Ivyists Reunited?

Hang with The Urban Ponce Ivy Massive Yuca....and subscibe to my new lifestyle mag..."OI WANKER.."

Get Down - Get Up Again - Get In Between...and see dat scheeeeet be nasteeeee.....

Word is Bond... James Basildon Bond... Stationery to the Stars..

And I'm out..

My late drum teacher used to play talking drum very well - sounded incredible.

Woof and I used to kick lumps out of each other in the good old bad old days.  No longer.  I'm in agreement with about ninety nine point nine per cent of what he says up top.  I was dismayed to be told back in 2010 or thereabouts that all the action was on FB.  As for IG, I'm afraid I associate that with daffy people like my daughters, who would photograph an ossified dog turd if they thought it might raise a tired smile; or some knob I once saw photographing his pie, chips and gravy.  Oh, it'll go on, but I'll not be part of it.  Thumps up, Woof.

Lovely crazy stuff in 'The Sun' about monster kiddie-fiddler targeting 13-year old girls using Snapchat.  In my young day those young Sorts would have given him a bunch of fives.

There is a balance to be struck between words and pictures.  'The Syllabus' was always worth a look because of the individual behind it (who will be blushing and wiping the tears from his eyes when he reads this), a noted 'Ivy Head' of long-standing who can hold his own against anyone and perhaps thinks the corporate nature side of social media is pretty dull and offensive. 
Meanwhile, my elder daughter's 'DIY wedding' is now getting bigger coverage in the 'Daily Mail' than the Labour Conference.

Not to mention, dear Yuca, Kerouac down Mexico way.  Much addicted to young girls it seems.

You may recall my anecdote of GG being in JS when I was there and the general mood all round after he left.
That was also the day I stood on Chris Eubank's foot on Jermyn St.

He means Gary Glitter not Gibson Gardens.

I was in JS trying stuff on and nattering away in a quiet midweek day when it went silent and everyone looked at each other uneasily. A guy at till in back has a load of caps to buy, till takes an age. Paul serves the guy with pointy grey beard then guy leaves calling bye to all. Nobody really replies. JS in his quiet way says sorry to the few of us in, that he comes in regularly and lives at top of Chiltern St, cannot stop him. British, polite, serve him and get him out. Didn't look much like old GG by then, back about 2014.