Rugge – Price Ramblings

A very Lighthearted and sometimes irreverent commentary on the differences between summer visitors to Orford, Suffolk, UK and Camden, Maine, USA

(These pieces are the harmless ramblings of an intelligent, well-educated and well-travelled man and they are read and enjoyed by many. It is advisable to avoid over analysing in the name of political correctness. The ramblings are generally well informed and amusing but there is no malice intended. The ramblings have been published on the website for four years and have taken up a significant amount of storage which has affected the editing of the website. For this reason the original text has been deleted for most of the pieces but has been stored for access for those who may wish to visit the earlier thoughts of Mr Rugge - Price.

They can be reached here 

Rugge Price archive January 2018

 

MAIDS OF OLD

In days of old when men were bold, the maidens baked the bread,
In this new World, now we are told that men are maids instead,
But now it seems, there’s frantic scenes inside the Ladies Loo
As Maids with balls invade their stalls each time they want a poo

Before launching into 2018, let me say first of all that seeing Bridget Logan leave Orford was a sad event. She was one of the first people I met when we came here, and she asked me if I would do painting classes at the school with the Shrimps. It was the beginning of an all too short friendship and we are both very sad to see her go, but I’m sure she will be happy being nearer her family.

The peace and quiet of the winter months was rudely shattered this morning by our new, but very charming, neighbour who has builders reconverting the front of his house, so the inevitable banging and power tool whining will be with us for some time to come. However, if the high winds we just had are anything to go by, the giant trees in Castle Close right across the road could well demolish his extension before the builders are done. For with each and every gale, bits of wood and branches come hurling across the road into our gardens. There are times when we feel quite nervous as our house is right smack in the DZ if one comes down.

We now have a new Labrador, Ace, who we found online from over near Elveden, West Suffolk. He had no papers, no microchip, no vaccinations and was thought to be about five years old. Against all of this we went to see him and of course, as soon as he appeared that was it, and we bought him immediately, and what a bargain. A beautiful black boy, probably around three years old, trained to walk to heel etc., and we are both delighted and very happy to have a Labrador again, it just didn’t seem right without one. Ace is hardly an English name for a dog, how many Aces do you know? So, we suspect he was owned by an American family on the USAAF Lakenheath base whose term of deployment came to an end. Anyway, we are the lucky ones, and as far as Ace is concerned, the sofa makes a good, comfortable bed!

As usual at this time of year, flu abounds and stories of being given the wrong vaccinations arise yet again, it’s a bit like the pusillanimous British Rail excuse some years ago for always running late, “it’s due to the wrong sort of leaves on the line” or as happened just recently when it snowed, the Highways Department’s excuse, “the salt didn’t work as there weren’t enough cars on the road!?

Anyway, the poor old NHS is getting it in the neck yet again for not giving us the correct strain of jabs, but let’s face it, first it was flu from Oz, then it was Japanese! You have feel very sorry for all the doctors, nurses, porters and ambulance drivers who are pushed to gallant but totally unworkable extremes, and wonder whether the NHS suffers the same problem as the Armed Forces, or what’s left of them, top heavy with Admirals and Generals in comparison to boots on the ground, or in the case of the NHS, far too many managers in comparison to docs in the surgery or nurses on the wards?

Now as you all know, I’m a bear of Little Brain, so forgive me if you know all the answers cos I don’t, but why are we spending and sending millions of pounds to the likes of China and India plus many others when some of our national infrastructure including the NHS is no better than some of Trumps third world “ Sxxthole” Countries: the conditions of some of our roads, railways, and hospitals will do just for starters, miserable pay scales for nurses, police, teachers as well as our soldiers and sailors?

If Old Nelson, up high on his pedestal in Trafalgar Square, ever lifts his telescope and looks out to sea, his words: “I see no ships” will be right on the button cos there aren’t any. If ever the level of boat migration across the channel increases to that in the Med, well, there’s only the RNLI to stop ‘em and, as far as the British Army is concerned, there were more soldiers killed in day one of the First Battle of the Somme than there are in the Army today!

A friend of mine went to a funeral the other day and discovered that amongst the congregation were several old bods that she thought were already done and dusted! Holy Moly, at this time of year in Orford we hardly ever see anyone at all, so it’s quite possible that there’s a whole army of old farts and fossils out there who are under the misguided impression that I’ve been lying beneath terra firma for months, Well I haven’t, but there are times I wonder why not.

