Jingle Bells, Batman Smells

As usual at this time of year I'm inundated with work, spoilt for choice, cup runneth over, etc.

So far, Bev, my agent, has me pencilled for Widow Twankey at the Neasden Hippodrome, as I can't say I'm really tempted by the other offer, to take part in a revival of Celebrity Squares for Nigerian TV.

There's also a possibility of appearing in costume in a Yuletide capacity at the Hempstead Valley Retail Park. I've looked it up on the web, but it doesn't sound too savoury, judging by the history section:

Village ‘characters’ abounded in Hempstead. There was John Hoare, a toothless, one eyed old manned, dressed summer or winter in a dark felt hat and raincoat. He lived in a little wooden hut in a cherry orchard. Then there was Dirty Gert, who lived in a dolls house-sized one bedroom bungalow and produced a new baby every year.

Yikes! If I was into that kind of thing, I'd be better off applying for the job of Margate Town Sergeant!

Having A Quick Rank

One of my commentators has been less than glowing about the desirability of living in Thanet. And one of my detractors has described the Ile as 'at the edge of teh known world.'

So to redress the balance, and assuage those people with the baseball bats who insist I'm bad for Ile's image, I've ranked the ten greatest living Thanetonians. Here they are in order:

1. Me (of course)
2. CutieMish
3. Brenda Blethyn
4. Brenda Blethyn's Mum
5. Timothy Spall (often spotted eating ham and cheese sandwiches in Margate)
6. Ray Winstone (always banging on about Margate) (and breakfast cereals)
7. Tracey Eminem (Head Bedhead and Liver Whittler)
8. Ronnie Corbett (runs kiosk on East Cliff)
9. The Fat Bloke From Bad Manners
10. Kate Moss's Daughter's Grandparents
11. Barmy Army Chief Sir Richard Donut (went to school in Ramsgate)
12. Former Met Head Sir John Stevens (also went to school in Ramsgate)
13. Tom Hanks (not 100% about this one)

Blimey, I've excelled myself. Although maybe I've scraped the barrel a bit with one or two of them.

Of course, a quick stroll around the graveyard exhumes yet more alumni:

Charles Dickens
The Plug-ins (Ralph and Nigel)
B.M.W Turner (custom paint jobs)
Ted Heath
Frank Muir
Karl Marx (came here to cure his boils)
Mr Pfizer (came here to boil his cures)
Queen Victoria
Arthur Lowe
John Le Measurier
Eric Morecambe (got married in Margate)
Ronnie Biggs (came to Margate for the smell)

On second thoughts, I don't think the last one's croaked yet. Sorry Ronnie. (Cripes, I think I'm in deeper trouble now. Where's Fat Kev when you need him?)

Pick-A-Dicky Circus

The Gazunder's Smudger reports the recent contretemps between myself and Dr Morose, and ends by saying 'presumably it has nothing to do with the rather coarse description ('Steaming Great Tw*t' ©2006 Ram Skate Raider) of Dr Moores which was carried on the front page of the Eastcliff Matters blog for some time.'

Eastcliff Matters? Eastcliff Matters?? Either Smudger's conducting a fishing expedition to catch the real me, or it's a Freudian slip, and they've actually convinced themselves I'm the viridescent one!

I don't think Councillor G would be too happy with that.

By the way, where have the councillor's links to other Thanet bloggers gone? And he hasn't commented on anyone else's blog for weeks. Do you think he's been got at again by the council's self-appointed censor? I think we should be told.

Teenage Kicks

Kuh! I don't know, it seems anyone can be a celebrity these days. Thanks to something called 'YouTube', even teenage Thanetonians are getting in on the act.

CutieMish, an 18 year old schoolgirl from Ramsgate, has had more than 4,000,000 viewings for her short clips featuring such exciting plot lines as 'CutieMish plays the theme from Tetris badly on an out of tune piano' and 'CutieMish reads out a list of words'.

It's all very innocent in a coquettish kind of way, but I'm sure the minx knows what she's doing. Judging by the comments you can almost hear the sound of Kleenex boxes being ripped open in young boys' bedrooms all across the States. They just love her Ramsgate accent!

Still, with nearly a million hits and over 3,000 comments for her first posting alone, it makes some people's claims to be the most popular Thanet attraction on the internet seem rather lame. And puts the lie to Ramsgate being 'at the edge of teh known world'!

Luxury Yachts Cause Of 'Shrivelled Penis Syndrome' Say Scientists

by Isle of Thanet Gazunder Staff

It's official! Owning a large yacht can lead to a diminished manhood!

The effect first came to light following a survey of over 1,000 women in Thanet who had dated men with cruisers moored in Ramsgate harbour. More than 70% agreed that they had been treated to undersized portions in the captain's cabin.

Now marine eggheads have discovered that local sea life is also becoming genitally challenged, and have concluded that toxic paint used to coat the underside of Ramsgate's floating gin palaces is the cause.

And they've even named the condition after the area in which it was first detected - 'Dumpton Syndrome'!


A quick survey conducted by the Gazunder at Dumpton Gap confirmed the report's findings. Asked whether he'd noticed anything unusual in the trunks department, one male swimmer braving the chilly October waters said: "I'll tell you when I find it."

