low,
And then there was the cost.
The entry grade was then two B’s
And I just had a wasp.
Lady of a certain age

Re: nostalgia

Dont forget this one Jim x

The Tallest Man Sat Down.


I’ve just found out that in our town,
I am the tallest man sat down.
No cushion on the seat for me.
I need no aid, sat down to see.

When I’m standing, my physique,
Hides the fact that I’m unique.
I am quite short from foot to bum,
So standing up I’m medium.

My school days were not the best.
Head and shoulders above the rest.
Always picked out for detention,
You can’t hide, with a back extension.

People come from miles around.
To catch a glimpse of me, sat down.
It might be silly, but to me,
I love the notoriety.
Splints Bints

Re: nostalgia

And this one Jim ( remember it, and me)

God spoke to me the other day.


God spoke to me the other day, in a non-ecclesiastical way.
It wasn’t even a religious place.
His voice was American; he didn’t show his face.

Why did I, think he was God.
An American voice, now is that odd.
Is there a hidden, implication, could it be the medication?

He picked me, and that’s okay.
But one thing struck me right away, I don’t believe in him at all.
So why did he pick me to call?

I said, “God I don’t believe in you”
He said, “Sometimes I support that view, so listen carefully what I say,
Perhaps take notes along the way”.

“For years I’ve had this secret,
Now it’s got too much to bear.
I’ve looked in all my records, and picked you out to share,
This monumental knowledge, to take some strains off me.
About life, and the creation, and who killed Kennedy.”

When he’d finished speaking, I couldn’t move with fear.
The things that God had told me were still ringing in my ear.
Now I’m not going to say much, God said it all that day,
He dropped me with a bombshell, then he quickly went away.
So now I have the answers, don’t you all wish you were me?
It’s time for my last tablet, before I have me tea.
Lord Splint the younger

Re: name levitra generic

Please keep out of our corner with your smutty adverts. This is for Splint related things only. I can safely say that we Splints have always been able to keep our end up, without any artificial aids, or pills. In my day a piece of nutty slack was all I needed to get steam up.
admin

Viagra vs. anthracite

Spurious entries are removed as soon as they are spotted - just ignore them. However, it should be noted that since the advent of smokeless fuels, the sale of boxing gloves has diminished considerably.
Ronnie Bastard

levitra generic

Big thanks to Splint for the poems, from all the chaps in C wing.
Jim Splint

Re:

Thanks Ronnie, I'm glad somebody likes them. He's one specially for you and all on C wing.


Later Later


It’s getting later later, a funny time of year.
You can’t sleep for the sunlight; the nights just disappear.
I don’t know why we do this, change the clocks and mess the time.
It plays havoc with your system,
I know it does do mine.

Soon we’ll put the clocks back,
Spend some extra time in bed.
It will get later earlier,
So remember what I said.
A fan

Re:Famous Splints

Are you the Jim Splint that played centre forward for the Reggie Hailstone horse drawn marching saxophone band?
JPW

What the Buggering hells going on with this forum

What the buggering hells going on with this forum?
H Splint (the late)

Re: What the Buggering hells going on with this forum

A good question
admin

Well, that's all the rubbish cleared out.. apologies for anything that might have disappeared by accident, it was not the intention to lose any of the classic literature contained herein, but all that clicking sends one boz-eyed after a while. (Don't try this at home, kiddies) Unfortunately the uncultured morons responsible for this brainless attempt at advertising their wares have left their computer on automatic pilot, and it's still vainly trying to get in. Hence, it is now only possible for registered users to use the forum. Hopefully this might stop them; they are American, after all. Thankfully our more imaginitive contributors seem to have worked out how the system accommodates the concept of multiple personalities, so hopefully normal service can now be resumed, albeit a trifle more fiddly.

Our more avid readers will have noticed too that the Bugle website was recently hacked by what appeared to be Turkish people protesting about American oppression, judging by what they left in place of our treasured organ. "Why us", I hear you ask. Well, obviously the Bugle is globally recognised for its far-reaching social and political influence - as was a garden centre at Newbold and a local folk group, among others.

