FUKR 750

Okey dokey, pig in a pokey, I've finally managed to take a few snaps of the new crutch extension for your delectation.
Quite why the previous owner has elected to sell it and go to live on a mountain in Spain, hasn't been made entirely clear yet.
Though I'm really rather looking forward to finding out for myself!

Smart jeans for sale.

As much as I love this pair of jeans (possibly the most stylish and comfortable jeans that I've ever owned), it occurred to me that 504, in Roman numerals, would be represented as DIV.
Being the private kind of person that I am, I refuse to walk around in clothing which advertises a side of my psyche that I'd rather people discovered for themselves, as they get to know me better.

Any offers will be considered.

Hoult, who goes there.

I must say that I was suitably impressed with the turning on of The Red Lion lights on Sunday.
And as ever, who should be right in the middle of it all but our very own Mr Ramsgate, Ralph Hoult.
Is there any pie that he can't stick his finger into without pulling out a plum?
Event organisers should be aware that their plans could all be knocked into a cocked hat unless they bring a Hoult to the proceedings!

I wonder if he'd be interested in taking over my job at The Planet Thanet Easter Beer Festival?

Random toss.

Though if I were to be totally open about matters, it isn't only the pool room in the Montefiore Arms which whispers an echo of peculiarity.

The innocent and simple act of throwing loose change onto the bar can yield astonishing results!

I'm not really a superstitious person, but I do feel that this place is harbouring more than just the ghost of painful memories and dark secrets.

Dead pool.

I'm not sure if it's just me, so perhaps if anyone else can clarify, but the pool room in the Montefiore Arms always seems to have an eerie chill about it, doesn't it?
Not to mention the positively creepy light shade over the table, and skin tingling sensation that you're being watched while you play (though to be fair, that could be emanating from other players in the room)!

Am I alone in this thinking?

Something to chase the blues away.

My apologies for not including an example of a Suzuki GSXR750 Slingshot in my last post.

Quite remiss of me!

Two wheel to be true.

I have been getting a hankering of late, after nine years without a motorcycle, to avail myself of a new steed.
Though one more befitting a gentleman of my advancing years than a stupidly powerful, big, green, wrap-around, scary bastard Kawasaki ZXR750, such as my last bike.
Something a little more sitty-uppy and sedate, I was thinking.
But, as ever, fate has decided that sensible doesn't really suit me, so, following a conversation with a friend last week, I agreed to buy his Suzuki GSXR750 Slingshot from him next month. A bike which is possibly slightly more radical than my old ZXR.
I think that finding this photo of me, a couple of days later, while looking for something else entirely, enjoying a track day at Brands Hatch in 2005, may have nailed the lid shut on the matter.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas.

Following a few recent expenditures, I'm afraid I've had to tighten my belt a little bit.
As a consequence, I'll be designing my own Christmas cards this year.
Though I do genuinely feel that this adds a little personal love to the message!

Light duties.

When the final fermenting vessel to complete our set finally arrived at the brewery yesterday, we all looked forward to the long, hard slog of getting into place.
Though when our Jon, a genius of lateral thinking, suggested that we fill it with nitrous oxide gas, which is ten times lighter than helium, it suddenly became a one-man job.
In fact, it made such light work of it that once we'd popped it into place and let the gas out of it, we all fell about on the floor, laughing hysterically.

Hats off to you, Think Tank Jon!

Intercontinental Invaders.

Thanks to Steve, Jon and all who were along, for a great night out on Halloween! xxx

Apologies for not being able to include the following photos in the video, but I managed to overwhelm Microsoft Movie Maker with everything you'll see in it.
It showed a lot of promise, that program, but failed in the end.
Please feel free to play with the pictures as you see fit.
Click the link below to watch the video.
 
Intercontinental Invaders

Tonight we're gonna party like it's 1998.

As much as I love a busy, full-on weekend, every now and again one like this turns up.

I do hope things are quiet at work today!

Handy tip :-> For best appreciation of this video, play in full screen with the volume turned up as loud as it will go.

Beer monsters!

Years ago, a wise beer hero advised me that getting my beer too close to cider could cause a hideous, flesh eating monster to grow inside of it.
I must confess that I chuckled a little at the notion of this, though the cautious side of me has always steered my pint as far away from the appley nonsense as I can get it.
Unfortunately, since my local changed hands around six weeks ago, the place has become so busy that you're now hard pushed to find a slot on the bar for your drink, resulting in my breaking the habit of a drinking lifetime last night and plonking it right next to the Biddy's handpump.

I may start taking my own little table to the pub with me.

A heavily laden pair of sacks.

I won't bore you with the details of how these handsome bags were emptied into our production team's vessels, nor how their contents were assimilated into several damned fine firkins.

