The Harbour Lights Are Out...

...and no-one's at home.

Three months and counting.

Skateboarding News - An Apology

Would you Adam and believe it. You take a day off, and this is what happens.

I thought I'd give one of the Gazunder journalists a crack at writing a post yesterday, while I was getting my act together for my annual holiday in Cannes.

"Make it light," I said. "Make them laugh, make them smile. They come here to be entertained. They don't want some dreary old pony about local issues. They can get that elsewhere".

And what do I get? 17 column inches on some skateboarding park! Which in turn has prompted our local, car-crushing councillor Dave Green to append a comment which would make one of Fidel Castro's four hour speeches seem a model of brevity.

Better cancel my holiday.

Skateboarding News

Q: When is a charity both a charity and a company?
A: When it's a charitable company!

Thanet Community Development Trust (TCDT) has recently demanded a 100% plus rent hike from Revolution Skate Park in Broadstairs, precipitating its imminent closure, and thus depriving the Ile's youth of anything more constructive than nose picking and intense scrutiny of Britney Spears websites to occupy their idle minds.

Although the first four words of its website boldly state: "We are a charity", TCDT would be more accurately described as a 'charitable company'. A quick check at Companies House provides the information that its registered company number is 04385681, and its registered address is 21 Norfolk Road, Cliftonville, Margate, CT9 2HU. Its type is 'Private, limited by guarantee, no share capital'. It was incorporated on 1 March 2002. Its SIC(03) code is 9133, which means it's classified as a 'Member Organisation', sub-classification 'Other Membership Organisations'.

A search of the Charity Commission's database reveals that it was also registered as a charity (no. 1049701), on 21 November 2002, with its memorandum and articles stating that it was set up for:

THE PROMOTION AND ADVANCEMENT FOR THE PUBLIC BENEFIT OF URBAN AND RURAL REGENERATION IN THE ISLE OF THANET BY ALL OR ANY OF THE FOLLOWING MEANS:-

Including:

THE PROVISIONS AND MAINTENANCE OR ASSISTANCE IN THE PROVISION AND MAINTENANCE OF RECREATIONAL FACILITIES FOR THE PUBLIC AT LARGE AND/OR THOSE WHO, BY REASON OF THEIR YOUTH, AGE, INFIRMITY OR DISABLEMENT, POVERTY OR SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC CIRCUMSTANCES, HAVE NEED OF SUCH FACILITIES;

and

THE CREATION OF TRAINING AND EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITIES BY THE PROVISION OF WORKSPACE, BUILDINGS AND/OR LAND FOR USE ON FAVOURABLE TERMS.

I suppose they would argue that, even at £43,000 a year, Revolution is still getting 'favourable terms'.

Trustees are listed as:

AILEEN CHRISTODOULOU
ANNE LORD
HELEN JEZEQUEL
COUNCILLOR MRS SPENCER
JOHN HOLMES
PAUL DICKENSON
RICHARD CHAPMAN
BOB BAYFORD
TERESA BIRCHLEY
EWE DERKSEN

I suggest you let them know how you feel, although don't be too hard on them as the charity, er, company's latest accounts to 31 March 2005 state that they received no remuneration or expenses that year, poor lambs.

In the meantime, don't forget to sign the park's online petition.

New Look For Sausage News

I see Man Eating Sausage In Wenceslas Square has revamped his Bignews Margate site, no doubt in response to the immensely successful launch of my Isle of Thanet Gazunder.

Actually I'm a bit of a fan of MESIWS, as he tells it like it is, without wrapping it up in all that pompous, self-satisfied 'alternative newspaper' mullarkey that you find elsewhere.

The only criticism I would have is that he has hidden his sausage under a bushel for some time now, so I will shortly be instigating an island-wide campaign to restore it to its rightful place. Watch this space.

Jake The Peg

Yikes! I was trying to keep it under wraps, but now it's come out that I'm bigger than Rolf down under, I suppose I ought to fess up.

