The Frumplingtons

You remember the theme to that famous spag-bol Western, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly? (It was by pop legend Hugo Montenegro, I believe.) Well, what I want you to do now is begin to whistle that tune. Because the following story will be improved enormously with a bit of audience participation and an appropriate soundtrack…

The place? Dodge City (or, in this case, Lincoln city). The year? 2006. The problem? The town is starting to look like a heap of … well, let’s just say it’s starting to look a bit scruffy. The sherriff ain’t none too pleased. So he’s decided to call in some tough gunslingers by the name of the Streets Ahead Squad to clean the town up. (I know, it sounds like some kinda boy band. But I didn’t choose the name; I just report the facts.)

The local newspaper, the Lincolnshire Echo, has recently been asking readers for their opinions on the filthiest places in town. (Maybe they have in mind the idea of running a competition for a night out in one of these places later in the month?)

Echo readers have suggested a number of candidates for the title of Crummiest Hell-hole in the Whole of Dodge. And some may be surprised to find that Monks Road (reputedly for many years the wildest part of the Wild West — or, to be more accurate, the Wild East) is not mentioned in the article on the Echo’s website. This apparent omission is merely because lily-livered Echo readers dursn’t [sic] venture into such lawless parts for fear of the local bandit population. If they did, they would soon find that parts of Monks Road could easily romp away with first prize in the Echo’s competition. One side road in particular, Arboretum Avenue, boasts what must be the longest-lived piece of graffiti in Dodge: several words in black paint sprayed onto a boarded-up window on the ground floor of one local building directly opposite the entrance to a local doctors’ surgery. (It’s not even an unoccupied building, for goodness’ sake.) Despite numerous findings about the causal links between graffiti and crime, this for example:

Graffiti is often the first element in a spiral of decline. If graffiti is allowed to stay, others will feel free to add to it. Undesirable types - drunks, addicts, beggars, criminals - will believe they can act with impunity. This leads to a climate of fear.

source: btp.police.uk

this local eyesore is fast approaching its second birthday.

Now, how come the Echo (and the local Graffiti Busters team) missed that one?

Chris

Update - February 2007:

The graffiti in Arboretum Avenue mentioned in this post disappeared early in 2007 and the building concerned has since undergone extensive redevelopment.

Here’s a good excuse for anyone who enjoys eating cakes but occasionally feels a bit guilty about over-indulging: sometimes cake can be educational. Yesterday we bought a Carrot and Orange cake from our local branch of the Co-op. After scoffing the cake, we then examined the box for any errors that we thought our readers might enjoy. And we found the following (bold type inserted by yours truly):

“Carrots, walnuts and orange juice give this cake it’s distinctive flavour.”

Keen apostrophe fans can examine evidence of the Co-op’s mistake in our picture below.

Even primary school students shouldn’t make elementary howlers like that.

All I can say is…crumb’s!

Chris

It was a funny kind of day, yesterday. We had just got one of those Freeview boxes that you hook up to your telly so you can get digital channels. Our roof aerial seems to need some adjustment, so at the moment we are only able to receive a few of the available channels. And one of those is BBC News 24. And no sooner had we taken delivery of our set-top box and switched it on, than it all kicked off in Thailand and they went and had a coup. (Amazing. Some people will do just about anything to get on the telly.)

According to News 24 (I wonder how long it took them to dream that name up) all of Bangkok’s restaurants and shops were closed last night and the whole area was under curfew. (Damn! No chance of even so much as a cup of tea — or a plate of crickets — anywhere.) To our great relief however, it appears to have been business as usual at Dorseyland, home of our favourite Thailand correspondent (and honorary Frumplington), Paul Dorsey. The entire staff of Dorseyland have retired to their purpose-built concrete bunker, from where Mr D is issuing regular updates on the aftermath of the Thai coup in his own inimitable style. Now, why would you want to get your news from the BBC or CNN, when you can get it from ‘our man in Bangkok’? Answer me that.

Chris

Early this morning, Shana and I found ourselves in the Co-op. I know, it sounds a bit strange, doesn’t it? ‘Found ourselves’. As if we were somehow picked up by a passing spaceship and spirited away, before being beamed back down to earth again five minutes later after refusing to succumb (phew! I almost wrote ‘cooperate’ there) with their nefarious experiments. (My goodness, where are we? Oh, it’s all right, we’re in the Co-op.) All I can say is, we must really have annoyed those aliens, because they dropped us into the Post Office queue. At the back.

But actually, the real reason we ‘found ourselves’ in the Co-op Post Office was because that was where we had been heading all along, in order to post a parcel.

While we waited for the queue to move forward, I read the notice on the pole next to me. (The Post Office has only one long queue rather than several short ones, and everyone lines up between two cream-coloured tapes supported on cheap-looking plastic poles with round bases.)

On the notice that I read, it said Do not lean on barriers as they are not fixed to the floor. Feeling the sudden onset of a rebellious mood, I checked to see no-one was looking, shuffled my foot to the right, and managed to slide the round base at least two inches across the carpet.

Who knows? Maybe, given more time I might have manoeuvred the poles until they had formed a complete circle and completely penned-in a group of hapless pensioners, like a sheepdog rounding up a small herd of baa-lambs. Today, however, I only moved the fence two inches. But it’s the way Che Guevara got started, isn’t it? Just the little things, at first, and then you work your way up.

At this rate though, I think it’ll be a long time till I’m ready to liberate Cuba.

Chris

This morning, Shana and I went on a nature walk. We took a picture of this lovely Oriental plane tree. (I know it’s an oriental plane, because I looked up the leaf shape in a tree identification handbook.)

