Museum Destined To Be History

Those blighters at the council look set to close our Royal Harbour's splendid Maritime Museum! The news is tucked away in the corner of this week's Gazunder feature on the council's 2008 budget. The Blue Rinsers are apparently considering withdrawing the museum's grant as part of urgent cost-cutting measures.

But the news is not all bad, as they'll be diverting more resources into keeping the town centre spick and span - by closing the public khazis. Presumably the idea is that the resulting rivers of piss running down the high street will sluice the litter into the harbour. And with no museum to attract visitors, a wee smell or two in the harbour won't go amiss! Genius!

Hello Clampers

Regular reader Wee Willy Watcher has sent me this photograph, along with the following text:

I spotted the Operation Cubit car crushers out today taking this away. It almost perfectly matches the description of the car used by the Phantom Urinator of Olde Ramsgate Town who I've emailed you about before. Almost because teh make and model is the same but its not a Latvian plate. I may have made a mistake about that in the dark so I apologise to our Eastern European guests (the guy was speaking some kind of Eastern European lingo though).

Ah, justice. It's a wonderful thing! Although crushing someone's car for having a tinkle in the street might well be construed as taking the p*ss!

Quad Squad

A change to the usual kind of vehicle you see in Augusta Road. No, it's not a couple of turbocharged grannies, it's the council's anti-weed patrol. Although given the recent debate on this blog about public urination in Augusta Road, an anti-wee patrol would probably be more appropriate.

Bit Of A Pisser

Reader Wee Willy Watcher (presumably not his/her real name) has emailed the following:

Are there any laws in this country against urinating in public? I have witnessed the same man urinate in public on Augusta Road twice now. He is of Eastern European origin as he always indulges in this little ritual come rain or shine, day or night, before he gets into, or just after he gets out of a 1980s Latvian plated blue Golf Polo with his mate.

Is there nothing that anyone can do to stop this appalling antisocial behaviour?

Well, er, Willy, I think the poor chap deserves our potty, I mean pity, as there's clearly something wrong with his plumbing if he's getting caught short in the street.

Still, the distinct whiff of stale wee-wee around the place isn't doing much for property prices I can tell you, so does anybody have a suggestion as to how to stop the Phantom Urinator of Old Ramsgate Town?

Down And Out In Ramsgate Or London?

As regular readers will have no doubt surmised, I've not had much work lately, apart from an offer from P&O to support Jimmy Cricket on a Baltic cruise. And now that our monocular visioned, Prime-Minister-in-waiting's pals at the Bank of England have pumped up interest rates again, well, something's got to give.

So what shall it be? Sell the pied-a-terre in Chelsea and settle here in Ramsgate? Or flog the cliff top mansion and trundle off back to the village? It was this dilemma that was fevering the old Eastcliff brow as I tottered home from knocking back a couple of pints of the Gaddfather's finest at my favourite watering hole last night. Then a sign appeared.

They say that all life is in London, but I beg to differ. After all, where else, in the space of little more than 24 hours, and in the same street, can you witness a drugs raid, an open-air display of male micturation, and two chaps inflating rubber mattresses in the middle of the road at midnight?

Nope, there's no two ways about it - it's Ramsgate for me!

Yellow River

Cripes! I'm going to have to change my route to the blasted newsagents. After almost being mown down by half a dozen burly rozzers on their way to a drug raid yesterday, this morning I came across a fellow urinating up against a building in precisely the same spot.

It's bad enough having to dodge the barker's nests, let alone tip-toeing through human waste as well. Needless to say all I got was a grunt and the finger when I asked him if he had a wee problem.