Methi business

With the impending doom of the big 50 at the weekend I have been cajoled into a curry with my good friends Pete and Al this evening. I say cajoled however that’s not really true as I tend to be drawn to a curry much like a rat to a drainpipe, or Jimmy Krankie to the wrong school toilets. In fact I actually really love Curry. Tonight however there is a small amount of hesitation after taking a quick look at the Methi Indian restaurant in Leighton Buzzard and finding they offer in the starter section ‘Special Horse’ I’m hoping it’s a typo, but if I was a betting man I wouldn’t put money on it.   

Swiss miss

The recent heart warming story about the Cory drain technician Arron Large who found a £21k Rolex watch in an Essex sewer system, then found another two the day after reminded me of my recent brush with untold riches. Having been a bit strapped for cash over the last 49 years I was enthused just before Xmas by my mother’s mention of a gents and ladies watch that was for sale at the charity shop that she works in. She couldn’t remember all the details but stated that they both were silver in colour with a dark blue face and had a certificate of authenticity by the manufacturer. When pushed on the subject of the maker she suggested that it started with an O, AND the gent’s box had an original price ticket of about £300 quid on the outside of the box. After a little digging around on the interweb I surmised that the two watches must be made by the Swiss manufacturer Oris who’s site didn’t display a timepiece of a similar description under about two grand so I acted cool as I called her back and stated that I would be happy to give the asking price of fifteen pounds each. My mum called the shop and the two watches were safely stashed in the safe until she next went in. Unlike Saint Arron Large who doesn’t want to build his hopes up of a mad mid March cash bonanza I had already spent the monies that I would be assured from some of London’s top watch emporiums. In fact due to the lure of easy cash I even became a bit of an expert on the tip top Swiss manufacturer and it’s authorised outlets for the more discerning ‘buy em cheap and sell em big’ charity shop scammer. Unfortunately, when she next went in it was found that the timepieces were not actually Oris but some bizarre far eastern persuasion and the local watch shop suggested that either could be bought over the web for about £20 quid AND batteries for both would be about £18 pounds. So this now begs the question of what kind of twisted twat would put a price ticket of £300 on a crappy watch and then donate it to a charity shop.

A watch similar to the one I didn't buy

What’s wrong with the world?

Light Fingered

During a meter fit today, the householder, a gentleman who could ‘physically’ be best described as Victorian Dad shared a number of views on the state of the nation, what’s wrong with young people and one of the most fiendishly clever coin meter bypasses I have heard of from the 1950’s / 60’s . The story went that, on one of the Gas mans visits to collect the monies from the meter; he included a new check of looking under the coin slot area for a small hole and rusting. Apparently a number of people had been producing coin size discs of ice and inserting them into the meters, which would enable them to twist the handle for more gas, and then in time (as long as a hole was drilled) the coinage would melt and the general score would be Supplier; Nil – Customer; And Some!

Whilst he told of this devilish 3rd party behaviour that he had never participated in, NO IN FACT during the entire 30 minute meter fit he must have attempted to light his pipe at least 2 dozen times, which after a short while became a total fascination for me. Finally after about half an hour of no ignition I said that I was finished and he put the pipe down.

I can only presume that this was all part of his New Year’s Resolution No Smoking campaign which he was inadvertently enjoying through his wife’s comedy ‘No light’ joke box of matches?

Caught between a Frock and a hard Bass (not saying which is which)

Today I stand before you with my reputation of being one of Leighton Buzzard’s true hard men, lying in tatters after attending a party on Saturday night in Bedfordshire’s premiere narrow gauge railway town. Like both Grant Mitchell and his step brother Ross Kemp, I used to rule this manor with an iron fist and an involuntary twitch, but unfortunately dropped my guard at a belated 50th birthday bash for infamous Bass fondler Nicolas Beggs a couple of nights ago.




Red hot iron bar type head piercing for Jon Cheshire!



The venue for this extravaganza was Bar Buddha in Leighton’s bridge street which in our youth was (amazingly) the one and only LB music shop. For sensible musicians; brass, woodwind and generally things that are unstrung or don’t need to be hit really hard, the ground floor was a haven to highbrow harmony and studious musical bookwork, however should you ever wish to pass over to the dark side in the basement (the booogaloo basement), then a flirtatious wink to the salesman trying to close a deal on a Wurlitzer organ, along with frantic pointing (downstairs) would always ensure a quick, and quite pleasurable assisted exit by a clean cut member shop staff down through the special door and into the cellar and the walls of drums, guitars, effects and amps. Although I am now referring back to the late 70’s, there was still definitely a feel of 1960’s psychedelic about it and its patrons, with lava lamp swooshing blobs of colour projected onto the brick walls and jostick smelling afghan coated hippies attempting a Hendrix lick or at the very least a Jagger pout. How could you not love it?