This particular tree may not have long to live. It stands on the corner of Broadgate and Unity Square in Lincoln, on the site of the now disused and derelict ‘Save’ discount petrol filling station. At the other end of the site is O’Rourkes hostelry, which has also been closed for a long time. The whole lot is due to be demolished and here is what is going to be built on the land:

…a 9 storey building to provide 105 apartments, 89 car parking spaces, courtyard amenity area and … commercial units for A1,A2,A3 or A4 purposes.

source:lincoln.gov.uk

Whether it will be as much of an enhancement to the area as the rather attractive multi-storey car park in the background of our picture, remains to be seen. But with almost ninety car parking spaces, it is sure to add to the already overwhelming volume of traffic along Broadgate.

More pictures of the petrol station, the ill-fated O’Rourkes, and this plane tree’s counterpart in the other corner, can be seen on Lincoln Pix, our local image gallery. Come to Lincoln and see the sights…before the bulldozers arrive.

Chris

The final of BBC’s Restoration Village series finished earlier this evening. I have to assume that all those involved with the making of the programme have gone to enjoy their celebratory end of series drinks; there is surely no other explanation for the fact that, at the time I am writing this, the BBC’s own Restoration page has not yet been updated with the name of the winner.

So, if you missed the final and want to know which building came first, I can now reveal that it was Chedham’s Yard in Wellesbourne, the perfectly preserved wheelwright and blacksmith’s workshop. A deserving winner, as I am sure you will agree.

Remember where you heard it first.

Chris

We’ve been out and about again, gathering more pictures for our Lincoln Pix image gallery.

Today we went to the top of Motherby Hill. The picture here was taken at the bottom of the hill, next to Lincoln’s police station on West Parade. Now, you might look at our photo and think What a load of cobbles! Whereas when we look at it we remember what a gruelling hike it was to get to the summit. (Actually, it was quite an enjoyable walk. I must apologize if I’ve made it sound like Everest.) And there are some splendid views to be had from up there too.

Chris

We are pleased to report that the new series of afterlife has proved every bit as good as expected. Scarier than a visit from the VAT man, very gritty, very convincing, the opening episode of this second series saw arch-sceptic Robert struggling to reconcile his belief in the spirit world with his need to remain rational and detached in front of his class of psychology students. Lesley Sharp as psychic Alison, meanwhile, is still brilliant in the part.

This weeks programme was about a group of drink-driving teenagers who needed Alison’s assistance to ‘cross over to the other side’ (nope, sorry, nothing to do with joining the Tories, in case you wondered).

There are supposed to be only about ten plots available for any writer (I know, ‘cos I read it in the TLS…or was it the People’s Friend?), and all literature (including television, I assume) is merely variations on those plots. Presumably, specific genres such as the supernatural are in some ways even more restricted as far as possible plots go. So to produce such a great series as afterlife is quite an achievement. Let’s hope it wins all the awards it deserves.

Chris

Went up to town this morning to get our weekly copy of TV Choice (or whatever the hell our regular listings mag is called).

We like to follow a regular ritual when we get back from town: throw shoes off, grumble about how bloomin’ hot it is for the time of year, gossip about fellow shoppers (Did you see that bloke outside the JobCentre? Now that’s what I call overweight; he must have been half a ton!), flop down on sofa, empty three hundred pieces of unwanted adverts from middle of magazine (oops! one there for hearing aids, pick it up again), draw moustaches on all pictures of soap opera actors (draw full head of hair on Eastenders Mitchell brothers if featured in mag); and finally, take a look at what’s on telly next week.

And next week (this coming Saturday, to be precise) we are in for a treat: spooky series afterlife is returning. (Yes, it is supposed to be spelt with a lowercase ‘a’.)

We really enjoyed the first series of afterlife. It had plenty of atmosphere and made me jump so often that I might just as well have been on a trampoline. We’ve got a problem now though: if the second series is as scary as the first, we won’t be able to hide behind the sofa; since we moved the furniture round, the sofa is now about three inches off the wall. Guess we’ll have to breathe in then.

Chris

Cast your mind back to those old black-and-white Laurel and Hardy films, where the hapless duo try doing some kind of handiwork in someone’s house. Their best efforts are inevitably not good enough, and eventually we see the entire building collapse, piece by piece, until Olly is left sitting forlornly in the middle of the debris exactly where one of the windows would have been. He is miraculously unhurt. His last action is to remove his hat and brush the dust off it, before slamming it on the ground and declaring to sidekick Stan, “That’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into!”

Can’t happen in real life though, can it?

Oh yes it can. (Well, kinda sorta, anyway.) Consider what happened to unsuspecting shopper Deanne Speed in a supermarket just outside Lincoln:

Shopper Deanne Speed … was caught short at Tesco in Wragby Road, Lincoln and headed for the customer toilets.

She had just sat down when the ceiling came crashing down, covering her head to toe in dust and leaving her cowering against the side.

Miss Speed, of Newport, Lincoln, suffered a large gash to one of her legs and injuries to her neck and shoulder.

source:
Lincolnshire Echo [Toilet roof collapse payout agreed]

Now that’s what I call a bogof.

It all happened about a year ago, and this week Miss Speed was awarded thousands of pounds in damages after her personal injury claim against Tesco was successful.

If it had happened to me though, I think I’d have pooped myself. Under the circumstances, I suppose a toilet is the most appropriate place to be.

Chris

Notes for the bewildered:

1. Bog: noun - slang word for toilet.
2. Bogof: noun (acronym) - Usually pronounced ‘Bog off’. Means ‘Buy one, get one free’, a favoured marketing tactic of major supermarkets.