Google search: Dumpton Syndrome

Are you taking the mick? Ed.

Moving Experience

An anonymous caller has rung to inform me that 'certain people' have decided that I'm 'bad for the island' because I'm 'projecting the wrong image'.

Apparently the main gripe is that my humble jottings rank highly when you're searching in Google for things like:

Ramsgate Millionaire
Sandy Beach Pleasurama
and
Margate Giant Arse

The same 'certain people' have also suggested that I close my blog and get out of town if I know what's good for me. So taking the rather obvious hint, yesterday I fired up the old TT and went on the hunt for alternative seaside properties.

First stop was Hastings, where I viewed this quaint little pied-a-terre:


Not bad. Trouble is, Hastings is a bit shabby, and their lido is now a car park. It's a shame, as I was rather hoping that I could spend some quality time watching men with wooden legs set fire to themselves and dive off the high board into the deep end.

More luck in Great Yarmouth, though, where the Hippodrome still puts on a show involving scantily-clad ladies swimming around in a pool full of ping-pong balls. This place is on for 500 grand, and has terrific sea views:


Still not my cup of tea, though. It's the priciest thing they've got, and to tell you the truth 'Great Yarmouth - The New Half-Millionaires' Playground' doesn't quite have the same ring, does it?

Feeling Myself Again

Phew, what a kerfuffle! I'm glad that's all over. And thanks to those nice people at the Royal Free, I've got my old face back, although they tell me I'll be on identity suppressants for the rest my natural.

My security adviser, Fat Kev, was of the opinion that Dr You-Know-Who could probably have got a print off that previous photo and cross-matched it with his worldwide database. Not to mention the handwriting. You never know, he's probably even had his Dulux colour chart out, trying to match the paint in the background.

Nope, I'm a new, old man, I'm glad to say.

So, millions from the government to have nuclear waste dumped under your high street, eh? That's got to be an offer Margate can't afford to refuse!

Breaking News - BBC Apologises

I've just received an email from the BBC journalist who claimed he hadn't told Dr Biggles anything he didn't already know by revealing that I had personally recorded and disguised the ECR contribution for the BBC Radio Kent feature on blogging.

I pointed out to him that the exact words he had used in his piece to describe my contribution were 'His voice has been disguised', not 'He has recorded and disguised his voice himself'. Here's what he now says:

I apologise. I thought I had used different words. I'm certainly not trying to give your game away to Simon and would never identify anyone directly - if that person's wish has been to remain anonymous. I don't believe my disclosing that your [or someone else's] voice had been disguised by yourself, rather than by me, goes any way towards infringing any editorial guidelines, nor does significantly help any listener to determine your true identity. If you believe I have in some way stepped over the mark, I can pass on a formal complaint to our lawyers.

So what do you reckon? Should I get m'learned friends involved? You decide!

Get A Life

With all the recent frantic antics round here, I've decided to quit the rat race and get a Second Life. Or maybe it's my third or fourth life, depending on who you talk to.

Only trouble is, you have to pick a last name from the list they provide, so I've ended up as Eastcliffrichard Warburton.

Now all I've got to do is buy some, er, bread, man, and find my way out of this desert they stick newbies in.

Fingered

Yikes! Dr Biggles is now threatening to put out a reward for anyone who can name me.

He also says he's going to get his team of hot hackers to track down my real name from my Internet Service Provider. Although my wolf pack of highly paid lawyers would soon be round to knock on my ISP's, and Dr Biggles's, doors if he tries that one.

Meantime, I thought I'd reveal one of my favourite bits of me myself, if you get my drift. It's my middle finger.

BBC Responds

In response to my complaint to the BBC objecting to them leaking my identity to all and sundry, I have received the following email from the journalist concerned:

I have not told Simon (First name terms, eh?) anything he didn't already know. Even my radio piece said that your contribution was a result of your voice being disguised. Listeners could therefore assume that you disguised your own voice. (Bit of an assumption, I would have thought.)

Simon came to me (What, in a vision of loveliness???) wondering if it was indeed my voice, having played around with his new software. (Careful you don't go blind, Simon.) I simply said no, it was yours, disguised by yourself. That's not giving anyone a piece of any jigsaw, that's merely reiterating what should have been very obvious from the start. (Eh?)

The fact that he thought the voice was mine means that his clever piece of decoding software (Audacity - free on the net if anyone wants it. And it doesn't, in fact, 'de-code' anything, it merely enables you to reverse effects using your own assumptions.) had in fact led him further from the truth than closer to it. (Do what?)

Call me paranoid, but given that 'Simon' is a bit of a 'rent-a-gob' round at BBC Radio Kent, it wouldn't surprise me if this had all been a set-up in the first place. Which is what I had assumed from the very outset.

False Beard

Hah! I've re-anonymised myself! That should put Dr Biggles off the scent.

Cover Blown By BBC

You know me, I'm not one to nitpick, but when the BBC starts blurting out details of anonymous sources to all and sundry, well really, it takes the biscuit!