The Golden Years on Golden Pond, when referring to the age of retirement, is one giant fib and much ado about nothing: my days of climbing the foremast, clearing a jammed halyard and then shinning back down to the deck on a forestay are long gone. It’s not just me sealegs either, for when I fall over in the local forestry around here, and believe me I do, it takes a Herculean effort, plus much cursing just to get back on all fours, let alone get up and stand on two feet! That takes a good deal longer and is only achievable with much pain and cursing.

When I can remember, which isn’t very often, I try to take my fone with me but as there’s no signal anywhere in the woods, I could well be in an acute state of rigor mortis before ever being found,

However, a useful thought occurred to me last time this happened. If I can get my fone out of my pocket I could at least take a selfie and then send it by Instagram to family and friends, so they could see my impersonation of an ancient cockroach lying on its back with legs and arms waving about in total futility.

But, all ye faithful followers, fear ye not, for despite being minus many teeth, deaf as a post, arthritic hip, a pronounced limp and a pair of glasses that are glued together with string and toothpick, I’m still buggering on.

However, reaching the stage of pre fossilisation isn’t all bad, for as the fast-flowing current speeds us towards the Great Falls and the whirling abyss way below, there are some goodies to be had en route, and one of those is the resurrection of taste buds due to a second childhood.

Gone are the yearnings for wonderful haute cuisine dishes such as “Mousseline de Homard au Champagne et Caviar “ or perhaps an entree of “Filet de Maigre Parfum de Ras-el Hanout et Fenouil de Camargue”, all washed down with a litre or two of Chateau de Mal de Tete entre les Genoux. Instead there is a yearning for ice cream, especially the thick creamy Devon type, chocolate biscuits, brownies and Toblerone, apple pie and custard to name just a few of my sweet tooth yearnings, shepherd’s pie, bangers and mash and even the odd Big Mac suddenly become the much-preferred plat du jour. On the odd occasions we eat out “en famille” I always ask to see the pud menu before deciding upon anything else to eat and have been known to have two puds instead of a main course

During the long winter afternoons, we watch many documentaries on various topics, crime, drug and opioid epidemics, racial tensions especially in the US, medicine and of course the NHS, programmes that cover the World. It has become all too apparent that the rise in drug related crimes and deaths amongst the young is alarming and growing by the day.

If you have ever lived in big cities around the Globe this will come as no surprise as you will have witnessed it at some point. However, if you live deep in the country, whether it’s here, Arkansas or Provence, then it is much more of a rarity, and doesn’t resonate so clearly with everyday life.

There are so many problems facing the young these days, so much so that I am very relieved to have lived most of my life when I did, all we had to contend with were bombs and being able to make do without toys and sweeties. But since we didn’t know they even existed we didn’t miss them in the first place When you see photos or ancient newsreels of kids playing in the streets, you notice they are all on the slim side due to an War enforced diet of rationing restrictions.

Being a child nowadays is quite a full-on task and many parents face a seemingly constant battle as their children grow up. If you have one of those kids that consumes cans of fizzy drinks and grabs mars bars and crisps from the conveniently placed low shelf by the payout till, then the chances are that they will end up being a fatty like Beryl and Billy Bunter; if the sweets don’t get them, then there’s the drug and opioid hurdles to overcome, all of which will make for a miserable and short life, and that’s assuming they haven’t succumbed to some form of sexual harassment or bullying from their iPhone or iPad.

Ee, yer don’t know do yer, we never knew we ‘ad it so good in them days!

Finally, my suggestion for the best effort of the year so far is the young lady, who as a child was one of those caught up in the Rotherham child abuse scandal. She is now going around schools giving a talk on her problems and how to not get embroiled. That takes guts.

Jeremy Rugge-Price
Feb 1 2018

ps RIP Neil

pps My remarks about the RNLI being our advance guard against immigrant invaders came true last night. Nine Albanians were picked up by the RNLI while trying to cross the Channel near Dover.

