Old Tone has Still Got it

Some jazz groupies just never go away, even when we wish they would.  We were blissfully unaware that poor Zena (not her real name) has been hanging around pining for Tony since the Stanley Bridge gig so long ago.  She's been in touch again, to remind Tony of her undying love, or lust, or whatever it is:

Hey Man!

What a blast from the past I mean the Tin Fishes.  I remember that night well.  I wrote this 'E'  below about a hundred years ago, why didn't your arrange a meet? Shit you must be very old now, but the offer's still there, dude, there's many a hot tune played on an old horn. Is your old lady still around?

Here's what I said before:

'I have just looked at your story on Tin Fish on your real cool webby. I was lucky enough to see the band recently at the Stanley Bridge hotel, as I had nothing to do and that. I thought that the sax player was dishy and extremely cool for his age. I have always been attracted to older men, well let's be frank old men, and his belly really turns me on its real cool. The sound of the sax really turns me gooey and Tone's ethereal chords really set my hormones racing. Is there any way that I could meet Tone and talk about the raptures of love and romance and that, and does he like the weed. Is he married, not that that matters. Hey man we live in a free world and I can be accommodating with his old lady. Please put me out of my misery by arranging a meet quickly.'

With rapid heart beats

Zena (I had to change my name with the Feds sniffing around and that)

Well who can blame her?  Tony is still so ultracool!

Greenhouse of Lords

Anthony Percival Bumpkin B.A Oxon. B.A. Adel. hons. B. Soc. Admin. Flind.  A.A.S.W.  R.A.F rtd. M.Brit Inst. M.I.I.S and all round good guy, otherwise known as Tony, looked at this photograph in a British newspaper, and a slow mist of tears shrouded his eyes when he realised that his chance of ever getting a tap on the shoulder to go to Buck House and be dubbed with the sword as Lord of Kanmantoo were getting slimmer every year, and there were not many years left. So he forgot about the House of Lords and went outside to play happily in his greenhouse, murmuring ‘Bugger everybody' to the chooks.

Christmas in July goes Walkabout

Some of you dear readers look forward each year to seeing our Christmas in July celebrations and decorations. This year, sorry to tell you, but Linda didn't get into the mood for hauling out the holly,  turning the house into a fairlyland and cooking a scrumptious dinner for 6 or 8.  But that doesn't mean we abandoned the festive tradition entirely.  Instead, we did a very sensible thing - we went out for Christmas Dinner and let somebody else do all the work.

Our venue of choice was Kelsey Cottage, a tiny restaurant in the nearby town of Oakbank, or is it Balhannah, or somewhere inbetween.  And our dinner companions of choice were Con and Liz, who have never missed one of our Christmas dos, ever.

Here they are, having a good gossip with Tony about someone we all know, who wasn't there to defend himself.  We love this kind of Christmassy goodwill stuff.



The people who run Kelsey Cottage made it a special occasion for us, with Christmas decorations, delicious salmon and other great food, and Christmas puddings with brandy and custard.  People sitting at other tables were terribly jealous, and two or three of them even tried to pull their chairs up to our table, but we beat them off with a wine bottle.  Ho ho ho!

There was an open fire, presents all around, and general good cheer.  Will this become a new Christmas in July tradition? Who knows....

Wild Bus Trip Nearly Does Our Heads In!

It was very cold when we got up at 6am one day and rolled sleepily into our little Echo, hardly stopping to shower, eat, play on the computer and clean the chook house first. We drove into Mount Barker and hid it under a bush for the day so as not to get a parking ticket, and walked to the Bus Depot to catch the 8:30 to Adelaide - for we were about to indulge in a tour of the Adelaide Town Hall, and it was imperative that we were not late; Tony the Princess said so.

Communications Minister sends a Message to Bronny

Malcolm 'let me help' Turnbull is the Minister in charge of destroying the National Broadband Network - actually, 'demolishing' was the word his boss used when instructing him on his duties.  So far Malcolm is doing a great job.  So much so that when he recently needed to talk to a group of people in Geelong, he was unable to conduct a video conference, due to the amazingly slow broadband connection.  "Job well done, Malcolm," he said to himself.  And being unaware that phones can be used for talking, not just tweeting and taking pictures, he decided that he'd have to go to Geelong to talk to the group in person.