Has anyone seen the mother-ship? I'm still waiting.

On a lighter note, we are pleased to announce the opening of our new MySpace page, which can be seen here:
http://www.myspace.com/bramptonbugle
It's not much to look at yet, but there's some charming music by one of our favourite local artistes.
H Splint

happy Daze

I’m glad you managed to clear out all that rubbish, and I note that you apologized just in case you accidentally cleared out some words of wisdom by mistake, but what about all that stuff of mine eh? Yes you remember, when the Bugle forum used to be a two line wonder about nothing and I dragged it into the limelight with topical Brampton snippets with humorous connotations. One minute it was there, up with the greats like BBM, and JPW, and then it was gone.
JPW

Re: happy Daze

Hang on Harold, although I agree with you about the state of the forum in its early days, remember it was me who started the ball rolling with my insight into the complexities of pork pies.
Not only that, even with all the thought provoking and probing subjects I introduced, nobody seemed to be interested enough to write back, so I helped the thing along by doing it myself, using my multiple identities, such as the watcher, little Jim, Big Jim, radio Jim, Count Basie orchestra, etc. remember?
Oh, and another thing, when you go on about the loss of your stuff, have you forgotten that you yourself are a figment of my imagination, as is all your family and friends.
H Splint

Re: happy Daze

Well I never, and I thought you were my figmant. Still it explains why my toe nails never seem to need cutting.
JPW

Re: happy Daze

Glad that's all cleared up them. By the way, just 'cos you're a figmant, doesnt mean you have to stop writing in. I always get a thrill out of reading your stuff.
H Splint

Re: happy Daze

Thanks JPW. Even if you are me, it's still a complement coming from you. By the way, are you also Biggles?
JPW

Re: happy Daze

Afraid so.
trampoline Gertie

Re: happy Daze

Are you me then too? It would explain a lot. Reality isn't what it used to be.
JPW

Re: happy Daze

No, I am not you, never was and never will be; but I do agree with you about the state of reality in this area (Chesterfield housing I mean, not the subconscious state of multiple personalities we are forced into by malicious attacks on our forum).

I blame the AGD, and the influx of Cockney infiltrates that have taken over the town. Not only have they put up the price of our little hovels, you can't walk the streets without being within 10 feet of a fort or fink.
C. Urmudgeon

Bah

I remember when it was all fields, and local folk could "race their donkeys" in peace without the interference of pointless pansy southern paper shuffling pen pushers soiling the countryside with their bland housing estates and antisocial pronunciation.

AG bloody D - they should have been lined up and shot for building the AGD, then lined up and shot again for building its vile replacement. I don't know who, it's the principle that counts.

And don't talk to me about that bloody awful supposed sculpture (Isaiah) either, it's crap, ugly, and would be better used as hardcore; art my arse - they were robbed. It looked a lot better with a nose and mouth painted on it.
H Splint

Re: Bah

I remember when it was all dense forest and you could travel from Holymoorside to Staveley without setting foot on the ground. Then one day it was all cleared away and the hills were put up, big mistake, that's when all the Londoners came here to be first to climb up them and look down on the rest of us.
trampoline Gertie

Re: Bah

I can remember that, does that mean you're who I am?
H Splint

Re: Bah

Not necessarily, it could be you who is who I am. And remember, I am only a figment.
Dan Sprocket

Re: Bah

What is it with this tramp-Pauline Gertie. First she wants to be JPW(Hmmm, I think not) Then she seems obsessed with H Splint. When I was alive I wanted to be Oscar Levant, or failing that Russ Conway.
Barney Bastard

Re: Bah

I bit his finger off but it didn't stop him. Anybody want to buy an ark?
bonzo

Re: Bah pa doo dah, she's my baby

I'd just like to say that I'm a figment of my own imagination, not anyone elses. I come from a litter of twelve - you can't teach me anything about identity. Times were hard when I was a pup, it was dog eat dog. Furthermore, it was me who actually bit off Russ Conway's finger.
Fr. Grumptious O'Bastard

