Bollocks, I'm off.I've just been reading part of an old newspaper (Daily Mail since you ask, February 15th 1932) I think I will feel more at home there, an altogether nicer place
Brilliant cigarettes, I can take up smoking again, how I've missed my cigarettes these last few years. I am assured by the purveyors of Craven 'A' that my throat will come to no harm. I will risk having to look like Idle to smoke them, I note that they will cost 1/- for 20 which is 5p of our modern coinage. When I'm back there in 1932 I will find out why the cigarettes were named after a cowardly letter, I own to it not making much sense at the moment.
Brilliant cigarettes, I can take up smoking again, how I've missed my cigarettes these last few years. I am assured by the purveyors of Craven 'A' that my throat will come to no harm. I will risk having to look like Idle to smoke them, I note that they will cost 1/- for 20 which is 5p of our modern coinage. When I'm back there in 1932 I will find out why the cigarettes were named after a cowardly letter, I own to it not making much sense at the moment.
I see that football was popular with 39,000 spectators at the match for a total take of £2,805 which means that the average punter paid 7d or less than 4p of the new stuff. I doubt now that you could get into a match for a little over the cost of 10 cigarettes. I have no idea how much it costs to get in to a match, sufficient wild horses can never be found to get me there. I imagine the footie stars were a bit harder in those days and were paid a lot less than the fucking great girls that now ponce around the field in their ballet shoes.
Now this I approve of, someone making a cunt of himself in public and he's scruffed by a big hard fucker of a cop, I wonder if he had his rights explained to him correctly and if he will get any councilling after he has got a caution. I think he will be glad to get into the safety of a cell by himself so that he doesn't bump into any more walls and doors.
Looks like the crumpet might be alright back there, not to the Tuscan's liking perhaps, but proper shaped women, not a bit of that newfangled silicon in sight. I think I can manage to deal with the Heavy winter weight artificial silk Milanese Directoire Knickers, the navy colour option would be nice....to bring back memories of school days when they formed the mainstay of both girls uniform and birth control. I seem to remember that they were called -harvest festivals- in that "All is Safely Gathered In"; the elastic can , I remember, stop the flow of blood to your hand. I think I may be a little daunted by anyone requiring the expenditure of 3/4 though. I shall have to give some thought as to the tactics for dealing with the all wool winter weight combinations.
A cruise would be nice. I imagine that then, as now, paying for a cruise in the Med is the easiest and quickest way to get a young lady out of her undergarments. I think the twenty days to Malta, Egypt, Naples &c at 34 guineas will be tickety-boo. So everything looks fine. Low prices, good living, law and order sorted.... what a nice place to live it is in 1932, what could go wrong ?
Oh fuck me,I see the Mohamedans are furious about something, what a fucking surprise ! I gather they are being badly done by and have done a bit of peaceful ( they being of course a religion of peace) communal rioting and people are seeing to it that their reasonable demands are conceded.
So it's not a recent invention then.
UPDATE FOR TT,
I wonder if this girl was as cute when she was, in 1932, 3 years old ?

You would, wouldn't you .......
another update
some spacing
so that
that ugly fucking harridan Booth/Blair Witch
isn't in the same frame as Audrey
that's better.



7 comments:
All fine and dandy back in 1932, except the irate moslems.
Mind I hate to be alarmist but I think that nice Mr Hitler may not be all he is cracked up to be.
Germans can't bloody trust them, if we don't keep an eye on him there might even be another war....
Are you holidaying in the Western Isles (of Scotland for your international readers, North Britain for any Scots) by any chance? I remember sortieing into a newsagents in Stornoway, oh over 25 years ago, and, noticing the Daily Telegraph was the previous day's edition, I asked the shop owner if they had any of today's edition, assuming a restocking oversight. "Yes, they'll be in tomorrow," came the reply. At least the Daily Mail hasn't changed in its occasional lack of editorial judgement. It initially backed Mr Hitler. And today I trod on the metaphoical (but it still hurt)garden rake of the rejected med student story it published.
For any part of scotchland, I refer you to my "sufficient wild horses can never be found to get me there" statement. Full of Ochs and eeeees and ayeees, uncouth fuckers in skirts imposing their bagpiping on folks, bastards. The cabers they toss up there are made of chips collected from the shoulders of dead jocks, (not a lot of people know that).
1939 a bit too close for my liking.
But yes - we were a nice people once.
Haddock, not that you care, having exposed yourself on my blog as an appaling philistine who thinks James Bond is some sort of seventies nightmare; but Ian Fleming (through Jimmy Bond) had an IMHO definite penchant for directoire knickers. Other than that, excellent stuff this post, again IMHO.
Oddly enough the Tuscan was musing and scratching his bonce at the fishemen's "trips today" chalk board on The Cob in Lyme Regis, deciding whether mackerel or pollack woudl be his prey, 8 days ago. I understand you are somewhat less than 1,000,000 miles from that spot. Made off with a nice fossil, too, plus half a dozen 60s Bond paperbacks from the bookshop in the High Street,
8 days ago, on the 26th, I was not even 1,000,000 millimetres away, and not even one quarter of that; I was fishing from the end of the Cobb, from about 7pm.... small world isn't it ? Foul weather and poor fishing....but there is a sign on the building on the Cobb...
"God does not deduct from man's allotted span the hours spent fishing."
It was Monday 23, and I have now been insipre to do a Cobb post.
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