Here's the story so far:

1. BBC journalist asks me for a contribution to the BBC Radio Kent feature on blogging.
2. I agree on the basis that I remain anonymous and record, edit and disguise the contribution myself, here in my £250,000, state of the art recording studio at the old cliff top mansion.
3. Dr Biggles claims on his blog that he has 'unscrambled' the disguised voice, and publishes the results.
4. I then might have been a bit, er, rash and 're-scrambled' Dr Biggles's contribution thus:



5. OK, pause here to call me petty if you like.
6. Dr Biggles becomes so enraged that he calls the BBC journalist demanding more information about me, and said journalist reveals without batting an eyelid that his anonymous source recorded and disguised his contribution himself!

I know it's not exactly blowing the beans on who I am, but if I was an IRA supergrass I think I'd be a bit hacked off. Or, more likely, a bit would have been hacked off me by now.

Here is what the BBC's own Producer Guidelines say about protecting anonymous sources:

Protecting sources is a key principle of journalism for which some journalists have gone to jail. We must take care when we promise anonymity that we are in a position to honour it, including the need to resist a court order.

'Resisting a court order' presumably doesn't encompass 'Resisting some geezer who rings up and wants to know who it is'. Fortunately, however, there's also a handy tip a few paragraphs later:

We must ensure that if anonymity is necessary it is effective. Both picture and voice may need to be disguised. A "voice-over" by another person is usually better than technically induced distortion, which can be reversed...

Being a belt and braces kind of a guy, I always think it pays to combine both options. And besides, my old mate Barrymore was desperate for the work.

Swallow Migrates

It's such a miserable afternoon here in the Millionaire's Playground that I've taken to flicking through my back issues of The Publican (don't ask).

One story catches my eye. Apparently our local fourteen star hotel, the Swallow Kent International on the harbour, has been under threat since the owners, London and Edinburgh Inns, went into liquidation recently.

Not to worry, though, as the administrators have now managed to flog it, along with a package of other hotels, to a company called Gelink Ltd.

The new owners say that, to differentiate their new offering, the hotel will be renamed the Spit Kent International.

Gawd I must be bored.

New Kid On The Blog

Oops. Might have gone a bit overboard with the last post.

Moving swiftly on, it's good to see Man Eating Sausage (aka Bignews Margate) back from his annual holiday to the Pork Farms pie factory. And it looks as if Lucy Mail is going to start reviewing the local taverns on her Ramsgate Tourettes blog. Good on yer, Lucy! Lucy? Oh dear, she's fallen over again. Perhaps she should get together with Dane Valley Ted, once she's upright, as he's currently looking for tips on the best and worst pubs on the Ile.

And even my old chum Nether Regions has given his blog a makeover, so there's life in the Thanet blogging scene yet.

And for those of you who are missing the late, great, lovely, deeply lamented Ram Skate Raider, that pit bull tugger Eastcliff Thorburn isn't a bad substitute. If you're not of a frail or nervous disposition, that is.

Scrambled Egghead

Flaming parachutes! Dr Biggles thinks he's unscrambled my disguised voice from the BBC Radio Kent feature on blogging.

And now he has the audacity to call me a fraud! Well, two can play at that game.

Unscramble this, fly boy!

Climate Change - Special Report

by Isle of Thanet Gazunder Staff

With climate change top of the agenda at the meeting of EU leaders in Finland this week, how will it affect us here in Thanet?

Average summer temperatures are already several degrees above what they were only a few decades ago, and scientists agree that we could soon see baking 40C+ heatwaves, and standpipes on every street corner.

So we've got together with a crack team of climatologists from the University of Kent to predict how Margate, Ramsgate and the rest of Thanet could change forever over the coming years.


Not all the effects of climate change will be detrimental to the isle. New crops, such as these dates, will replace cabbages and cauliflowers, and farmers will be able to grow delicious Mediterranean style veggies such as tomatoes and peppers.

Even Caribbean crops such as cannabis might be grown outdoors, rather than in bedrooms and industrial estates as at present.


In turn this could lead to a booming trade in exports and tourism for the Port of Ramsgate, seen here in this computer simulation as scientists predict it will look in the year 2100.


However, our scientists predict that hot, Sahara-like winds could spell disaster for the north of the island. Margate's sandy beaches would be blown away, and many of its buildings will spontaneously combust (no change there - Ed). In this computer simulation for the year 2100, only Cliftonville remains inhabited.


Even Margate's famous Winter Gardens will be washed away by rising tides.


But the sheltered south of the island will fare much better, with Ramsgate becoming a top tourist destination to rival the likes of Cannes or Monte Carlo. Here we see how Ramsgate's Main Sands and East Cliff will look in 2100.


International tourism will become such a major part of Ramsgate's economy that the council will be forced to blow dry the beach daily, as they currently do in Italy, to meet international standards.

(That's enough climate change photos - Ed.)

Call Me A Septic

Just caught a report on our local TV news about the delights of Norfolk, Virginia, and how we're all going to be jetting there from RAF London Kent Manston International Airport.

But I'm not so sure the KCC marketing team who've been out there trying to persuade the Yanks to get their rather substantial bums on the return flights have done such a good job.