Re: Re Bah pa doo dah, she's my baby

He's right Barney, you merely ate it. Ah, happy days.
Dan Sprocket

Re: Re Bah pa doo dah, she's my baby

Excuse me for interrupting this interesting and rather bizarre nostalgic reminiscing, but the Russ Conway I wanted to be when I was alive wasn’t the celebrated one finger-missing pianist, who regularly appeared on the Billy Cotton Band Show {with Alan Breeze}. He was Gladys Conway’s eldest son from Elm Street who had three sisters at Hollingwood Girls School.
The Famous Orb

Urban Spaceman

When I first crash- landed on Earth (Roswell 1947) I was greatly impressed by Larry Adler, but now I am retired and living in Heaton Court Brampton I spend my time listening to the shipping forecast and collecting leather washers.
Dan Sprocket

The Roswell Incident

So that's where you are Orb, I've been looking for you for ages. I thought you said you'd lock up the flying saucer and meet me in Billy the Kids diner, Dexter, New Mexico. When you didnt show up I came to England and got a job at Staveley Works.
JPW

Re: The Roswell Incident

I would just like to say that I was greatly surprised to read those last two postings regarding the Roswell incident. The more cynical faction of the forum readers will immediately jump to the conclusion that they are a deliberate attempt to ridicule the whole thing; especially as both the contributors are figments. But I say this- “this”.
No man is an island( except Barry that is) so watch this space for startling revelations.
C. Urmudgeon

Pah

Final frontier my arse. Front bottom more like. I saw that alien from Roswell, it was that magician bloke from Yorkshire.
JPW

Re: Pah

To quote freely the words of the late Reggie Scrotter, (Brampton High Street) when he invited me to a free, all in, ‘nowt to pay, pork pie sampling extravaganza- "You may scoff."
admin

Hmm

There is no mother-ship, it's not coming, ever. They never had any intention of coming back for us; this is it, and we are stuck with it.
JPW

Re: Hmm

That's it then, so, what shall we talk about now?
admin

poo

The revelation of startlings perhaps? We don't get too many of those round here since the demise of quality pork pie manufacturing. When I was a lad, there was a pork butcher on every corner that didn't have a pub and everyone was significantly more startled on a regular basis. Anyway, why are you asking me? I'm just as much a figment as everyone else. Except Bonzo of course, who invented all of us while suffering from indigestion.
JPW

Re: poo

What an interesting thought and very true. I was born startled, (it might have been the bombing) and ever since that moment, I have been in some degree of startlement right up to last night, when I changed to bewilderment.
When I was at Brim Boys, I was startled by Mr. Kelly the headmaster,( everyone was within a 5 mile radius) and then when I discovered Hollingwood girls school, breasts, (but that’s another story). When I worked at Markham’s, I was startled by thou’s, and how many millions there were in an inch, but I soon worked out that everyone else was. Looking back, we were happy then, no Nike trainers, drugs, computer games or texting to keep us happy, just a bottle of water, or Hop bitters if we were extra daring and a promise that our mam would give us a good hiding if were not back in the house before the street lamp came on.
H Splint

update

Not many people know this, and I am not altogether convinced, but back in 1916, during the Great War, a well-known inventor and conscientious objector called William H. Throttle, from Derby Road, invented a machine for measuring startlement.
It was horse- drawn(although many draftsmen from Donkins helped with the design) steam driven and calibrated in inches, due to submarines. (You couldn’t get metric for love nor money in those days)
It had the added bonus of recording a score out of 10 for intensity; a 2 was quite normal for those days, what with the war and everything and a 5 was, well intense.
Anyone who registered a 5 was immediately sent to the trenches as they were made of the right stuff to face the Bosch. ( Some had to wash by hand in a stream.)
The highest ever state of startlement score was a high 6 and a quarter, recorded in 1923, long after the conflict and held by the Great Assendo, or Erne as his friends called him. He was an ex Royal Flying Coup Zeppelin spotter, but now that his services were no longer required, he became a freelance high altitude balloonist and exaggerator. I don’t know what happened to him but my granddad reckons he became a Liberal MP for North Sincs.
admin