Malcolm, always thinking of others, saw this as a great opportunity to help his Liberal colleague, Bronwyn Bishop, avoid any future travel expense debacles - you will recall that she recently got into a bit of bother when she made the same 80km trip from Melbourne to Geelong by chartering a helicopter which only cost the taxpayers $5227.  Malcolm, on the other hand, decided to go to Geelong via public transport.  He happily rode a few trams around Melbourne, then jauntily hopped aboard a train, having paid the fare of $8.26 from his very own overstuffed pocket.
 

Just to let Bronny know how easy it all was, he sent numerous tweets during the journey, saying how much fun it was, and so simple and affordable, anybody could do it, and it's quicker than driving, and you actually get to meet real people on public transport!  He even remembered to tell her which tram to take to get to the train station.  What a tremendously thoughtful chap he is.

And because he is ever so kind and helpful, he made sure to have his photo taken beside a train, just in case Bronny isn't quite sure what a train is. Other, less kind, people have been sending Bronny pictures of broomsticks and suggesting she might try one of those as a mode of transport.

'Look Bronny, this is a train,' says Malcolm.

No doubt Bronny and her dear friend the Pathetic Moron - sorry, we meant to say the Prime Minister - were both terribly grateful for Malcolm's thoughtfulness, but they haven't said so.  They were last seen smouldering together over a cup of batwing tea.

Bumpkins Launch New Blog in Flurry of Frustration - Damage Bill Rising

Well here it is, the brand new 'Jolly Olde Winsome Ridge News', which has kept us busy and occasionally screaming and throwing things for the last little while.  As the optimists would say, it's been a wonderful learning experience for us.  Rubbish.  It's been hell!  If we were willing to spend endless hours tweaking bits of html code, this blog might look perfect - but life's too short and we don't know enough about html, so we're saying near enough is good enough, and hoping to gradually improve it over time.

Besides the usual Jolly Olde Archive and Popular Posts links, you'll notice that we've added some clickable category headings underneath the top banner (just like real online news sites!) to group things together.  There aren't many headings yet, or many things in them, but they'll grow as we carry on.  

We hope you enjoy the JOWRN and that you'll write some encouraging comments to motivate us to continue with it.  We'll be updating it whenever the mood takes us, so to keep in touch, please subscribe to it by email or whatever (because we won't be notifying our 'Winsome Ridge Diary' subscribers when it's updated - well, maybe we will, just once or twice...) and share it with all your millions of social media 'friends' because we want a huge audience.  If you think we'll have to work a little harder to achieve that, please say so.  On the other hand, if you think it's awful - we don't want to know about that.

And by the way, this isn't the only blog we've been working on, it's just the most difficult one.  Our blogging bug started with Linda's ancestor hunt, and soon spread to Tony's story-writing.  So we now have four blogs on the go.  Links to the other three are at the bottom of the page.

Now we'll get back to more tweaking....

Something White falls from Sky

A strong cold front swept through much of Australia in July, bringing a rare dollop of snow to some parts of the Adelaide Hills – but not to Winsome Ridge, and we can tell you, we’re darned angry about that.  We’re absolutely pining to see some snow – so much so that we might even consider watching ‘White Christmas’ again and sitting through all those sappy songs just to get to the snowy bit at the end.   Meanwhile, a whole gang of Adelaidians who’ve never seen snow before rushed to the top of Mt Lofty when they heard reports of something white falling from the sky there. "It's like ice, but fluffy!", roving reporter Cynthia Bodice exclaimed, even though she was off duty.

Cynthia Bodice Investigates

Roving reporter Cynthia Bodice is always crashing around Gumtree Gully in her beat up old Ford, sticking her nose into everybody’s business.  Here are her latest findings:

Mayor Accidently Meets People
The well known Mayor of Mt Puddin, Harvey Hardcastle, considered by many sycophantic councillors to be the most important person in the town and possibly the world, walked through the main street last week drawing the attention of our investigative reporter Cynthia Bodice. The Mayor was heard to say in a grand tone, 'It’s nothing to get excited about, I’m just going to the butcher for some snags.' He was however, obviously pleased to be recognised by Doris the local bag lady, Bert the town drunk, and three other unknowns.