Asked whether there would be a demand from Americans to sample the delights of the Garden of England, the US travel agent charged with flogging the tickets replied: "Yes, I'm sure they'll want to come and see, for example, Canterbury Castle. Er, Cathedral."

So that they know what they'll be coming to see, I've published a photo of Canterbury Castle Er Cathedral above.

Who Wants To Eat A Meal On Air?

Bev rang to say that Channel 4's resident rocket scientist and borry sniffer Dr Gillian McKeith is planning a celebrity edition of her show, and they're considering me for it.

Frankly I'm not sure if I want that woman going through my motions, but it's a big job, and my profile's currently lower than Ronnie Corbett standing in a very deep trench, so I've said yes.

Besides, what with a diet consisting principally of champagne, truffles and caviar, I should definitely be able to give her a run for her money.

Poetry Corner

In Memoriam
Ram Skate Raider
Popular Blogger

So, Farewell
Then Ram Skate
Raider.

'Steaming
Great twat',
That was
Your catchphrase,
Which got up
The nose
Of Dr Moores.

So much so
That now he's
Buggered off too

Are you by any chance related?

E.C. Richard (27½)

Graffiti Break

If you recall, I'd been wondering what the rozzers had been doing down at Dumpton Gap at 11.30 on Saturday night.

Dr Biggles has the explanation - they appear to have been on the trail of a very dangerous gang of armed graffiti artists.

Let me be the first to congratulate the boys in blue on the apprehension of this 'posse' of lunatic vandals, and retract my earlier insinuation that they should have been concentrating their resources on the drunk drivers, street spewers and random urban urinators on Broadstairs High Street.

I'm sure everyone will agree that we'll all sleep more soundly in our luxury water beds tonight!

Bandstand Set For Blast-Off!

Isle of Thanet Gazunder Exclusive


The East Cliff's new-look, out-of-this-world bandstand is set for blast-off - thanks to a visit from Status Quo!

Several long-haired men, one with a pony tail, were spotted inspecting the bandstand last week. Two of the men bore a striking resemblance to Status Quo legends Rick Parfitt and Francis Rossi! It's thought other members of the party were 'roadies', checking out the venue's fantastic new sound system in preparation for the gig of the century!

Asked whether the Quo would be performing 'Down Down, Deeper and Down' as a tribute to the site's crumbling cliff, a spokeswoman for the wrinkly rockers told the Gazunder: "I don't know what you're talking about."

Gazunder Goes Under

So much for becoming a publishing magnate. Honestly, it would be less hassle to draw the money out in cash, stuff it into black plastic sacks, and proceed straight to the nearest drain.

But you'll be pleased to know I've found jobs for all the Gazunder staff - on the Big Issue. And I've told them if they come up with any scoops, I'd be happy to publish them here.

Religious Experience

Thought I'd swan over the seedy side of town yesterday afternoon, and take a squiz at the Baldwin and Bushell exhibition at Gallery IOTA on the West Cliff.

Mr Bushell's rather eerie paintings appear to be selling like the proverbial hot cakes, with more red dots next to them than you'd find in a measles epidemic. Even Mr Baldwin's mechanical sculptures appear to have been well received, with his huge, rusty donger already snapped up for a few thousand smackers.

As I was toddling back I wondered if there was any way of looking around the imposing flint monastery opposite that architect Plugin's place. Overcome by curiosity, I peeked through the small grate in the door, only to jump out of my skin when a Bede-y eye peeped back. Seconds later the door opened and a very jolly Irish monk emerged for a chat.

Bearing a faint resemblance to Father Ted's friend Father Jack, the only word I could make out was "Anorak", although "Feck", "Arse", "Drink" and "Girls" may have been in there somewhere. Still, it was more enjoyable than the conversation I had with the fellow who emerged rather mysteriously from the Gents across the road brandishing a cup of tea, who tried to bludge 'a couple of quid' off me.

Beach Ball Jugglers

Picture the scene. The mean streets of Broadstairs on a Saturday night. It's 11.30, the pubs are turning out. The sound of drunken revelry and spewing cuts through the October air.

But the Dickensians can sleep soundly in their beds. The cops have got it covered. They know where the trouble spots are. They're poised for action - on the beach at Dumpton Gap.

Well that's where they emerged from in their Kent Police Transit as I was doing a bit of a nocturnal reccie in the Smart Car last night. I can't recall ever seeing anything bigger than a bicycle making it up that steep slope from the Dumpton Gap prom, let alone an enormous van full of Kent's finest.

Judiciously avoiding the horrors of Albion Street on a Saturday night, they turned left up Boredstares High Street, heading straight back to HQ. Needless to say, the convoy of cars packed with beer-sodden youths that were by then behind them pulled over until the coast was clear.

Oakleigh Doakleigh

Nope, Ramsgate is definitely the place to invest, as evidenced by the announcement this week of planning permission for another 6000 luxury apartments and several five star hotels on the old Pleasurama site.

And Oakleigh Developments, those nice people who lovingly restored the Granville here on the East Cliff, this week erected a new, er, sign.





Why not take a look at their website, I thought. It's there on the sign: oakleighdevelopmentsltd.com. Can't see it? No, neither could I. Must be awaiting planning permission.