In twenty eighteen it remains to be seen
If May can move forward with Brexit
But if Blair has a say
And Sir Clegg gets his way
The road will be signed as No Exit

On Labour’s front bench there’s clearly a stench
As Momentum gears up for the fray
Add MacDonald’s flying pickets
And May could lose wickets
Being all out by the end of the day

In Orford all’s quiet, there’s nary a riot
Of Cone heads in queues for ice creams
But with Winter soon past
T’will be Summer at last
And the Town fit to burst at the seams

So here’s to you all, whether here or afar
But it’s many a year since I drank
So don’t sup like a twit
Or you’ll go arse over tit
And wake up with the Drunks in the Tank

JRP. 2018

A Merry Christmas to all who follow Ramblings

and A Political Carol to sing while reading it

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

For the Politically Correct among us

Deck the walls with boughs of holly
Falalalala la la la la
The Halls of Power are filled with Folly
Falalalala la la la la
Touching Knee and fondling bum
Falalalala la la la la
Join the Commons Christmas scrum
Falalalala la la la la

Warm your hands on my salami
Falalalala la la la la
Poor old Fallon must be balmy
Falalalala la la la la
Damian Green by now history
Falalalala la la la la
What he did remains a mystery
Falalalala la la la la

Mrs May is losing Brexit
Falalalala la la la la
Priti P was shown the exit
Falalalala la la la la
Boris J abounds like Tigger
Falalalala a la la la
Hammond’s woes just get much bigger
Falalalala la la la la

While Jezza hangs his Christmas stocking
Falalalala la la la la
McDonalds Maths are truly shocking
Falalalala la la la la
He could loose us all our lolly
Falalalala la la la la
And Old Bent Toad is sniffing Molly
Falalalala la la la la

So join ye all this Christmas season
Falalalala la la la la
All of this doth give good reason
Falalalala la la la la
With only three wheels on our trolley
Falalalala la la la la
‘Tis the Season to be jolly
Falalalala la la la la

JRP
Christmas 2017

THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT

The actions of Weinstein et al., are despicable and, where “proven”, the doer should be publicly named, shamed and prosecuted. However, it isn’t all one sided, girls can also up the ante, as I discovered in the halcyon days of my youthful innocence!

Some sixty years ago at a Hunt Ball in Wales I was wandering along the terrace of the Country Pile where the event was being held, with a delectable debutante on my arm when suddenly, without so much as a “By your leave, my good Sir”, she bent down and lifted the hem of her Ball gown above her slim waist and, lo and behold, she had forgotten to put her undies on!

The stress this action caused me was considerable for no gentleman is so churlish as to refuse the request of a lady.

Oh, the evil that men do!

Today the No Knickers Brigade are in the forefront of scientific agricultural research. Scottish farmers are joining the “Bury your Undies” scheme, whereby your take your smalls to a field then dig a hole and bury them: a few days later you dig em up. If just the elastic is left, and insects and grubs have eaten all the rest, that shows your soil is good. If they are untouched, then either your soil is useless, or you pooped your pants.

My dear Mrs made a good comment the other day “So that’s the end of flirting, huh!”

It’s a good point though, for all thru the ages both sexes, even the “ever in your face” LGBT groupies have flirted with one another. From the very beginning, sexual seduction has been a part of life, Eve had a go at Adam who offered her a mouthful of his Cox’s Pippen; the femme fatale Cleopatra seduced Caesar and once assured that he was toast, she whispered sexily “Et Tu Antonius” in the ear of his old mucker Mark Anthony, while pulling the plug from the Roman Baths and then promptly led him by his Praetorian Pecker up the creek on the Nile; and how about Henry VIII, no “hand on the bum or knee” approach for him, having failed to gain an heir by knocking ‘em up, he knocked ‘em off while oozing his way along the corridors of the Royal Court after the next desirable Damsel in Waiting;

Casanova, Wallis Simpson, Marilyn Monroe, Errol Flynn, Alan Clark, Russel Brand and Donald Trump to name but a few, not forgetting the LGBT’s own entry Byron; we merely follow in the footsteps of history and so if God hadn’t wanted male and females to flirt, he wouldn’t have planted an orchard!

Ere I get assaulted by an Army of Ageing Amazons or obliterated by a Snowflake Shower, let me say that anyone over stepping the mark of common decency should be dealt with by the Courts, regardless of their sex, but we don’t need even more rules and regulations to do this, they already exist, we just need better manners.

More importantly, it’s those that don’t listen to the victim, and those that try to suppress the complaint who should be publicly named and pilloried, they are as complicit in the act as that of the aggressor, and right now that includes a senior member of the Wiltshire Constabulary.