Re: flogging

It's funny you should mention Throttle's horse drawn steam driven startlement indicator, as my great aunt Cuthbert had one for years and never knew what it was until she was accidentally startled by a runaway tram. She won it at bingo shortly after the first world war. I used to play with it as a child, but the horses had been dead for some time by then.
Dan Sprocket

Re: flogging

While reading about W H Throttle’s remarkable startling machine, I was suddenly reminded of another great man with local connections, George Stevenson, a man of vision who gave us the railways, and Stevenson’s Place, to mention just a few of his attributes.
Anyway, although I was reminded of him, this is not about him, it is about another local genius inventor called Ted Sporage, who lived and worked in Staveley, behind the Wizard. (For people who can’t remember Pan’s people, the Beatles or Sonky Sales, the Wizard was a benevolent savings club and a nickname for the old Scarrot’s Stores, a shop that sold everything from a tin tack to a steamroller, not somebody out of Harry Watsit)
Ted Sporage (that wasn’t his real name) invented a horse drawn, steam driven, one man; hand operated secret- measuring engine or ‘Secrometer’ as he affectionately called it. Coincidently this machine was covertly built during the First World War under cover (tarpaulin during the day, blackout by night) by Count Heinrich von Keapstum (Yes I thought that strange too) to check out secrets from secret agents who had inadvertently landed behind the wrong lines.
The highest ever-recorded secret was measured at 4.3, (a 6 in today’s money) which stood for several years until 1923, when a man called Harold Splint (remember him) broke all records and reached the dazzling heights of 9’3. (Off the scale nowadays) He told a convincing story into the hidden microphone, that he, had it on good authority that God wasn’t the all singing all dancing omnipresent creator of the universe (as stated by most of the clergy), but an acronym of a high powered company logo, wrongly attributed to God. He said it was all a mistake, and over the years vast amounts of adoration had been bestowed quite wrongly as it happens, on a huge benevolent organisation run by a nice man called Larry and based somewhere East of Spokane in Washington, nearly in Idaho USA.
Unfortunately, no one believed Harold Splint, (later made famous for his work with broken legs) especially the clergy, so the 9.3 remained an enigma, and the engine was never used again.
C. Urmudgeon

Ruddy Staveley

Sonky? Pah. In Brampton (before it was invaded by posh folks and estate agents) we had Jimmy Gaunt's theoretical bicycle shop where you could get absolutely everything, and be reminded that it was cheaper than it was in Woolies in the 1920's. All gone now of course, you can't get a theoretical bicycle for love nor money. You can, however, now sit outside the pork butchers at the end of Heaton Street supping coffee on the pavement like a continental ponce. Personally I preferred the availability of respectable pork pies and cheap odd things. And don't talk to me about smoking in pubs, the last thing I want is to be able to smell the lavatories and taste the revolting muck they laughingly claim to be beer. And another thing, however grammatically wrong it may be to start a sentence with 'and'; why did they ever change the name of the George Stephenson Memorial Theatre? It's not as if we've had many people worth commemorating round here. There was Baden Powell of course, although I always thought 'Scouting for Boys' was a strange choice of title. Stephenson did invent the straight cucumber at Tapton though, and that deserves to be remembered alongside his other achievements. In my less than humble opinion, the admirable pointlessness of the development of the straight cucumber wasn't exceeded until they put a man on the moon.

