25 January 2002


Well, Italian Defender!

Don't even bother to try working that one out, it is a very obscure bad word pun from yonks ago that only my mate, Brian Wreglesworth, will get.

Anyway, back to the unreal world .....

In a bizarre twist of fate Spooky St. Ives made it into a national paper (Daily Express 22 January 2002) as can be seen from the attached incriminating evidence:-

INCRIMINATING EVIDENCE

I don't know who this Naomi Marks bloke is, and I never got any advance warning from the perpetrators of the article. In deed, I would probably never have known about the article if it had not been for a tip-off from none other than the Twickenham Seagull, Alan Spencer. Disturbingly, this could mean that:-

EVEN NEW YEAR'S EVE REVELERS MAY BE HUMAN BEINGS TOO!

It's a nice thought but a worrying one, too. What if they are genetically compatible with local residents? Maybe this explains the origins of the Demilitarised Zone or as it is referred to now ..... Devon!

I'm not usually one to suck my own trombone (or whatever the expression is) but I do find a certain ironic iconoclastic pleasure in my rank amateur, make it up as you go along, print and be damned, buggered if I know how it works website getting a write up in a national paper ahead of all those impeccable commercially-designed St. Ives sites. 

But if it is a victory for substance over style then you can all give yourselves a hearty pat on the back too. I would not have bothered continuing to try to develop the site if I had thought that no one was bothering to pay any attention. Thank you, all of you (in St. Ives and the real world) who have given me your feedback, positive and negative. Oh God, now I'm starting to sound like a bad Oscar speech by Gwyneth Poultry.

By the way, if it's any consolation to the Schadenfreude crowd, as a result of the new-found status of Spooky St. Ives, offers of gainful employment from all corners of the world have failed to flood in!

What is it they say? No gain, what a pain.

Never Mind The Bollards!

Visited St. Ives in the Summer? Noticed how difficult it is to navigate the Wharf? Did you become enraged by your lack of progress?

If the answer to all three questions is 'yes' then stop reading now.

For reasons yet to be revealed work (which can be revealed) is being carried out on the Wharf. Ladies and gentlemen, we introduce to you ..... the Wharf road-narrowing project!

Yes, you know that bit at the Lifeboat pub where you start running out of room to manoeuvre? Well, ..... 

The accursed bollards spring up on The Wharf, St. Ives, Cornwall 1

Read 'em and weep!

The accursed bollards spring up on The Wharf, St. Ives, Cornwall 2

While it might be arguable that these will prevent illegal parking on the Wharf it does beg the question as to how delivery lorries are supposed to unload supplies at the pubs, restaurants and shops without holding everyone up. Maybe Santa and his elves will just re-stock them via the chimney!

On the other hand, it must be said that this could be a golden opportunity to boost the local economy. Already various entrepreneurs are bidding highly for the franchise at the bottom of Lifeboat Hill to sell sandwiches and sleeping bags to weary long-distance travellers trying to complete the last few hundred yards of their journey!

Capture The Silver Snitch!

Hurrah! Feast Day is rapidly approaching. Monday 4 February is the Feast Day of St. Eia/Ia/Ives (select spelling according to tastes). In a cunning move, the tedious God-bothering bit is done on Sunday so everyone can concentrate on the real festivities the following day.

Said festivities include a procession by the mayor and other local (in)dignitaries from Venton Ia (St. Eia's Well) to the parish church. Then at 10.30 am, in a tradition whose origins are lost in the mists of time, the mayor chucks a silver ball from the wall of the parish church onto the harbour beach below Lambeth Walk. Local children are then allowed to pound, pummel and subdue each other for possession of the silver ball. The winner is the sprog who presents the silver ball back to the mayor at high noon outside the Guildhall.

There are other events as well, but none as funny as watching the almighty ruck that takes place on the beach. (It's also a handy way of disposing of any surplus child population!).

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