I acknowledge that sometimes fear plays a lead role, but in all reality if you don’t want a geriatric Toad in the Hole to play Snakes and Ladders starting from your knee on up, then just make it clear that this is a “No Touchee, No Feelee no Lookee!” situation.

However, amongst this plethora of criminal sexual accusations, who has potentially committed the worst crime, Fallon and his stupid flirting or those responsible for the deaths in Grenfell Towers, and I don’t mean the RBK&C.

I refer to the Plastics Cladding Industry, including Rob Warren of Celotex, “working inside Government to maximise the benefits to his industry”; the Department for Communities and Local Development who are refusing, despite the Freedom of Information Act, to disclose 54 submissions from 2010 on how the fire safety rules needed to be changed; the Building Research Establishment which receives over one million pounds per annum from the plastics industry, all the above, who are refusing now to answer questions, are involved in the Grenfell Tower disaster in one way or another.

In Fallon’s case no one was killed or injured, but he resigned. In Grenfell Towers many died and that’s manslaughter on a major scale. Many more were injured or displaced, but no one has been sacked or removed.

Luckily Mrs Plod of the Met is investigating and hopefully will prosecute those responsible.

On the subject of sexual predators, many of my vintage were cannon fodder at boarding school for the evil lusting paedo masters. There were always methods of achieving revenge though, rumours abound in such schools and eventually when it reached the ear of Matron, the Prowling Pederast was but burnt Melba.

In 1948 at my prep school, our history master tried to slide his hand up under my kilt as I was resting on my bed after lunch, a statutory “lie down and read a book hour” back then for us young whipper snappers. Luckily the dorm was occupied by eleven beady eyed Just Williams, all of whom knew his “form” so he was too wary to grab my “young man!” in front of this enthralled and giggling audience.

During the summer term at the same prep school, all boys had to swim one length in the pool before breakfast, naked and under the supervision of a master, in case we drowned perhaps?
My half-brother notes that one particular master used to attend this daily event with his box brownie, and snapped away as each boy got out, saying

“That will be a nice picture for your Parents”

At Harrow I was once chased around a grand piano by a master, but I burst out laughing and that ended the pursuit. As Winston so aptly put it during the War: “All you can do is just keep buggering on”

There are millions of viewers who are very upset that Netflix is cancelling the House of Cards, but fear ye not, it is has been replaced by a reality show called the House of Commons, and it all takes place in the Royal Borough of Sexminster and is already being aired on most International news networks

I am told that the script writer is in line for an Oscar next year, that’s providing he doesn’t attempt to warm his mitts on Leadsom’s knees between now and then. What a nauseating thought though, I mean her knees, not his hands.

Brexit, along with the volumes thus spoke and the tomes thus wrote, is fast becoming both tedious and a total farce. In fact, rarely in the history of British politics, “Have so many been so confused by so few.”

A paraphrase of Churchill’ famous statement to the House, but of course he was not only a politician but a Statesman as well, and there were other Giants of Old back then on both sides of the House, but not one in the present Cabinet or the Marxist Momentum Opposition can claim such an honour, they are all pygmies by comparison.

Mrs M maybe a good lady at heart but she couldn’t lead the line in dancing the Hokey Pokey, Davis couldn’t negotiate a discount in the Souk, Boris is all mop and mouth, Priti P was a liar, Greening is naturally promoting transgenderism, Cool Hands Leadsom, a back-stabber par excellence, and as for the new Defence Minister, Weasel Williamson, I wouldn’t want him in my tank troop, he might be inclined to shoot me in the back.

My dear departed brother in law spent much of his life proclaiming,” Aux Les Barricades” and I begin to think he was right!

There are some MPs of younger generations who could do a great job, and with a combination of Rees Mogg, as the face of Government and Dyson, as the advisor for business, our UK Brexit negotiators would have been unbeatable, and the huge payment demands from the EU a nonstarter for openers! Now it’s one huge and unholy mess,

I am very fond of Europe and Europeans and neither they or us deserve the present morass. I just don’t like being ruled by EU bosses who aren’t even elected, there’s something quite unsettling about that, it’s not PC!

Across the Aisle the earthly bound version of JC - did you notice the similarities with the Leonardo da Vinci painting recently sold for £450 million - has his own problems including his Vice Chancellor who suffers mental bouts of Dyscalculia. Another is Emma Bent Toad, MP for Kensington. Amongst her many cantankerous croaks, including her latest airing filled with racist venom, was one aimed in the direction of the Kensington and Chelsea Borough Council and the dreadful Grenfell Tower fire disaster.