Thanks to Mr X, who clearly has the investigative might of several government departments at his disposal, my plan to relocate to Sorrento, Victoria, in the Big Brown Land may need a re-think. It's a shame, because Sorrento is almost as pretty as Ramsgate, with the added bonus of a bakery that sells some of the best snot blocks (vanilla slices) in Australia.

It also means I'll have to spend that SEEDA grant for starting The Gazunder on, er, employing local people. Curses.

Plan B From ?

One of my regular fans read my last post about our crumbling cliff, and sent in this photo. He writes:

Regular readers may indeed know that Richard is not one for carping on, although it is not necessarily as obvious to an irregular reader such as myself.

Regular readers who have assumed that Eastcliff Richard will stand shoulder to shoulder with his loyal (albeit elite) followers when the worst happens may be interested in the accompanying photograph taken (at great risk to his personal safety) by an anonymous spy in far-off climes.

Either we have under-estimated the true extent of the Eastcliff real-estate empire, or (heaven forbid!) the gentleman is preparing the ground for his alternative plan - to cut and run!

Please, dear readers, can anyone identify the location of Richard’s Plan B?

Cracked House

As a celebrity entertainer, newspaper proprietor, and all-round pillock of the local community, I am often driven to comment on civic matters.

Regular readers will also know that I'm not much of a one for repeatedly carping on, but I do find myself returning again and again (and again) to the subject of our crumbling East Cliff, and our local council's lack of urgent action to prevent it collapsing onto the assorted Ferraris and Lambos parked below.

Some cynics have suggested that this may be because of the large cracks that have appeared here in the old Cliff Top Mansion, and my urgent need to convince the Norwich Union that they are nothing to do with that party I had last year, when Barrymore thought it would be a splendid idea to hijack a JCB from round the corner and dig me a new pool.

Nothing could be further from the truth, and I would like to state categorically that my insurers are fully appraised of the facts.

Thrusting New Organ

Sitting here in the burns unit for the past ten days, my healing hands have not been idle.

I've been working with my team of crack satirists and media lawyers to launch a new alternative to the blog that's an alternative to the, er... Well, anyway, it's called The Isle Of Thanet Gazunder and it's full of the usual crap. No, no, I meant finely crafted humour and biting insight.

If you'd like to contribute, email thegazunder@yahoo.co.uk.

FROM THE OFFICE OF SIR ELTON JOHN

While Mr Eastcliff is recovering in hospital, he thought you might like to watch a nice film the BBC has made about Arsongate.

FROM THE OFFICE OF SIR ELTON JOHN

Mr Richard Eastcliff has asked us to issue a statement on his behalf:

"First of all, thanks for all the flowers, cards and chocolates. You're all too kind, although I must say some of the bouquets were a bit on the Esso side. Please remember that, even here in the burns unit, I have a reputation to maintain.

"The doctors say that there should only be a small amount of permanent scarring, the worst of it being that I will forever have the letters 'EDF' branded onto the palm of my left hand. You can imagine how I feel about that.

"It has come to my attention that my arch nemesis, the Crime Lord Dr Who?, has commented on my recent post objecting to his opinion that blonde ladies in Laura Ashley dresses should not be subjected to airport security searches. He says that he finds it curious that his original post 'attracted such rabid criticism elsewhere'."

"I would like to make it crystal clear that I find it utterly objectionable to be described as 'elsewhere'. Unless, of course, he was using the term in the parliamentary sense, and deferring to my undoubted position as the 'House of Lords' of Thanet blog sites."

Sir Elton would like to add that his issuing of this statement on Mr Eastcliff's behalf does not constitute endorsement of its content.

FROM THE OFFICE OF SIR ROGER DE COURCEY (AND NOOKIE) (AGAIN) (WHO DOES HE THINK I AM, HIS BLOODY PA?) (PERSONAL ASSISTANT)

Mr Richard Eastcliff has asked us to make it clear that the BBC is making a big mistake letting a 'knob-knuckles' like That Bloody Awful Noel back on BBC1.

Mr Eastcliff would also like to make it clear that a much better presenter and entertainer is available, at considerably lower cost to the Corporation, even though said presenter and entertainer currently possesses limited dexterity due to painfully crippled hands. Mr Eastcliff would finally like to point out that that never stopped Jeremy Beadle.

