Mrs Slocombe's pussy is stuffed

Blimey, first Michael Jackson, then Molly Sugden. Who will be next? I was just on my way back from the beach when they announced Molly Sugden's death on the radio. The brief obituary referred to roles in The Liver Birds and, as Mrs Slocombe, in Are You Being Served? It was in that character that she exploited the British love of double entendre with endless references to her 'pussy'. The extract on the radio had Mrs Slocombe saying that something had been so frightening her 'pussy's hairs stood on end'. Ha ha! I'm not sure I even found that particularly funny when I was a teenager watching that sort of stuff on telly. Even so, pussy is a great word, as is beaver, and for a comedy fruit moment you can't beat plums.

I wonder if Molly Sugden ever came to North Devon. I could see her having done a show at the old Victoria Pavilion in Ilfracombe. I suspect not, she would be more of a Torquay sort of person. So, Molly Sugden, may you and your pussy rest in pieces.

By the way, the man in the red Renault Laguna estate is continuing his non-mobile lifestyle in one of the lay-bys on the A39. He had his windows down when I went past this afternoon, but he still must have been baking.

Pop...and he's gone

Michael Jackson is dead and here in North Devon I didn't think there was that much of a connection with a story that resounds around the world. But then of course I remembered that the Peter Pan of Pop is alleged to have once attended the Queen's Theatre, Barnstaple, for some sort of awards ceremony. Did he, didn't he? I don't really care. I'd like to think he did, although I have my doubts.
And then the Jackson clan - give or take Michael and one or two others - found themselves deposited in Appledore looking for a house. For much of the time they looked rather shell-shocked and left North Devon without having purchased their dream property. A sad day for North Devon's estate agents, but can you really imagine the Jacksons propping up the bar of, say, The Beaver necking pints of real ale and trying to work out the intricacies of cribbage or euchre.
So RIP Michael Jackson. I'll freely confess that I have never been a great fan of his music, although early stuff from 'Off the Wall' takes me instantly back to blundering around on the dance floor of the students' union of what was then Sheffield Poly. In this hugely connected world in which we live, Sheffield, for me, is linked to my having been in North Devon now for close to 30 years. I only came here as a stepping stone...anyway, moving on.