Every boys secret dreamSo what is every boys secret dream, apart that is from a night of the tiles with Sharon Stone, Sandra Bullock or who ever happened to be on a certain papers page three today. What is it that every Essex lad - teenage to elderly manhood desires more then any thing else.
Well forget hard cash, fast cars, or lose women. No what really gives him pride - and this I have to tell you girls is very much a man thing - is the ownership of a very expensive Swiss Army Knife.
Look laugh if you will. But come on chaps, how many of you have swinging down from your cars dashboard, or laying heavy in the pocket with house keys dangling from it, a thin Swiss Army Knife acting as a key fob. And do you keep having these thoughts about investing £45 or so of hard earned cash on one of those nice fat juicy ones with all those tools you'll never have any use for. And do you also wonder how you'll keep your extravagance from the wife.
Well welcome to the clan my son, for your not alone out there. I used to think it was just me. But far from it, for I keep running into fellow owners of this great icon or the great outdoors.
All of us, after comparing it's many tools and lamenting the fact that we have never quite had to use any of it's tools in anger in the great outdoors as it were and asking what version we have, usually end up asking those two great unanswered questions of all Swiss Army Knife owners
One.. Baring in mind the Swiss have been neutral since the year dot, do they actually have an army, and if so do they issue these knifes to their troops, and secondly has anybody in recorded history every managed to use that tool that gets stones out of horses hoofs.
Well I don't know about using the knife to aid horses, but I can give you an answer to the first question, as Ys the Swiss do have an army of sorts, all male adults have to put in a couple of week service a year, and yes, they do get issued. Seems the idea started back in the last century when officers had to buy their own knifes, which tended to be on the large size, and rather ruined the look of their nice uniforms a bit. So why not thought a crafty Swiss knife maker produce a nice penknife for them will all the little tools an officer might need, short of actually, perish the thought, having to stab someone with it. The idea soon caught on becoming a nice little earner for the Swiss company who still knock the out.
Now personally I have two of these lovely pocket knifes, your standard thin six blade type for use as a key fob, and a monster, with built in woodsaw, scissors, screwdrivers and can opener.
Oh how I have wished to be on safari in Epping Forest, and had the need to make camp, using the all the tools available, So far all I have used it for is to open a can of baked beans when the can opener went missing. But it's a start.
Well now I have found another wonderful useless tool to bung in the pocket, It looks like a pair of pliers, which is indeed what it is, but packed into the two arms are a whole range of tools, just like my Swiss Army Knife.
Now all I'm waiting for is the moment someone is in trouble, and delving into my pocket, I can whip out my trusty tools and leap in to help. Mind you knowing my luck it will be some horse wanting a stone removed.
BOOZE LOVELY BOOZE
I have to admit that I had a tear in my eye the other day, and if truth be known tears were also in the eyes of that unhappy band of glum brothers alongside me as we gazed together at that most terrible of all sights to a dedicated boozier, a local pub on fire.
Now it's true that the Artichoke was not one of the worlds greatest hostelries, Far from it, for most of it's bars had in recent years become a carvery style restaurant, and it's beer had been supplied for many years by one of those national brewing houses who consider that Co2 is a vital ingredient in their product, along with that deep level of froth which I just hate.
but for all it's faults, as a convenient watering hole across the road from the local council chamber here in Brentwood, it had become the ideal place for all those after the committee meeting sessions, dishing the dirt on rival councillors and getting the background to the latest policy decisions in those fascinating off the record debriefing sessions that we who follow the activities of our local elected heroes love so much. (and you thought, train spotting was a sad pastime.)
I won't bore you with the sordid details of just why the pub went up in smoke, and it's true to say that right now they are rebuilding it, and that in this part of Essex, building new pubs has become a bit of a growth industry among developers who with that wonderful sense of planning they love so much are placing their new pubs/bar/restaurants alongside each other.
Mind you, just who they hope to attract is anybody's guess as to me and many others of my generation, there's a fundamental difference between a pub you visit with your mates occasionally and your local boozier, where you feel more at home.