Although that's not the case with Phase 2 of the Granville development, round the back, which has had planning permission for some time. Ever curious, I thought I'd take to my twin-engined Squirrel, get above the hoardings, and sneak a peak at how things were progressing...



Hmmm... about the same as their website, it would seem.

Property Coldspot

Going over a few curtain swatches with Angela yesterday, she had the barefaced cheek to suggest that Broadstairs was now being tipped as the Ile's property hotspot. Really.

Anyway, it prompted me to have another look, so for this morning's constitutional I took a walk on the Dickensian side. I would have to grudgingly admit that it does have a certain olde worlde appeal. Especially if you're a coffin dodger.

I had to smile, though, when a couple of obvious inward investors walked past, scouting the Ile, cameras at the ready, and one turned to the other with the question: "What's this place called?" Needless to say, his companion returned the enquiry with a blank stare.

Dream Cottage

I've decided that, as part of the renovations here at the old cliff top mansion, a log cabin would be a nice feature in the garden. I can just picture myself, on those balmy summer evenings, sipping a G&T and holding forth on the veranda.

Flicking through some of the local glossy colour supps, I came across an ad which looked promising:



The splendid cabins being advertised include The Alamosa, The San Luis, and The Denver. Last on the list comes:



As you can see, it's at a rock bottom price, and despite being a millionaire, I'm always on the lookout for a bargain.

And where can I purchase The Broke Back?



Why, none other than Johnsons of Whitstable, of course!

Monet Monet Monet

I see my old pal and interior designer Claude Monet has been commenting on my blog, so I've put up a picture of one of the daubs he did for the new extension at my cliff top mansion.

Not bad for an old French bloke with a beard, eh? Not sure the photo does it justice, though, as it's now reminding me of the mould that used to grow on the bathroom walls in that dingy old flat in Wandsworth I used to rent many years ago.

That's Sandy!

Suck my old boots! It must be Ramsgate Day at the BBC!

I was just tucking into my lunch (quails eggs on toast), and thought I'd pop the old Sony 50 inch flat screen on. What's the first thing I see? None other than our council leader, Sandy Beach, pontificating about the new Pleasurama development deal.

Doing a live 'two-way', as we call it in the biz, he looked about as relaxed as a man who's just begun to suspect a snake is crawling up his trouser leg. Still, the elocution lessons appear to be paying some dividends, and he'd clearly received a full briefing from the Cecil Square spin doctors, judging by the number of times he uttered the words 'luxury' and 'prestigious'.

No mention, though, of whether this means our crumbling cliff is going to be repaired any time before the onset of the next ice age. Does anyone else remember him promising urgent remedial action as soon as the ink was dry on the deal?

Count Your Blethyns

Whilst performing my ablutions in the East Wing ensuite this morning, I happened to tune to Radio 4 on the built-in B&O system.

Imagine my surprise to hear the dulcet tones of the 2nd Greatest Ramsgatonian (after me, of course), actress Brenda Blethyn, coming through the speakers as I scrubbed the old broccoli. Although I have to admit at first I mistook her for dear old Wendy Richard.

Our Bren was holding forth on Midweek with Libby Purves. Ramsgate got plenty of mentions, as of course did Bren's new autobiography. It was, however, a trifle harsh of Libby P to opine, when Hunter Davies spoke of wearing clogs during his childhood up north: "Brenda, you probably used to dream of wearing clogs in Ramsgate."

Flight Of Fancy

Still catching up with the local comings and goings after my short break, I see that American tourists are being given a guide to the Ile in order to tempt them to flock here once flights to and from Nowhere, Virginia begin next year.

The spokeswoman for the company arranging the tours is quoted as saying: "Margate has some lovely sunsets, so that might be a lovely romantic destination."

Clearly the poor, deluded woman has never been anywhere east of Cape Cod, let alone Arsongate, so just to put her in the picture, here's a shot of a typical Margate 'lovely sunset'.

North Thanet Lets One Off

North Thanet has made good on its threat to carry out a pre-emptive strike of its biological 'stink bomb', provoking a strong reaction from South Thanet leaders.

The device was let off in Broadstairs harbour last week, creating a similar stench to the North Thanet test site in Margate Harbour. Previously it was thought that North Thanet lacked the technology to deliver the bomb, but experts now believe that boffins in Cecil Square have made a breakthrough, and could soon be targeting other beauty spots on the Ile.

Full story in the Isle of Thanet Gazunder.

Caff-Crushing Councillor

Not content with just crushing abandoned cars, I see our local councillor Dave Green is now turning his attention to crushing abandoned greasy spoons. Apparently he's going to demolish this eyesore in King Street with a single blow of his mighty, viridescent arm any time now.

Good to see our local Labour man taking the totally opposite view to Tory council leader Sandy Beach, who only last week was banging on about how he was going to transform the Ile de Thanet into a 'café society'.

Service With A Snarl

I must say, standards at the best hotels along the Croisette in Cannes definitely appear to be slipping.

More of my jolly holiday snaps soon, you'll be oh-so-pleased to hear!

