UP ON THE WHITE VERANDA

" .....her passport shows a face from another time and place she looks nothing that". Silly of me not to have realised before that if you want to relocate people with a past anonymously then you carrol them in one place. She is very nice .....black tie and Panama hat.

Now then, a job to support us....ghost writer, mystery shopper, shadow boxer...

Ooh Er! Here comes the chopper to take us to bed

When I was One I had Just Begun

It's my new birthday this weekend. That is to say that it is the anniversary of the DOB that appears in my new papers. My Minders say I should put the past behind me (as if there was anywhere else to put it) but I couldn't but feel a tinge of regret as the actual anniversary of my entry into this veil of tears passed unceremoniously recently. At least I am still a Capricorn ("serious minded, extremely hard working, patient, careful, humorous; prone to colds and knee problems in later life") as I would be hard put to swing it as, say, a Leo ("brave, generous, born entertainer; high risk heart disease and eye problems"). As with any lie, it is always best to keep as close as possible to the truth or at least a plausible version of it.

Still, it all depends on what is in the 'bin' at the Passport Office at the time. So I have gained two years courtesy presumably of some other poor old goat who had a terminal knee condition. But I do get a visit from one of the few people whom I previously knew in my former life. She is being flown into a local airport and of course I wouldn't give the details of what's planned even if I was privy to them but I can't wait to see how sexy she will look in her Hijab.

The Real Identical Man

A lovely sunny morning so off to the front for a stimulating cappuccino and make a start on the life of Charlie boy so refreshingly pictured above in the 1945 autobiography by the wonderfully named Una Pope-Hennessy. I am a great admirer of the great man and have always enjoyed his films and musicals. But I confess his written work has been literally a closed book since my unfortunate introduction to him through cramming Bleak House as an 'A' level English student. I think I was able to opt out of Great Expectations at 'O' level (and indeed opted out of most of the early seventies) so first came up against him in the form of a two year struggle with Bleak House .
Now I daresay that as originally published monthly in 20 illustrated pamphlets of 32 pages each it was as eagerly awaited and devoured by his adoring public as anything put out these days by Marshall Cavendish. If they had been so minded and able no doubt his publishers too would have included a free diecast model of the novel's characters. But in a fat, ink stained, plastic wrapped unillustrated school issue tome it did little to inspire the febriled mind of this teenager. The book's central theme is a satire on the gross inefficiencies and social inequalities of society as typified by the tortuous machinations of the Court of Chancery. The language is one of fog, mist, mud and human despair. And for two years it was subjected to such a line by line word by word autopsy of methodology and imagery as Dicken's himself would have railed to the heavens about. I think I finished about a third of it, scraped a 'D' (equivalent to Grade A 5 star unleaded under the present system) and waited for last year's BBC production to find out the end.

I open the biography, page one, line one " In Bleak House it is laid down as 'a melancholy truth'..... " . Better make that a triple espresso and six sugars.

BOOK HIM DANNO!

My Minders have finally sorted me out a library card as I would have had some difficulty in furnishing the utility bills, passport, character references, DNA sample etc required to enable me to lend up to 12 items at any one time including 4 DVDs or music CDs. Honestly! It's easier to open a fraudulent bank account or to obtain a bogus passport. Believe me.

I love libraries. They are shrines to anonymity. And I suppose I can forgive my local one for following the trend to devote half the available space to a creche, a Blockbusters outlet and a typing pool. And the ubiquitous reference section which I presume is required under some statutory provision to hold the serried volumes of Halsbury's Laws of England and Meetings of Thanet District Council's Highways Committee.

But there are still books to read although these seemed to be arranged under the Hueyduey'odecimal system favoured by the second hand bookstores hereabouts. There are sections for "fiction" and "non-fiction" (no "facts" here Mr Gradgrind). Fiction is helpfully alphabetically arranged by author unless it is in "Science Fiction", "Adventure", "Crime", "Westerns" "Horror", "Historical" "Humour" or "Romance" which covers a fair old bit of the literary spectrum. Or it is by Dickens or Thackeray or Eliot (George or T.S.) etc in which case it is displayed museum style only lacking the admonishment "Do Not Handle The Exhibits". Non-Fiction is more orderly, as it should be, with sections labelled History/Science/Travel etc. But with the labels often at knee or shin height some migration and confusion is inevitable and could explain why Stephen Hawking's "A Brief History of Time" was in Cookery and Darwin's "Voyage of the Beagle" in Pets.

In the end I adopted a Vordermanesque approach taking one from the top two from the middle and one from the bottom. Yippee! A biography of our very own Chas!

FACE OFF

The plastic surgery seems to be healing well so I thought I'd show my (new) face in town and try out my adopted Scottish accent. Result. Within the space of fifty yards I am regailed as Lesley Howard (fine actor; deceased) and Gordon Ramsay (celeb.cook; vulgar). I oblige in the first instance with my indecipherable autograph and tell the group of local "yuts" to "F*ck Off!". Both seem pleased.

Entering Tescos for provisions I am struck by the paucity of goods on offer or even on the shelves. No Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall hand- hung venison or quail eggs here. But equally no milk, bread or other basic sustenance. Quite took me back to the 3 day week of 1974 when I worked weekend and school holidays for Tescos (well actually the "Home and Colonial Stores" which became International Stores before being taken over by Jack Cohen's mob). I still bear the scars from the Sugar Riots that accompanied each limited delivery of this vital foodstuff. Ah , but those blackout nights.

The Scottish accent will have to go though. I can't help but think that it will only draw undue attention to myself for the nice ladies on the tills to have to speak to me very slowly and loudly each visit before picking coins out my change as I am counting it - even if it is Broadstairs. To tell the truth I was getting sick anyway of the Sean Connery and Brave Heart videos so thoughtfully provided by the Minders.

A Blog Is Not Just For Christmas

About all I got for Christmas was the idea for this blog. Still, I suppose it shows that my recent relocation to sunny Broadstairs under the Jehovah's Witness Protection Programme works. It's been under the Christmas tree for quite a while unwrapped whilst I considered the pro and cons of owning a blog. The cons appear to be:

• It will need regular if not daily walking
• Me and IT don't naturally "click" (as will doubtless become apparent)
• There are already a good number of well written and amusing Thanet based sites
• I already talk to myself as much as I need to (Too Bloody right mate I say)

But I am persuaded by the pros:

• It wont cost much or need to be fed (other perhaps than the occasional slice of Humble Pie)
• It might improve the old IT skills a little
• I am not aware of a Broadstairs based diary style blog (although of course there are some excellent sites, particularly Stella -Maris
• My minders visited for New Year and said I needed to get out of the panic room more.

To end this test transmission I would like to record my heartfelt thanks to the denizens of this charming town who have so warmly, if unwittingly, welcomed me to my new home. I have a long association with the town and trust that nothing I enter here will give rise to any offence (Fat chance mate!)