FROM THE OFFICE OF SIR ROGER DE COURCEY (AND NOOKIE) (AGAIN) (WHO DOES HE THINK I AM, HIS BLOODY PA?)

Mr Richard Eastcliff has asked us to issue yet another statement on his behalf:

"At last! A copy of this week's Gazunder has reached me here at the burns unit!

"I'm glad to see our crumbling East Cliff given due prominence, and that the Dreamland sign has been restored to its rightful place on, er, Dreamland.

"But there's a curious line in the story on page 8, about our local pub magnate, Frank Thorley, purchasing another hostelry. Asked what his favourite tipple is, our Frank is reported as replying: 'Pills or a dry Martini.'

"Now in my younger days, on the stand-up circuit, I wasn't beyond doing a few pills myself. You know, just to get me through the routine. And maybe the day after. But Mr Thorley is in his eighth decade, and would be well advised to slow down and smell the roses a bit, in my opinion.

"Anyway, I'm sure he can afford a good doctor or two, and doesn't need me telling him to lay off the blue bombers. So I'll move on to Mr X, who appears to have been well chuffed with carrying off the top prize in my Joke Week/Weak Joke competition. Good on you, Mr X, and give my regards to your Mum!"

FROM THE OFFICE OF SIR ROGER DE COURCEY (AND NOOKIE) (AGAIN)

Mr Richard Eastcliff has asked us to issue another statement on his behalf:

"Flaming bogies! They don't tell you that the worst thing about having your hands bandaged is not being able to pick your nose! I'll have to get one of the nurses to do it for me later.

"On a more high brow note, I've now come to a decision regarding the winner of the first Eastcliff Richard Annual Joke Week. The prize of a gleaming, brand spanking new Bentley Continental Flying Toss goes to none other than.....

"Mr X! For his excellent: 'Whats pink & wrinkly & hangs out your trousers?? Your mum!!'

"Also, Mr X being Mr X, I think I'm pretty safe in the knowledge that he'll never reveal his true identity, and therefore I probably won't have to cough up for the prize.

"Anyway, moustache, as the nurse has just come back, and I need to talk to her about some Rich pickings!"

FROM THE OFFICE OF SIR ROGER DE COURCEY (AND NOOKIE)

Mr Richard Eastcliff has asked us to issue the following statement on his behalf:

"Cripes! Talk about getting your fingers burnt. That's the last time I buy a cheap laptop. The doctors here in the burns unit say I'll never play the piano again. Which is lucky, because I never could play it in the first place.

"I'll be keeping an eye on Joke Week, keep the entries coming. I should be out of here by the end of the week, ready to present that gleaming new Bentley Continental Flying Toss to the lucky winner.

"You can't get rid of me that easily! Not for nothing am I known in the biz as 'the athlete's foot of light entertainment'!"

Up In Smoke

Cripes! This new Dell Boy laptop is about to do a Margate impression!

Better call the fire brigade before the entire house bu

You Ain't Seen Nothing Yesterday

What a shame. I appear to have missed the Smashey And Nicey Roadshow, complete with Smiley Miley and the original steam-driven Radio 1 show truck, on Margate beach yesterday.

Did anyone go?

Joke Week

It's the silly season, when traditionally the newspapers, even the 'alternative newspapers', are so desperate to fill space that they'll print anything.

So, as there's not much happening in Blogland, and as everyone's having a 'Week' at the moment, I think now's the time to inaugurate the first Eastcliff Richard Annual Joke Week.

The idea's simple. All you have to do to win a superb, new Bentley Continental Flying Toss* is tell us the worst joke you've ever heard.

To get the ball rolling, here's a few starters for ten:

Corduroy pillows are the next big thing - they're set to make headlines!

A man walks into a bar. "Ouch!" he says.

A man says to a waiter in a Chinese restaurant: "Waiter, this chicken's rubbery." "Ah, thank you velly much, sir," comes the reply.