I will suggest that if you'd like to try some for yourself, you may want to visit the brewery tomorrow (12/10/14), from 10am onwards, for our Green Hop Ale extravaganza.

Go lads.

One of the regular punters (you can set your watch by his movements, I'm told) in The Monefiore Arms was so chuffed by the bargain misprinted tee-shirt he'd picked up for a quid yesterday, that noone had the heart to point out the possibility of a misinterpretation of the message that his favourite brewery was trying to get across.

To save him any further embarrassment, I felt I should hide the poor fella's identity.

The Elan Volley Road.

Spending as much time out on the road as I do, I often come across road signs that some wag has hacked about a bit, presumably to lend a little mirth and ease the stress of those who find driving rather testing (of whom there seems to be no shortage IMHO).
Though as you drive along The Elham Valley Road, through Lyminge and Etchinghill, someone(s?) with far too much time, scrapers and paint on their hands appears to have raised this vandalism to a level approaching art.

I'm sure this must annoy the council enormously, who seem to prefer the boot being firmly on the other foot, but for those poor souls heading into Folkestone, it does take the sting out of their grim purpose, somewhat.

Oldometer.

It's taken five and a half long and grueling years to get her there, but yesterday I finally managed to knock around five grand off the value of our dray wagon without crashing it this time.
I'm sure that they'll be their usual kind of pleased with me back at HQ.

Look out for birthday celebrations this coming weekend!

Com. bine harvesters.

"Morning Goldy."

"Hiya Fugg, long time no see!"

"Well no, I'm afraid my farmers have been playing up a bit."

"I can see how that would be a pain in the arse."

"Tell me about it!"
"Though I've heard through the hop bine that our mates in the lower field are currently being hacked off by a bunch of young lads in a tractor, so things could be worse."

"Yes, I'd heard that too, but I'm told that they're going to get stuck into a few beers later and get thoroughly threshed, so I wouldn't feel too sorry for them."

"Nice for them."
"Though what with my farmers and all, I think I'll spend a bit of time drying out, myself."

"Very wise Fugg, very wise."
"Anyhow, I'd better hop to it, the missus is a bit highly strung today!"

Out with the old and in with the bold.

Having drunk in The Montefiore Arms for the past fifteen years, around three quarters of Andy's tenure, and being assured that the pub would remain largely unchanged, I was a little alarmed when the first thing to occur upon the ensconcement of our new landlord was the removal of Guinness from availability at the bar.
Not a big problem to me, as I really can't be doing with any of those smooth, creamy and thick beers, and it'll certainly save a few bob on the bottles of mostly nitrogen gas which lend the stuff it's thickness, but it was a change none the less.
Though it transpires that Andy was the only one who ever drank the stuff (except on St. Guinness day, when loyal patriots would hold their noses and down a few pints), and that the Liverpool sticker will remain in one of the door windows, even though Andy is their only supporter in the entire Eastcliff of Ramsgate, so as it doesn't seem like the place is being overwhelmed by all things Gadd, with Andy becoming a dim and distant memory.

Phew, eh?

The Tab Room Bublic House.

If the line-up of beers is going to look anything like this on the day, I'm really rather looking forward to running up a tab here!

Pie in the sky.

I'm no stranger to seeing things like this after a few pints of Green Hop Ale, as taking a powerful soporific while trying to stay awake can have a mildly hallucinogenic effect.
Though I feel I should point out that I'd not actually drunk any of the stuff when I snapped this outside of The Red Lion in Ramsgate yesterday evening, and if it was indeed a hallucination, I'm led to understand that they're normally buggers to take pictures of!

Hmmmmm.

Hops skip to the jump.

For your delectation, across the jump in The Montefiore Arms from 7pm tonight (17/9/14), I'm given to understand that the first samplings of Gadds' Green Hop Ale will be undertaking the final leg of their epic voyage from Humphrey's farm to the loo.
Hopefully see you there? (The pub, not the loo.)

One small stop for farmers, one giant hop for beerkind.

With the promise of a few more weeks of warm weather and sunshine this year, a good deal of farmers across the County have taken the rather unusual step of delaying some of their hop harvesting, normally underway during the first week of September, for a couple of weeks, to take advantage of the chance to increase their yield somewhat.
An irritating move for those brewers who were 'hop'ing to get cracking on with brewing their green hop ales, but from a front line soldier's point of view, with only a dim appreciation of the consternation caused back in the ammunition factory, the results were looking quite spectacular yesterday (13/9/14).
In fact, I don't remember the last time I saw hops looking as beautiful and bountiful as this.
Ta very much to the New Inn, Canterbury for running short of beer and affording me the chance to drop into Pedding Farm on the way back to the brewery.

 Though this doesn't mean that I'm any less keen than anyone else to get stuck into the first of this year's freshly hopped brews!