I think I feel better now.
JPW

Re: Ruddy Staveley

I showed your article to my late granddad this morning, and although he was a Staveley man( from his lamp lens right down to his clogs), and a founder member of the 'Top of the Mount Freewheelers' he had to admit that hand- made Brampton bikes were better than any made in Staveley. He recalled the time when his late father bought a ‘Penny Farthing’ from Jimmy Gaunts, and the day he collected it with a borrowed horse and cart, Jimmy’s late granddad told him that not only was it a fine machine, hand built by craftsmen working at the limits of perfection due to threats of redundancy, but half the price of any tuppenny-ha’penny bike made in Staveley.
JPW

Me again

I was talking to a very old gentleman on Walton Dam this morning and he told me that all his life he had had these funny feelings.
“What sort of funny feelings?” I enquired, suddenly taking an interest in him as I too am inflicted with the same malady.
He said that there was no pattern to them; they just sort of popped up from time to time depending on circumstances and things around him.
“What things?” I asked. “Give me an example.”
“Well,” he said. “The other night I had a dream about Sir Ranulph Fiennes OBE, and when I woke up, the fridge freezer had packed in and I found half a fish finger in the ice box.”
“That is strange,” I said, “can you give me another instance.”
“Yes, ( this is him speaking now) during the great war 1914- 1963) I was in the trenches up Norbriggs way, and a Jerry sniper had us pinned down for hours; couldn’t even go to the lav in case we got our arse shot off.”
“What did you do?” I asked, slightly intrigued by his predicament.
“I made a run for it, that’s what; he fired but missed and when I got back from the lav in the Coop, I said to my mate Sid, it’s no good worrying Sid, if the bullet’s got your name on it, you’ve had it.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I said, “Is that true?”
“Yes, but then I had this funny feeling; a sort of doom and gloom that seemed to engulf Sidney.”
“Oh dear,” I replied sensing an imminent death. “Was he killed?”
“Killed!” he said. “The bullet when straight thru’ his head and came out and stuck me, but it hit my mess tin which saved my life.”
“Wow!” I said, “Lucky for you, but not so for poor Sid.”
“That’s right, but when I looked at the bullet, although slightly squashed with the impact on Sid’s head, I found that not only did it have his name on it, it had his address and telephone number.”
I’m meeting him tomorrow at the same time.
The Famous Orb

Re: Missing me

Is it my imagination or am I being paranoid, but whenever JPW decides to work on his book(s) and give the forum a rest, nobody else bothers to contribute. Not only that, judging from the numbers given clicking onto the site, nobody reads it until he starts up again. I might just be a figment myself, but I do have perceptions and I notice things.
H Splint

Re: Missing me

I too am a figment, but I too have noticed this. I may have the ear of JPW, and perhaps lots of other bits, but nobody know what he's on with.
admin

Grunt

Apologies for the lamentable lack of whatever there's been a lack of of late, but Bugle Towers is currently beset by plague and pestilence of a hitherto unknown magnitude. We offer our sincere thanks to those stalwarts and bastions who have, single handedly in some cases, maintained the standards to which our esteemed readers are accustomed. We hope that normal service will be restored in the fullness of time at the appropriate juncture. Meanwhile, here is a little light music.
JPW

Re: Grunt

Thanks 'min, I think you mean me, but how did you know I was a bastion? I thought only the close family knew my secret.Yes its out, I am half American, half Anglish and quarter Asprin. By the way I love the light music.
H Splint

Re: Grunt and moan

Light music, you’re lucky; all I can hear day and night are wind chimes, dingle, clinky, bloody dingle all the time. No mater where I am in the house, down in the cellar with the leopard or up in the round tower with Orb checking on asteroids, I am constantly bombarded with the most annoying sound in the world. (Next to Jamie Cullen’s attempts at playing jazz) The only way to stop the abundance of these abominations is to sell with them instructions that state- for best results, stick them up your arse.
Dan Sprocket