You get the picture. Now do your worst!

*Bentley Continental Flying Toss supplied by Corgi of Luton.

Hot To Yacht

Time to get out my deck shoes, blazer and captain's hat, it's Ramsgate Week! The place is practically awash with salty celebrities, all courtesy of our showbiz-minded Shirley Temple Yacht Club.

So much more sophisticated than Bloke Week, which is taking place concurrently over in Boredstares. Not for us Ramsgatonians, all that beardy, pipe smoking, bell jangling, welly wearing morris dancing stuff, although Boredstares chemists will be thankful for the increased sales of Odor-Eaters no doubt.

Once again, proof that Ramsgate is the UK's, if not Europe's, premier coastal resort destination!

Hair Today, Pie Tomorrow

I see the local red top is running a competition to find the funniest name for a shop on the Ile.

Among the examples of shining wit (a poor Spoonerism) is our local barbers-cum-pie emporium, Sweeney Todd's. I must say, they do make a delicious pastie, but for some reason I've never been tempted to have the Eastcliff barnet trimmed there.

Personally I'm a great advocate of the mullet. I know it's a bit 80s, but you can't beat it for versatility. What other style gives you a clean cut business look from the front, with that party animal image from the rear?

Stair/Lift?

In my job I have to stay in a great many luxury hotels. I know, it's hard, but someone has to do it.

I always insist on a room no higher than the 3rd floor. Why? Because of the signs. What signs? Those signs that say 'Do not use lift in case of fire'.

Quite honestly, I can't see the point of designing the places with lifts if you can't use them. Architects, pah!

Terror Update

I see Biggles has been stirring the possum over on Thanet Life, by suggesting that it's ridiculous that blonde women with children should be randomly searched at airports. The implication being that only Muslim-looking, dusky types should receive the full attention of our security services.

He's obviously playing to his audience, as the 'string 'em ups' and 'hangin's too goods' have all chimed in to say that, er, they should all be strung up, and, er, hanging's too good for them.

"Well you've gotta expect a few paint splashes if you're having a room redecorated, ain't yer."

"Don't worry about that broken chair leg, I'll get a bit of doweling."

"People say I look like Barry Chuckle, but I can't see it myself."

"That'll have cost you a fair few fiffles*, I bet."
*shillings

"Don't worry, mate, that'll come off with a bit of turps."

"No, mate, you've gotta get that de-berked."

All Chuckled Out

What an exhausting day. I've had Tarbie, that Davidson bloke, a spookily accurate Brucie, and Jimmy Cagney, who turned into Mick Jagger. For some reason, I was spared Tom Jones. Apparently Charlie's Tom Jones bottle went, whatever that means.

Still, he seems do be doing a thorough job of the painting. So far he's painted a wall, the carpet, and most of the television. And he's already spotted several examples of previous defective workmanship, which he insists require 'de-berking'.

Looks like he'll be here for a while.

All Washed Up

I see the occupants of The International House Of Boguns in Augusta Road have come up with a novel way of doing the dishes. As soon as you've finished your meal, just chuck everything out of the window!

Simple, time-saving, but perhaps not that cost-effective, unless, of course, they're going to move on to paper plates, and plastic knives and forks, once they've used up their current dinner service.

Got The Painters In

My interior designer, Charlie Chuckles, has been here all morning, re-painting the lounge room whilst cheerily whistling 'Springtime For Hitler' from The Producers.

He knows all the stars - Brucie, Tarbie, Corbie - and even claims his brother-in-law discovered Chaz and Dave.

I thought I could jaw, but blimey! And it's all becoming rather uncomfortably surreal. Apparently he revamped the Westcliff Pool buildings 30 years ago, and put 18 monkeys in them.

"I get all sorts of calls from people with sick chimpanzees, and I ask, 'What are you feeding them on?'. They say 'Fruit'. Well that's your problem there, isn't it! Chimpanzees eat MEAT!"

Irony

It seems that while I was held hostage, someone keyed the old TT.

When I telephoned to report the crime, the ball jugglers I spoke to were, for once, models of efficiency. The insurance company, on the other hand, were models of deficiency, and kept me hanging on for hours.