It so happens that, during the period when the cladding of that particular building was under discussion by the Kensington Tenant Management Organisation involved, Bent Toad was part of that group and involved in all the meetings. What a Grinch Of Murky Dismal proportions she is, a possible candidate for the Transgender Team perhaps?

Well, if you don’t believe me, just have a Butchers Hook (Look, for those who never learned Cockney slang) at a photograph of her boat race and you can see where I am going!

A big player in today’s existence within the corridors of power is Facebook and Twitter. Two days before the US election, various print media outlets including the New York Times, had Hilary winning by some 92%. However, over the lead up period prior to the election, Facebook had sent staff to work with both candidates but only the Trump team took up the offer. During that time 130 million Americans posted NINE BILLION items on the upcoming election and Trump won.

Think on Mrs May, cos punchy old Oligarch Putin is winning hands down at the moment with Internet media meddling.

Another of the dreadful major factors of life today is the bindweed type growth of Politically Correct attitudes. In real terms PC stands for Pusillanimous Comprehension or Pure Crap.

We appear to be harking back a century or two to the days of Puritanism: don’t do that, you can’t say this, don’t wear that, statues removed, pre-screened speeches at University, safe space areas, Transgender changing room rights over heterosexual bods and lots more.

Horatio Nelson wasn’t exactly PC with Mrs Hamilton, might they want him off his pedestal too? Never mind Catalonia, this is the Snowflake version of the Spanish Inquisition reappearing over the horizon. Jon Snow in place of Gladstone in Liverpool, what are students sniffing, Spice?

The saddest and most pathetic part of it all is to see the abject grovelling by terrified authorities, be they Governmental, local or educational, towards LGBT groupies and roadies.

For example, this week an NHS Trust made an official apology to a family whose small daughter was taken to an NHS appointment at a Lancashire hospital by her father as the mother was too ill at the time. The receiving specialist called the father’s actions “manly”. The parents, Mr & Mrs Martin complained his remark was sexist. Maybe Daddy Martin isn’t a man, maybe he’s a TG too?
So, if your daughter wants to go to school one day dressed up as Boy George, so be it, she hasn’t thrown a wobbly she’s just acting out a childhood fantasy, sometime next week she’ll probably be Taylor Swift.

A onetime Government Mental Expert, a female to boot please note, says it’s wrong to address a classroom of girls as “GIRLS” for fear of reminding them of their gender! She must be on a legal high!

Orford has its fair share of PC advocates which is par for the course, in fact the only entry for the book cover design prize in the Flower Show this year failed to make First Prize. It was awarded second prize with the judges' comment, “Too Political for a First Prize!”. I’m absolutely certain that my Ramblings would never make it, thank heavens!

While in Sweden a church group has declared God is not a man so presumably Eve was and perhaps her son Abel was a TG? This is all a form of ethnic cleansing by the Maos, Mugabes and Robespierres of LGBT teams of the Snowflake generation.

All I can say is “Pass the Pot please, I’m in dire need of a Spiff!

As my old mate Rabbi Yuza Schmuck of Brooklyn Heights used to say. “Oi Vey all reddy, all that comes out of a cow ain’t just milk my Son!

I notice that there are signs of movement by normal Muggles who are beginning to get fed up with this blizzard of Flakes, and that includes the boss of the new Office for Students, Sir Michael Barber, who stated in a recent publication, “Universities must be places of intellectual discomfort”
Well said Sir,

Driverless cars, the way of the future? just bring it on Bro! For this means that I can stay on the high road for ever and ever, regardless of the DVLA and age-related driving tests.
Since I won’t actually be driving the car, it doesn’t matter if I’m deaf and blind, all I need is a satnav to tell the car where to go! Oh boy, as Mr Toad of Toad Hall once said, “it’s the thrills of the open road for me!”

Jeremy Rugge-Price

Nov 2017

ps As I watched the Remembrance Day Service, standing in silence, I worried about generations to come, will there be young men and women of various colours, creeds and ethnic backgrounds who are prepared to stand and fight for our Country as those of past generations have stood together side by side. One thing for sure is that the Snowflakes won’t be of any use, for when things get hot snowflakes turn to slush and Snowmen melt!

pps Background music: a current TV producer, when asked why background music was always drowning out dialogue, replied. “It’s only deaf people that complain”