Dial 101 for the Police….eventually.

Another month has passed and the world has changed forever as we know it. We now have a new number for the police…101. Why 101? I haven’t dialled it yet but may well do so any day now, mainly to discover why the alteration! I can only assume they have chosen 101 as you can expect at least 898 less services on that number due to the cutbacks or that they might send round a pack of Dalmatians to sniff out crime. Crime Spotters, now there’s an idea…

I have never been a big favourite with dogs, they seem to know I have a general mistrust of them. In 1986 I was even bitten by one in the Falklands, and that’s a nasty place to get bitten! I had just wandered past its handler and the thing slipped its collar and sunk it teeth into the softest part of my body! The handler apologised and yelled…  ‘Rosemary….sit!’
‘Rosemary?’ Who the hell calls a guard dog Rosemary….the answer….The R.A.F.

The handler apologised again and said she was a cross breed. Mind you, being called Rosemary I wasn’t surprised, I’d be furious as well. Apparently is was half Alsatian and half boxer. By its anger management issues I guessed the boxer was probably Mike Tyson.

Not a lot has happened in my life since last we met. I have had a garage built on the side of my house. That’s the garage that didn’t need planning permission and would be up in about two weeks last August…..but has since needed planning permission, plus three visits to South Hams District Council, an architect, four sets of plans, a soak away, a roofer, a plasterer, a structural survey, a planning officer, a concrete depth tester on expenses from London, a new pavement, a subsidence expert, bomb disposal and seven pounds of tea for the builder who arrived on a bike one morning and has since vanished with the last swallows of autumn.  The Garage or Gydnia Way, which will be finished first, you can get odds at William Hill at the moment. Speaking of which, the average speed cameras on Gydnia Way…are they there for the vehicles or the builders?

Finally, hello to all those who I met out and about on the town when joined an 18th birthday party last month. We hit the pub
at a time when I am normally thinking about going to bed and was then offered half a beer violated by something called a shot.  This seemed to be the ‘drink of the night’ and after several I got used to smashing back what tasted like toilet duck with a head on it. Then off to town on a party bus, all throbbing and bobbing with lights. Thankfully I was thrown off the bus when I showed them my wound from The Falklands, dodged into The Barbican, slunk into The Dolphin, remove the taste from my mouth with Bass and a packet of Scampi Fries and got home in time for the Murder She Wrote omnibus. Ahhh….back to the days when little old ladies solved crime. Perhaps 101 is the age of Jessica Fletcher, she gets better results than the local lot!
Your’s, middle aged



P.S. CORRECTION…….Since writing this I have had the need to, genuinely, phone 101 instead of the 08452 777 444 which often ended with a pointless long wait for the control office number to be answered, which after ten minutes or so you would get bored and put the phone down. Guess what….they put me through to the same control office, with the same delay and the same result……so I hung up and didn’t bother! Room 101 is a place introduced in the novel Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell. It is a torture chamber in the Ministry of Love in which the Party attempts to subject a prisoner to his or her own worst nightmare, fear or phobia.