Having to listen to endless repeats of Elton belting out 'I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues' didn't help the old blood pressure, I must say.

Trapeze A Jolly Good Fellow

Lumme, free at last! What an ordeal, being held hostage like that.

Still, it's good to know that my fellow Thanetians rallied round and got the money together to pay off the Uranians. If you let me know who you were, I'll pop a cheque in the post.

It's made me think seriously about security here at the old CTM, so I've decided to get a panic room built. Looking around for an architect, I took a squiz at those David Chipperfield people. You know, the ones who are putting up a circus tent for the new Anthea Turner Centre over in the Arsonists' Playground.

They seem to do heaps of very posh houses. And offices. And hotels. And retail, for that matter.

Not so much on the civic side, though. Most of the civic projects they list seem to be at the model stage. Apart from the Marbach Literature Museum in Germany, which they proudly trumpet will be opening on 9 May 2005, the 200th anniversary of Friedrich Schiller's death. Somehow Herr Schiller's deathday must have changed, as the museum in fact opened on 6 June 2006.

Oh well, at least they seem to be keen on chinwagging. As they say in the 'Philosophy' section of their website: "We believe that high quality design results from the continuity of the design process and intensive dialogue with the client, consultants, contractors and end users."

I suppose that's what they meant when they told The Gazunder that the man himself might nip down the M2 one day and give us end users a bit of a talk.

Margate's Burning

Nothing new, I suppose, but having rashly decided to go and soak up the carnival atmosphere over on the seemy side of the Ile, a trot through the landfill site that was Margate beach culminated in watching a huge old timber barn burn to the ground, close to the newly re-opened Tudor House.

I lost count of the number of times I heard the words 'insurance job' and 'luxury apartments' as I strolled among the large crowd of onlookers. I suppose there have been so many false dawns for the place, people have responded by creating their own false sunsets.

Duluxury Flats

Scouring the small ads for a reliable decorator to smarten up the old CTM, I came across this:



I had no idea our local slots-to-property magnate was also handy with a brush, but I suppose it just goes to show how attention to detail can pay dividends.

In the end he turned out to be fully booked, so I went with another chap, who's just come round and given me an estimate. He seemed to know his stuff, although I do have some reservations as he's the spit of one of the Chuckle Brothers.

Could be a case of 'out of the fire and into the frying pan'!

Caledonia Dreaming

Phew! That's better. I think I'll stick with the old keyboard and mouse in future. I must say, I'm full of admiration for our Tony in Margate, how he manages to use that voice recognition stuff lord knows.

Now, one or two readers have inquired why I'm not off to the Edinburgh Festival. Truth is, it's for wannabes, not made-its. When you're on the way up, head for Edinburgh. If you're at the top of the entertainment tree, only Ramsgate will do.

Besides, I'm having the windows re-painted, and I want to make sure the fellow doesn't hop off with my Baftas.

easy peas he

just trying out the new beach re cognition software on my nude del boy computer stop its not bad but i donut thing hive quiet got the hang off it jet stop para must have a word with Tony flag Ibuleve he is a wizard at it stop bloody stop how do you turn this off question mark ass

Fi-Don't Believe It!

News that our local barker'snesteriser, Fido, has been out of action since it was purchased months ago is quite shocking.

Apparently Southern Water have yet to grant a licence for the disposal of the nests it collects. Although even when, or if, a licence is granted, how one machine can clean 1200 miles of footpaths with any sort of frequency is beyond me. Unless they've bought the turbo-charged model, of course.

Even more shocking is the £167,844 a year that's spent on scooping the poop from the Ile's pavements every year. Based on coming across one decent sized nest every 100 metres, and given that each nest seems to fester there for around a week, that works out at about 17p per nest.

Not exactly worth it's weight in gold, but surely The Scouts would be interested?

Delusional

This fellow is clearly round the bend. £17.50 for a 'Greetings from Margate' T-shirt?