Of course these memories were high on the topic of conversation on Saturday evening whilst we stood amongst the £250k (2011) refit and the slightly higher specced ,Taliban hating, laser guided pin spots that scour the room resting dangerously on folks temples for the briefest moment while ‘Good Times’ by Nile Rodgers and Chic is cranked up.

So what of the incident, I hear you ask?

As the throng dispersed a bit and the birthday boy became tired and emotional, I noted amongst the 80’s starlets the recognisable features of ‘Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy’ and Birds Eye beef burger actress Sandra Dickinson emerge and proceed to strut her stuff at the tender age of 63! Before I knew what was happening, the Beggs was cutting a rug with the blond bombshell and I was forced to show them my ultimate dance move ‘the gravedigger’ and some experimental jazz body popping, that Twist and Pulse would have been proud of. Obviously, without the glare of the media and paparazzi I could have laid low for a while, but feel sure that even while we speak that Nik Kershaw or at least one half of Go West is now uploading this to youtube!

W.T.F.

I think Steph finally got over my freelance contemporary art sculptures just before Christmas when this bespoke item left the Cheshire workshop for its new life in Bedfordshire, gracing the garden of Leighton’s second best Bass player.

Bespoke Art by Jon Cheshire

When I say she got over it, I really mean it didn’t ‘get under her feet anymore when she went into the barn! So with that gone a small amount of room emerged, in which you could possibly swing a small compliant cat, or stash other important stuff. In the absence of an understanding circus based feline it was given over to other stuff and the now completed Pirates chest. So just prior to xmas, it was a little bit of a shock for her to find a huge steamer trunk plonked on the kitchen floor as my next project. When she protested I had to admit it was in fact slightly worse than she first thought because the bloke had actually sold me TWO! Obviously things have moved on with ONE of the steamers now, and a shabby chic new home will be found for it once I have located and fitted a lock to the front.



Sorry it is a bit out of focus and still without a lock.com










Today I went to the car boot again and purchased a vintage kitchen scale for the ongoing relentless money making refurbishment of www.cheshire-antiqueinternational.tat.co uk.

Its only the 7th Jan!!

This morning started with a bang. Well, two to be precise. Yes with Christmas and the New Year now weighing heavy on my bank manager’s nether regions and making him a bit grumpy, and my new 2012 sock collection already over shadowed by the number of cheque stubs, the great God of electrical appliances, Saint Euronics looked down upon us and frowned twice this morning.


Firstly our extensively used dish washer, which I believe to be one of the greatest inventions known to man since Fairy washing up liquid and Nanette Newman, gave up the ghost and ground to a halt. Four rounds of washing and drying up later I finally managed to hang up my tea towel, and bravely move on to a little light ironing. Two thirds of the way though this and having completed only the right side of a favourite shirt there was a loud click and all the power went off. Having spoken badly about 2011 unfortunately I found it necessary to question 2012’s parentage as well.

Knowing a little bit about the workings of a modern electrical supply and fusing I deduced that the Iron had just committed hari kari and threw out the RCD in the fuse board. Of course I should have questioned whether Breville (who manufactured the iron) really knew what they were doing in the first place. I mean, to make a sandwich toaster is one thing but an iron where the key ingredients are electricity and water..... well, need I say more. It’s horses for courses and know your limits isn’t it. You wouldn’t ask the Germans to run a comedy club or the French to make breast implants so it stands to reason that the mechanics of compressing a couple of bits of bread and lightly warming them through against harnessing 240 volts in a metal shell with added water and steam is a totally different ball game and should be left to the professionals.

So unfortunately by mid morning I was in the doldrums and pretty pissed off with my lot, only able to look forward to negotiating access through our neighbour’s 'jungle' garden to fix the fence that had been recently blown out by recent inclement weather conditions.

So to sum up;-
As long as I don’t ever need to go out in any clothes that have been ironed again and only eat food directly from the packaging, thus negating the need for any cutlery and plates and washing up I believe everything should be ok. Other than that it’s the Shabby Chic look for me along with lemon fresh leathery hands!

Treasure Chest

I always wanted a pirates chest (You know, anchor tattoo, hair like coconuts mixed with parrot droppings etc) and as luck would have it couple of months ago I saw this little beaut at a car boot from a house clearance bloke who was making some wild claims that nothing from his stall was more than 50p. So 50p later I was the proud owner of this delightful little black box, which once had been owned by Mr B Binfield of Malta. I knew this because it had been sprayed on the top along with some additional bespoke yellow artwork.

I was convinced that all I needed to do to make my dream come true would be to strip everything off of it, then sand down to the original pine, taking in of course, many years worth of dubious Maltese paint and a car sumps worth of oil from the floor of the box to make it into the finest pirates treasure chest ever,

                                                             So here it is in all its finery!