Re: Grunt and moan

Here hear, I agree about the wind chimes, but I’ve got bigger problems than that.
I’ve got that great man himself, Reggie Hailstone and his complete marching saxophone band living in my attic, and I can’t hear myself think ‘cos of the noise. Day and night, sopranos, altos, tenors,( all with top F sharp) baritones, a C melody I think, and yesterday I heard an E flat sopranino, all improvising a full octave above James Last. Can anyone out there in Brampton land help? Even my late Grandma who lives next door in one of Hienrich Luitpold Himmler’s charity homes for the belligerent is acting funny. She is 103 years old, stone deaf and lives under the stairs in case of Zeppelins but even she has just started buying Larry Adler records to cut out the noise.
Little Jim

Re: Grunt and moan

I can help, although I helped before with the very same problem but due to heavy pruning on the old Brampton wall it alas got lost. Anyway, here it is again, take note all you readers in case it gets lost again.

My uncle Percy played lead Cor anglais in the Clay Cross, Cor anglais horse drawn formation display team, and my aunty Betty got rid of him with a cattle prod as she distracted him with a photo of Oscar Hammerstein humming .
JPW

Re: Grunt and moan

When my mother was a little girl she told me a story about her late Aunt Hilda, who at that time, before the Liberal Democrats, lived in a big house up Walton way. She said that they were plagued by an annoying noise that emanated out of the servants quarters down in the mire, behind the holding cells for the clinically obese. The game keeper found that it was Jackson the footman, practising his trombone on his time off duty. (15mins a day except Christmas, when it was extended to 20 mins.)
Anyway, Aunt Hilda contacted- Trombones we get rid off are us, or something sounding similar, and they came round, did something humane with electricity, and the problem was solved.
JPW

Re: Grunt and moan

My uncle Jim (Jim Jackson from Clay Cross or ‘Jabs’ to his friends) was the leading exponent of the muted E flat Cattle prod, in fact during the first Great War he toured all the major countries of Europe (except France) and stunned audiences everywhere he performed.
Dan Sprocket

Re: Grunt and moan

My great Uncle Sidney was a wizard on the coal fired steam driven harpsichord, but when they changed over to gas, it upset his embouchure and made him rancid.
H Splint

Re: Grunt and moan

Did you know that my uncle Eric, of Fluxum and Co, boilers and heating engineers Stop Cock Lane Staveley, one of the greatest plumbers in the area since ‘wipe me quick’ Ledall and his band of travelling sprinklers left town, has recently married the lead soloist from the Dagenham Girl Pipers?
JPW

Re: Grunt and moan

My Uncle Eric from Grimsby,( who knew Uffa Fox) married a tiller girl.
JPW

Re: Grunt and moan

Not many people know this, but my uncle Eric used to be a champion and the world record holder of the One Yard Dash, a little known, highly specialised sprinting event. I once saw him; on several occasions compete at the North East Derbyshire all comers event held at King Georges Park (Staveley) where he beat the Russian Champion, Vladimir Hopstepandajumpski, by two tenths of a tenth.
He told me, and these are his very words- “When it all went metric, it put me off my stride, and buggered up my equilibrium, so I give it up.”
“Oh dear,(this is me now) what a shame, and you were so good at it.”
“Yes, I was, (him again) but when they changed it to ‘One metre dash’, I thought, it’s a young man’s game now, and besides, I don’t like middle distance.”
Albert Scrimper

Re: Grunt and moan

When is 'Goddit' going to write something eh? That's what I want to know.
H Splint

Re: Grunt and moan

And me.
JPW

Re: Grunt and moan

Nevermind about Goddit, isnt it time somebody wrote something to this forum, otherwise the wall will fall down.
Caryl

Nothing Keeps on Happening

Excuse my interjection Splint.

Dear Ed

Poor old Splint. Even he his getting fed up with talking to himself on the New,Improved Forum. Things aren't getting any better you know. Unbelievably you did manage to attract 33 visitors to the New Improved Forum on Sat June 10, and all at the same time, but that was at 3 o'clock in the morning. Who were all these people logging on at that hour; Australians, Milk Men or members of the Insomnia Sufferers Institute ??