And what does he mean - 'Margate's the new Saint Tropez'??? Hasn't he heard of Ramsgate???? I mean, really!!!!!!

Awarding Experience

Now I know I said I was glad not to be on this year's Deathlist, but there's another list I'm not on, and, frankly, I'm a bit cheesed off.

As a major star in the entertainment firmament, I've picked up an entire mantelpiece of awards over the years - Baftas, RTS's, that kind of thing. But I've just taken a squiz at the shortlist for this year's National Television Awards, and, well, I had to go and have a little lie down.

Brucie's there, Wossie's there, even Wigon's there. Even That Bloody Awful Noel's there. Me? Nada.

I'll have to give my other old newsreading chum Sir Trev a tinkle. Maybe he can shoe me in, as he's the main presenter for this particular bunfight. Although I'm a bit worried he may not be able to hear my pleas, as he seems to be sporting a rather ornate ear trumpet these days.

Dead Or Alive?

Following my recent trip down memory lane, I see sausage man Tony Flaig has asked whether my old newsreading chum Sir Alastair Burnet has pegged it yet.

Well I can tell you he's alive and kicking, although last time I saw him he was recovering from having just walked into a lamp post (not one of Scottie's, I might add).

Being 78, though, means he's attracted some attention from Deathlist, those people who make a list of the 50 celebrities most likely to carc it each year. Norman Wisdom's been on it since 1997, but I saw him and his missus tucking into a full English at one of the M1 services the other day, so I think the death watchers are going to be disappointed again.

Glad to see my name's not on the list yet. But then, as for all of us, it's only a matter of time!

Transatlantic Twist

Excitement is mounting among plane spotters and hotel keepers across the Ile over the prospects of tourists arriving from Nowhere, Virginia next year, into our very own Ramsgate Kent Manston London International Airport.

But it seems they're similarly expecting us to come to them, as this item I've just spotted from the Virginia Daily Press testifies:

"FIRST FLIGHT

In a welcome twist, the Jamestown 2007 celebration has put the "international" back in Norfolk International Airport's name. Thanks to a push from planners of the highly touted 400th anniversary of the arrival of the first permanent settlers from England, for a few months at the peak of the celebrations in 2007, a weekly charter flight will make a direct connection between Hampton Roads and Kent International Airport, near Ramsgate, just south of London. No more trekking through the larger hubs of Washington, D.C., or New York City, battling congested roads or high-priced domestic flights, to bring visitors back and forth.

It surely bodes well that the name of the charter company is none other than Monarch airlines - James I would have approved. And, just as members of the newly minted Virginia Company didn't know what to expect in 1607 when they arrived on the shores of the New World, English visitors to Jamestown's anniversary celebrations may also be in for some surprises, with the archaeological excavations that are regularly unearthing new treasures.

Already, though, there's a rumbling that fares won't be as low as initially projected. While the price of oil and the added costs of security fees have certainly bumped up the cost of air travel everywhere, it would be a shame if, before takeoff, the search for gold by the parties involved were to doom the flights and their obvious benefits to the area. To flourish, and perhaps establish a permanent link between the two regions, the fares must be competitive."

Sound familiar?

Memory Lane

In 'The Village' today, to star in a corporate for one of the less salubrious banks, and sitting in my penthouse suite at The Dorch last night, I came over all nostalgic.

First I read an article in The Times, which revealed that George W. Bush had recently opined: "The problem with the French is they don't have a word for entrepreneur." That reminded me of the time I was entertaining a lady friend in Paris, and we were about to have breakfast in a charming little bistro on the Champs. "What's the French for croissant?" she asked, as my jaw dropped to somewhere below my knees.

And watching Rab C. Nesbitt Goes Fishing on BBC1, I was reminded of the day my old newscaster chum Sir Alastair Burnet retired. Sir A was a big fan of the aforementioned Mr Nesbitt, and after lunch at one of London's swankiest restaurants, his friends presented him with the full Rab C. outfit, which he changed into in the gents.

The sight of the bon viveur and former Daily Express editor swaggering around in a string vest enunciating "See you, Jimmy" is something that haunts me to this day.