This is not a skate. It is something else. Possibly a cod, or, notwithstanding inasmuch as which, a haddock*, pictured on Cromer East Beach earlier today.
Cod is Dead – Nietzsche
I mentioned skate for a different reason, namely and heretofore the campaign to get a skate park up and running in Cromer. Cromer is like many seaside towns in that beneath the picturesque fish-n-chips-on-the-pier exterior there lurks a great deal of deprivation. Jobs here are rare, and if you find them, aren’t much fun, and pay very little. Young people, in particular, suffer for want of constructive activity or harmless ways to let off steam.
But Cromer is also a gerontocracy, and any campaign to enrich the lives of teenagers, no matter how well constituted, and no matter how much support it gets, can be derailed by just one complaint from an elderly nimby. The hope is that this time – this time – it will be different; Cromer will have a skate park; and that the legions of Daily-Fail-reading bungaloid curtain-twitchers can be mollified. Mrs Crox and Crox Minor are actively involved in a campaign that has the support of the community in general as well as our MP, ‘Stormin’ Norman Lamb. Mrs Crox is waist-deep in paperwork about health and safety, Big Society funding and so on and so forth in like fashion. You can follow the campaign on Facebook.
While on the subject of elderly people, I’d like to put in a patriotic cheer for our own Dear Queen, who, as you’ll have gathered, celebrates 60 glorious years as our monarch. My enjoyment of this weekend’s jubilicious festivities will not be derailed by the usual dreary parade of joyless, juvenile left-wing snark that one steps in finds on teh interwebz. Instead I shall wonder at the sheer length of that reign. Consider just one pertinent fact (this is meant to be a science blog, after all): Her Madge assumed her royalness in the same year that Crick and Watson invented nicked discovered the structure of DNA.
Now, if I’d had a job like that thrust upon me at an early age – a job I didn’t want – and yet executed it with diplomacy, aplomb, courage, energy, grace, decorum and above all tact; not being allowed to speak one’s mind, even after having to suffer the weekly audience with the Prime Minister (twelve so far, if you include Gordon Brown); having to read out all that tedious drivel at the State Opening of Parliament while not even having a vote; having to tour, endlessly, every country in the world from Ruritania to Mordor, while wearing such uncomfortable-looking shoes; having flowers constantly thrust upon one by small girls; hardly having any privacy; I’d deserve to be richly rewarded, and, after sixty years at it – sixty years – I’d be very flattered were there to be a public holiday in my honour. So I say a resounding Hooray for Her Majesty. God Bless Her and All Who Sail In Her.
PS: If you are reading this, Your Majesty, I don’t suppose you’d consider being the patron of the Cromer Skatepark?
* It’s a cod. This was confirmed by my friend Mr P. H. of Cromer, a keen angler.
Huzzah! And God save the Queen.
waves flag
I wonder who spilled a bottle of acid on the poor fish, is an great enigma:
“The stranger case of the murdered fish”
I thought it was the half chewed remains of a dead Corgi.- but I bow to the expertise of Mr P H.
One has to feel sorry for the Queen. Just imagine the debt she is in. – On the few cash money notes I have, she promises to pay the bearer (that’s me) on demand the sum thereof. – This means she owes me all the money I’m worth. – Now just think of all the notes in circulation. – She owes everybody. – It must be a fortune.
Of course inflation helps – with inflation, the value of money goes down, so she owes everybody less – but its still a lot.
I’ve yet to work out how to get her to pay what she owes me. – I’m sure if I go and see her to demand payment of a tenner or so, she’ll give me another tenner in its place, then she’s still in debt to tune of a tenner.
I have thought of helping her out by dying – but then my son inherits what she owes me – then she’d owe it to him instead – then he’d die and leave her debt to the grand-daughters – so that doesn’t help. – I mean, I don’t see how she can ever get out of debt simply by paying what she owes like the rest of us do. It must be very worrying for her being a Queen and all, trying to make ends meet.
That’d be halfway to funny, except for the little fact that she promises no such thing.
The signature and the promise are those of the governor of the Bank of England.
Here all the state money, politicians suck are like a big vacuum cleaner.
Halfway funny – I am honoured to receive such praise rpg.
Yes the promise is made by the governor of the Bank of England but he’s only there on a temporary basis, the Queen though that’s different. Royaty has an ongoing basis. And anyway, would you trust a Bank Manager. – When I get round to redeeming the odd tenner, I’m going straight to the top. I mean surely the Queen’s portrait is not just there for publicity purposes. – If it was just an advertising gimic to sell five pound notes, surely they would have done better with a picture of Posh Spice or somebody. – Hang on a minute though. – If fivers were for sale what would you buy then with? – I think all this money is a figment of the imagination – well it certainly is in my house.
Yes Alejandro things different here – Queen use big vacuum cleaner on carpets in Buckingham Palace not to suck up politicians to.
John: is perhaps best, is just math, that only one person (in this case your queen who maybe is similar to the queen ant) the right to occupy the high vacuum to suck the money, while in these countries are many people (politicians are many unproductive drones,.following the example of the colony) who have several big vacuum cleaner and suck almost all money. Is a big economics problem you understand?. My new microeconomic concept I’ve would call “The microeconomic anthill effect” by A. Correa
My ant she say Alejandro that making promises and no means to make promise means spending more promise than there are means. So all promise go out of window – sucked up by big aunty vacuum cleaner in sky till all is sfukked up even small ants – and nothing left.
Why don’t you two get a room?
It wasn’t me or Alejandro who put up a picture of a dead corgi.
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