Millers Bend Woman Visits Shops
We have just heard from a reliable source, who prefers to be anonymous, that a divorced agnostic woman living in the township of Millers Bend, has placed numerous cards in the local shop windows. The advertisements are for a tall, good looking man under thirty years of age who is willing to support her and her four children, (plus the one who will be getting out of jail soon).  He must not gamble or smoke, but he should be a good cook. She does not offer any companionship, sexual enticements, nor domestic activity in return, but her ad does include a recent photo of her, which she had to draw herself because her camera is broken. So far she has received no replies and is quite puzzled about the lack of response. 


Bums inYorkey’s Knob Under Siege
Yorkey’s Knob, a delightful hills mining township which the state government deserted when the minerals ran out, has recently run out of toilet paper. The Mayor of Mt Puddin has declared a local state of emergency and has had Council table napkins, paper towels, party favours and funny balloon animals - leftovers of which are in abundance after the recent council election celebrations - rushed to Yorkey’s Knob. A tentative offer of further help has been made, but more supplies will not be available until after the next batch of councillors’ birthday parties.

Local Plumber Reveals All
A local plumber, who lives in the historic township of Puddlepool and who has asked to be unnamed, has declared to Cynthia Bodice that pornography is not more interesting than plumbing, and that what some people in his neighbourhood are saying about him is just not true.  Cynthia has taken a strong interest in the case, and is rigorously trying to find out what they’re saying.

Cat calls strike over cheese shortage –
chickens consider their position
Pepper the cat has gone on strike, and angrily refuses to resume doing whatever it is she usually does until her demand for a 50g a day cheese ration is met.  Management, a.k.a. Linda, insists that there isn’t enough cheese to satisfy such a ridiculous ambit claim.  “If we start giving the cat all the cheese she wants, there wouldn’t be any left for us humans,” she declared, munching on a freshly baked cheese puff.  A deadlock ensued, and Pepper was next seen in a huddle with the chickens, who also like cheese and are now considering strike action of their own.  Facing a potential egg crisis, Management instantly got a headache.  “If the chooks go out on strike too, Sunday Big Breakfasts and angel cakes will be a thing of the past, but if we cave in, we’ll be faced with a severe shortage of grilled cheese sandwiches,” she nervously explained to Industrial Relations reporter, Cynthia Bodice.  Negotiations continue.

Goodbye Princess Fantail

Hazel was a self-assured chicken, with no fear of cats.
Pepper looked, but dared not touch.

Sad news at the Ridge - our faithful chicken Hazel died recently.  She was one of the three exotic chickens who were originally established in the ‘Winsome Ridge Hotel for Posh Chooks’ some years ago. 

She was unmistakably  the best natured and best looking chook we ever had, with beautiful black and white feathers and an impressive fantail that she showed off now and then. She glided around the garden like a blissful dowager duchess, leaving it to the other chooks to run around like… well, like chooks.

Now there is only one of the original brood left, Wilma the Black Beauty, who pretends to have arthritis in her legs – but she can run like the devil whenever we try to pick her up. She’s the last of the aristocrats, and now finds herself surrounded by three very common brown chooks who all look alike and are rather loud and pushy. She’s lonely without Hazel, and sulks a lot.Well, she just better snap out of it and lay an egg!  She hasn’t done that for about three years, unlike the ‘ordinary’ brown chooks who try to do their duty every day. Wilma’s days may be numbered.

Bumpkins Get Out of Bed on Weekend Despite Bitter Weather

Saturday was a furious day, with an angry sky, mighty winds and lashings of cold rain. But Linda was determined to go to the once-a-month Littlehampton Market, come hell or high water, as she was in desperate need of a handmade woolly hat and couldn’t be bothered making one herself. 

Rosalie, the hat lady at the market, told us her 95 year old mother knits the hats, managing one a week; we were suitably impressed.Rosalie also sells a range of jams and savoury delights that she makes herself, some of which we couldn’t resist.  She was pleased with our purchases, as the weather had put off the lesser mortals from visiting the market. Some people are such wimps.

These two handsome gents did a harmonious deal on some custard tarts and vegetable whatsits. Matt, for that is the pie-vendor’s name, works seven day as week, five as a motor repair shop manager and weekends selling these delightful pastries. We can’t wait until he comes back to Littlehampton next month, so we can pig out again.