No News Is No News

I've just realised I haven't received any of those awful free newspapers this week.

Maybe it's because our local 'foot distributor' (as I believe they're called) can't be bothered to go out in all this wind and rain. Either that, or my super, free, rip-roaring Isle of Thanet Gazunder has seen off the competition already!

Clean Sweep

I chuffing well do not flipping believe it!

Here I am, sitting in my James Bond style, gadget-strewn nerve centre at the old Cliff Top Mansion, and what do I see? The sweepy-broomy man from the council is only cleaning up the road minutes after the bin men have been. Normally the detritus is left on the street for at least 24 hours to give the KFC gulls a chance to pick over it.

What next, wheelie bins for Disgusta Road? Has there been a revolution on Uranus while I've been away?

Gazunder Blunder

Flaming Murdochs! This newspaper lark isn't quite what it's cracked up to be, is it?

While I've been away on my hols, my highly-paid pack of newshounds on the Isle of Thanet Gazunder have only managed to write a paltry four stories.

Just tootling around the Ile in the old TT earlier, I saw at least five remarkable sights that would make a good story, viz:

1. Margate Harbour actually full of water. Must be a very high tide. The council have ramped up the sands all along the beach. Presumably they're worried about the sea rising too far and putting all the fires out.
2. An 'Acquired On Behalf Of Clients' board on the splendid old Lido sign in Cliftonville. Coming soon, luxury apartments?
3. Truckloads of hairy-arsed film crew making some sort of drama on Kingsgate Bay. Just follow the pink arrows with 'LOC' (for 'location') on them.
4. Traffic chaos in Boredstares, as, for reasons known only to themselves, the Dickensians make their streets even narrower.
5. More arrows painted on the surface of Dumpton Park Drive than Davey Crockett had in his hat, including one directing road traffic up what appears to be a footpath.

Anyway, I've given all the Gazunder hacks a bollocking and told them to get their news noses to the grindstone. That should do the trick.

Margate Tories Launch New Logo

Margate Tories today launched their own take on the new Conservative logo on the final day of the party conference in Bournemouth.

"We wanted to combine elements of the traditional Tory 'torch' with the new Tory 'tree'," a spokesman said. "We think we've come up with something that most people in Margate can really relate to."

The new logo coincides with the successful negotiation of a ten year sponsorship deal with Bryant and May.

All Blogged Up

Ahoy! (You have to remember that I've spent at least some of the past four weeks on various floating gin palaces moored off the Cote d'Azur).

I've had a chance to catch up with the local blogging scene now, and despite Biggles bailing out somewhere over Westgate, things appear to be in pretty good shape. I'm particularly taken with the arrival on the blogging scene of Eastcliff Thorburn, a sort of anti-me, and jolly amusing too, albeit in a rather rough and ready way.

And there are a couple of embryonic new political blogs - The Thanetonian and Observing Thanet - along with the old favourites like Arts and Elbows, Ramsgate Tourettes, Nethercourt Notes, Snailspace, Thanet Eye, The Angina Monologues (perhaps he should change to The Angina Monopods, given his recent operation), not forgetting Man Eating Sausage in Wenceslas Square.

And good to see our local car-crushing councillor Dave Green back in harness, after receiving what appears to have been a nasty ticking-off from one of the council's po-faced apparatchiks.

Shame about Dr Biggles, though. I kind of liked the fellow, even though he showed a serious sense of humour failure over that Steaming Great Twat business. And, of course, he and I never saw eye-to-eye politically.

But there's no doubt he has a lot to thank me for. Even his exit speech sounded familiar:

Anyway and to change the subject, as the magic 200,000 mark approaches, I’ve decided that I’ll shut-up shop here once it passes. I’m not ruling out a comeback but when I started this weblog there was nothing else and now we have a vibrant and frequently bizarre community of ‘Bloggers’ for you to choose from. Thanet Life has served it’s purpose, which was to encourage local debate and deliver a personal slant on local news stories but these days it’s taking too much of my time and I’m neglecting my other columns elsewhere.

So the local paper and several local ‘Bloggers’ can soon find something and someone else more interesting to occupy their interests and as Winston Churchill said: “Everyone has his day and some days last longer than others."

Dr Biggles, September 2006.

Still, there's no such thing as bad publicity, and with over a million visits in the bag in just under five months, and lots of stale old cages rattled, it's been quite a success. A lot of you have started blogs during that time, and some of them are pretty funny. I've especially enjoyed Scottie's toons, Nethercourt's taciturn musings, Artyblartfast's arty blasts, and Tony Flaig's cows and stuff, and that boy Dusty's showing promise too.

Keep up the good work! Be seeing you.

Eastcliff Richard, May 2006

And anyway, he's still there, blogging away, so what was that all about? You can't get rid of him that easily! Blimey, that's another thing he's nicked off me!

Des Res

Now that that old charmer and word-muddler Des Lynam has quit Countdown, I feel I might be in with a chance of nabbing the gig.

Only a few months ago the producer phoned to ask me to do a turn on Dictionary Corner, and took the opportunity to bemoan Deslyxic, as he's known in the trade. "He'll be gone by Christmas," he predicted.