Now I have two pubs which I regard as my local pub, where I know I will be welcomed as a regular, the barmaid known by name will not have to be asked what I'm drinking for it will be on the bar even as I walk in. and the pub will be populated with fellow well liked regulars I can pass the time of day with. Now as is well known by fellow devotees of their locals, it's bad luck to reveal the location of your own local, for custom and practice dictate this must remain a secret . But should you be travelling between Billericay and Chelmsford along the Stock Road, check out the Ship located a couple of miles from stock. Here mine host is Terry a life long West Ham fan, and his long suffering good lady who together apart from keeping a fine beer, serve up some of the best low cost food around. And an idea place to spend a Saturday evening.
As for my other local, sorry no dice, other to say, it's located in the Centre of Ingatestone, serves Greene King straight from the barrel without any Co2 involved and better yet, served at room temperature by Landlord Roger who has so far managed to resist any effort by his pubs owners to serve any sort of food, other then the add bag of crisps. This Secret Pub on mine is also note for the fact that come the long winter evenings it's regular clientele is heated by a huge roaring fire. And are entertained by a bunch of folk and bluegrass musicians.
This pub can only be described as being heaven on earth, And for many years I considered asking my local Council to transfer me from by present abode to one in Ingatestone, the better to walk to this home form home, rather then the present car ride. One thing stopped me however. The thought that the day I moved into the village, would be the one, Roger jacked it all in, moved on and my local became a restaurant or even worse, converted into a home.
WAITING FOR THE BUS
I don't know about you, but until recently I always used to have a problem when waiting for a bus. They just never came, or at last when they did, four of them would turn up in convoy, all no doubt, working on the basis that there's safety in numbers when passing the local old folks home on pension day.
But it's not just those free pass waving pensioners they should be worrying about, as one poor driver recently found his cost. In his case, his Bus was highjacked by a pack of impatient and very irate Doddinghurst bound Passengers angry that the previous bus on the run had been cancelled. Take this bus to Doddinghurst and give us a free ride as an apology, they cried. It works as well, for after frantic phones calls and negotiations the passengers got their way.
This passenger power could catch on you know, Imagine the scene, late evening, Chelmsford bus station. Bus to Braintree Cancelled. Around the corner appears another bus with driver thinking his heading for the delights of Dunmow.. But no, an angry pack of shopping bag waving grannies storm aboard demanding he head for Braintree instead. Behaviour such as this would set a fine example to our young vandals and football supporters wouldn't it.
Oh yes, I can see those drivers now sitting around in their bus garage canteen, all ready to go over the top on another dangerous mission for Thamesway should this mass bus highjacking become the norm. There they sit, checking their maps, their small change, and with fear in their eyes, listening as their inspector tells them that, "This is pension day lads. So no accepting any sweeties. Just check the bus pass. Go careful out there, and for your own protection from these grannies flushed with cash, travel in convoy. And if you do get highjacked, remember lads, Thamesway never gives in to threats."
Well that's the only theory I can come up with, Indeed until recently around our way, Thamesways bus time table was a sure fire contender for the Booker prize for fiction. But no longer, for now I can report that at long last I have developed a revolutionary bus paging system that is guaranteed to work every time.
Like all great ideas this one is very simple to operate, so allow me to pass it on. Car owners nicked for speeding by the local plod may also find this handy, if for the first time having to travel by bus, rather then following their normal sport of cutting them up.
First, find your bus stop. Now, and this is the cunning bit, extract from your pocket a pack of cigarettes, (only king size ones will produce this effect) now keeping an eye on the distant horizon light cigarette taking care to take one satisfying puff. Now here's the amazing part, because I can guarantee you that within thirty seconds, one of Thamesways yellow perils, will from it's hiding place, lurking around a corner, zoom into sight. Which when you come to think about it, is not a bad sacrifice for a crushed dog end.
Indeed I can now successfully report that I have conducted a number of field tests on a number of routes using this sure fire method, only achieving total failure once when attempting to summon up a number 100 bus outside Billericay station on a Sunday morning. This slip up can however be put down the fact that this Bus, is presumably being driven by a member of the Lords Day Observance Society, as it never runs on a Sunday. Either that or he takes it home to park it on his driveway for it's weekly wash and polish.
And still on the subject of our wonderful buses, Why is it that everyone getting off the bus, always turns and thanks the driver as they alight. Can anyone tell me just when this rather endearing habit started, and if it's only found here in Essex.
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