I know its been mentioned before but you really do need return the forum to its previous user friendly Brampton Wall format. Just 12 months ago the Brampton Wall was thriving, take a look. You did promise to do something about it ages ago, but, in the style of Bevin Boy Minder, Nothing Keeps on Happening

I trust you will find this reply 'abusive, obscene, vulgar, slanderous, threatening and sexually orientated'. Also, if you find yourself distraced from your normal administrative duties by adverts for instant relief therapy, you might find my previous advise on the alternative use of boxing gloves 'handy'.


Yours etc., Caryl
JPW

Re: Nothing Keeps on Happening

Sorry to disappoint you Caryl, but you’re wrong. I am not getting tired of talking to myself. Nobody ever listens anyway, however I think its time for me to write again, just in case the whole forum thing disappears down the hole of obscurity. So, what shall we focus on? I know, time, there’s a lot of it about.

Time is a funny old thing, or to be scientific, an abstract concept. You know it’s there, only you can’t see it, apart from on clocks, and that’s only relative; according to Mr Einstein, and he was right, because when its 12 noon in London it’s dinner time up in Manchester.
You can feel time, you can sense time, and sometimes, you can even smell it.
“Time to change your socks granddad, the moths and grandma are getting restless.”
The Church uses time as a vehicle (it’s not as good as a bus though), as do concerned parents who apply its philosophical meaning to console smitten spurned offspring with the words; “Time’s a great healer.” How many times have we heard that? It may well be, but it’s not as good as Savlon.

We cannot live without time, not for a second, and it’s with us all the time (see what I mean?) and amazingly, not many people really understand it. We feel the need to mention it in our vocabulary and everyone talks about it, even in mundane conversation. The list is endless.
“Time is running out, your times up Marshall, time is money, time to spare, time to move on, time to reflect, time to pull ourselves together; the trains on time”.
The train may be on time, relative to the chimes of Big Ben in London, but it might be three hours later in relation to a planet on another side of a wormhole. Galileo once said (Arthur Galileo that is, owner of Galileo optical telescopes and delicatessens’, the High Street Neasden). 'The Universe is a funny old thing and strange things happen on the end of Worm-holes.'
Arnold Tulip

Re: Nothing Keeps on Happening

It seems to me, as an avid onlooker, that one or two people who have recently joined the list of what can only be described as, forum members, are somehow connected to Markham’s of Chesterfield.

Call me (irresponsible,) perceptible or even downright paranoid, but I detect a hint of elitism, misplaced patriotism or is it that they are all like me, barking mad.
Intrigued by all this, and having a somewhat insider knowledge on the subject, I am devising a simple test to eliminate the true Maddison maulers, from the also- rans; a bit like the walking on rice paper and not making a mark thing in the Kung fu TV program. Any contributions will be gratefully ignored.
Harold Hight

Unmarkhammed

I'd just like to say that I have nothing whatsoever to do with Markham's, works or pit, although I've been past it. For several years, in fact.

Are you the Arnold Tulip?
Arnold Tulip

Re: Introductions

Hi there Harold, welcome to the forum, sorry about the Markham connection, not everyone has that inner glow from having worked there; it was the play on words that threw me.
Regarding your question about me, no, I am not the Arnold Tulip, the one mentioned in the book ‘A secret order of Pie’. I am just a Arnold Tulip.
JPW

Re: Introductions

Is that inner glow Arnold Tulip mentions, a reference to Lucy Jane? (No, not that friendly girl in the typing pool who was always willing to lend a helping hand to anyone in overalls). I mean Lucy Jane, the name affectionately given to the most dangerous, half ton, yet portable, paraffin mixed with 100 lb air pressure blow lamp.
Many days in my youth were spent sending clouds of un- lit paraffin vapours into the erecting shop air, only to be reignited when re united with a flame from a friendly match. Oh, happy days.
Or- is that inner glow a result of spending too much time up in Windscale, or Whitehaven, which is nearly as dangerous.

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