Still, at least Des'll now be able to stay up all night on Christmas Eve waiting for Satan to come down the chimney.

Waste Matter

It appears that, during my leave of absence, some fellow named Michael Morris arranged for a load of rubbish to be burnt in Margate. Not only that, but the whole event was apparently committed to celluloid.

Whilst Mr Morris's initiative is to be applauded as a short term measure for tidying up the area, surely it would be best to await the outcome of the inquiry into whether there should be a proper incineration plant at Richborough before we all go setting fire to our household detritus willy-nilly.

Personally, though, I hope the plan to send wafts of black smoke over Sandwich fails. Nuclear power is much cleaner, and, as it happens, my application to transform Richborough into a centre of uranial excellence goes before the Secretary of State next Wednesday.

Light Relief

Forgot to mention - the splendid lighting under the harbour arches is back! Hurrah!

How long did that take then? Four months?

Hello, Hello, It's Good To Be Back

Dear old Ramsgate hasn't changed that much in my absence. A quick sticky beak reveals:

1. Eastcliff Bandstand successfully transformed into Mother Ship from Close Encounters Of The Third Kind.
2. Granville Fountain suffering from a severe case of Clostridium Difficile.
3. More cyclone fencing along the cliff top, presumably as the rest of the thing heads beachwards.

Yep, there's no place like home!

Dave? What Are You Doing Dave?

Sacre bleu! I 'ave only been in ze south of France for a week, and I find my dulcets all over Radio Kent.

I wouldn't mind, but to protect my anonymity they've made me sound like HAL the computer from 2001: A Space Odyssey, in that scene where he's having his bits pulled out.

Anyway, what am I doing? I'm meant to be on my hols! Garcon - encore un gin and tonic, por favore!

It's All Gone A Bit Pearl Harbour

Yep, there's definitely a nip in the air, so bugger it, I'm off to the South of France.

I've booked a luxury cruise liner (P&O Ferries) to take me to my luxury villa in Cannes, where I'm going to luxuriate in luxury surroundings, eating luxury food and drinking luxury booze.

I suppose when I get back, the view from the old Cliff Top Mansion will have changed, now that this blessed fart farm is going ahead. They say it'll create 800 jobs, and won't cost the local taxpayer a penny.

If you ask me, they'd generate a whole lot more electricity if they built the blinkin' thing in Cecil Square.

PS: Just taken a squiz at a map of the Thanet Fart Farm. I had to snigger, it'll be those Dickensians whose views will be blighted! Proof yet again that the Millionaires' Playground is the place to be! When you're not in Cannes, that is.

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.

Mayoral Chains

Now that The Mayor and I are on cordial speaking terms, it's time for a spot of mutual admiration.

I must say, I thoroughly approve of his plan to chain himself, like a kind of muncipal David Blaine, to Albion House as a way of stopping the developers' bulldozers. If he can give me enough notice, I'll try and get some of my TV pals to come down to Ramsgate and cover it.

Now all we need is a nickname, something that will catch on with the red tops. Steve 'Mental' Ward, The Crazy Campaigning Councillor, perhaps?

Carnival Knowledge

A kind of rhythmic pounding, accompanied by lots of shouting and waving, and a ringing in the ears, if the parade that's just passed the CTM is anything to go by.

What a hoot! And my erstwhile critic, The Mayor, even returned my cheery 'hello'! Ah, accepted into Ramsgate society at last!

Manston: Can We Have Bombs Too, Please?

As you know, I'm not much of a one for politics, but it's come to my attention that the Septics are using Glasgow Prestwick Airport as a staging post for shipping bombs to the Middle East.

As Glasgow Prestwick is run by those nice people Infartil, who also run our local Manston Kent London Ramsgate International Airport, and as our council tax has gone some way to propping them up, I think it's only fair that our local economy should also benefit from this lucrative business.

And after all, we've got to be closer to the Middle East than Glasgow, surely?

A Bang And A Wimple

Another splendid event down on the front last night, albeit that some of the millionaires there seemed more interested in the turps than Terpsichore. Mind you, most of the time I seemed to be standing next to a holy sister in civvies whose idea of going a bit wild was to take another sip from her bottle of Volvic.

Nuntheless I did, as promised on the flyer, find myself transported to Columbia by the latino rhythm, totally unaided by any of that white powder so many of my showbiz colleagues seem to require to transport themselves further than their front room.

And I've woken up this morning as fresh as a daisy, with only a slight punny feeling marring my otherwise harmonious equilibrium.

Hats off to everyone at the Eastcliff Richpeople's Association for putting on such a splendid bash!

Slow Boat To Margate

I see a German fellow has just been jailed for attempting to offload a catamaran full of illegal Chinese immigrants in Margate Harbour.

I'd be the first to condemn this sort of thing. Apparently the scumbag was charging these poor people 3,000 smackeroons apiece for the trip. And, of course, he neglected to tell them that there's a whole load more regeneration going on in China than there is in Margate. Far from bringing his human cargo to a promised land where they could savour the sweet smell of success, in actuality he was shipping them to a destination which features nothing but the foul stench of failure.

But you have to admire his ingenuity. I mean, when was the last time any sort of boat attempted to moor in the Arsonists' Playground? I wasn't aware the 'harbour' there actually contained any 'water' at all these days. Had he, in teutonically meticulous fashion, fitted wheels to his catamaran, thus inventing the caravanamaran?

I think we should be told.

Going Through The Motions

Intrigued by my glimpse of Boredstares last night, and having a Victorian bathing costume handy, I thought I'd toddle over to Viking Bay for a dip this afternoon.

I wonder what that brown froth that floats on the surface of the water over there consists of? Nadgers Old Wobbly? Shredded pig bladders? Ground up txun-txuns, perhaps?

Strike A Light!

An urgent mission to borrow a Victorian bathing costume last night brought me my first nocturnal glimpse of the new Boredstares Illuminations.

Cripes! I thought all those killjoys who've been writing to the local papers complaining they were garish must have been exaggerating, but not a bit of it. I wouldn't be surprised if they invite Jimmy Cricket to turn them on next year, and make mushy peas compulsory in all the town's restaurants. What next? A small, but perfectly formed effigy of the Eiffel Tower on Preacher's Knoll?

Still, at least we now know who nicked all the pretty bulbs from our harbour arches here in the Millionaires' Playground.

Clowns Chosen For Turnip Centre

I see the powers that be have appointed those nice circus people David Chipperfield to design the new, new Anthea Turner Centre over in Arsongate.

Now that the gallery-cum-car park has been re-positioned 'onshore', I don't suppose it matters too much that everything will be housed in a large tent. Plus it'll give the ball jugglers at Margate police station somewhere nice and handy to practice their dark arts.

By the way, call me cynical and nitpicking, but when the old, new Turnip Centre was canned back in February, I thought that man with the ruddy face from Kent County Council said there would be a cost ceiling of £12m on the new, new centre, which would open in 2008. Now a figure of £15m is being bandied about, and an opening date of 2009.

Oh well, you've got to allow a few million for 'mission creep', I suppose.

Caption Competition - That's Enough Captions

Thanks for all the captions. I think we've had all we're going to get, especially given the sweltering nature of the weather, and the fact that everyone's gone to the beach.

All the comments were to a very high standard, I thought, but the one that tickled me most was Dane Valley Ted's: "And may I thank Victoria Beckham for extending the hand of friendship to the people of Thanet."

So if DVT, or The Hairy Branflake as he's known in these parts, would care to email me at eastcliffrichard@yahoo.co.uk with the address of his static caravan (I believe he's from Margate), I'll arrange for a bottle of bubbly to be delivered toute de suite.

And if anyone else has any candid shots of our local twitterati, do pop them on an email to me so that they too can be mocked mercilessly.

Bristol Scream

Just back from an awayday in Bristol, filming an insert about vasectomies for the hum-ti-tum-a-thon. I'm afraid that the line: "Wearing tight underpants day and night for a week will help reduce the swelling" had me and the entire crew in, er, stitches, so to speak, so the whole thing took quite a bit longer than expected.

By the way, I'm very impressed with the standard of entries in my Sandy Beach Caption Comp (see below), keep them coming! I'm surprised, though, that no-one has yet come up with a line that includes the word 'rug'.

Caption Competition

One of my readers spotted our ruggedly handsome local council leader Sandy Beach out and about recently.

Preparing to step up to the microphone to deliver one of his gripping, four hour speeches, our Sandy has clearly received body language training from the John Wayne/Tony B/George W school of 'power standing'.

In my usual spirit of overwhelming generosity, I'm offering a bottle of bubbly from my own cellar (Waitrose) for the reader who, in the opinion of the judges (me) comes up with the best caption by the end of the week. Please limit your contributions to mocking jocularity, tempered with biting sarcasm.

To get you started, I've come up with this:

"And so, without further ado, I declare this Turner Centre... bollocks, wrong speech...

"And so, without further ado, I declare this newly revitalised amusement park... bollocks, bollocks...

"And so, without further ado, I declare this..." etc. etc.

Your Cut-Out-And-Keep ECR Guide To Davros-Style Undercarriages

Many of the locals on the Ile de Thanet appear to be propelled by means of Davros-style undercarriages (see ECR passim). Some of them can be quite nippy, and I'm sure it'll only be a matter of time before Jeremy Clarkson is endorsing them during commercial breaks on The History Channel.

Having undertaken some research into the subject on behalf of my aged Uncle Ralph, who has himself recently expressed a desire to career around Tescos like a whippet on amphetamines, here's my guide to the choice on offer:

'The Blair' - highly manoeuverable in both forward and reverse, will go anywhere using voice activation (requires Texan accent).

'The Prescott' - leather seated luxury travel, plus squeals of delight from the kids as you engage 'bucking bronco' mode.

'The Levy' - let this little beauty 'do the honours' for you! And the price is right at only £40m!

'The Cameron' - this solar-powered version is the ultimate green choice (in blue only, with detachable hood).

'The Menzies The Merciless' - for those who want to keep a low profile, this one comes with its own Harry Potter style cloak of invisibility. Replaces previous ethanol-fuelled model.

(That's enough Davros-style undercarriages - Ed.).