Don’t know about you, but I can’t say I find the words “partially converted” very reassuring … not when it comes to a nuclear bunker.
It’s bad enough now, but how hard is it going to be to find a builder after a full scale nuclear attack? (“Sorry mate, can’t start this week, all my tools have melted.”)
I do love the bicycle at the front door, though.
Is that the four minute warning I hear? Quick! On yer bike and pedal like crazy to escape the blinding flash of white light, the rippling shock waves, the mushroom cloud scattering radioactive ash across the Hampshire Downs.
The bunker – or former bunker, to be precise – goes on sale at auction on 16 Dec.
It was originally designed as a refuge for 30 utility workers from the local council but more recently it’s been used by Symantec – the Norton people – for data storage.
Yes, you can sleep easy again: even in the event of a global nuclear wipe out, it will still be possible to access the very latest anti-virus definitions.
But on the downside, you’ll probably be getting council tax bills as well. Bummer.
With every man and his blog listing Christmas gift ideas, who are we to ignore that particular bandwagon? So jump on board the Winging It Blog gift guide to …
10 Duck Themed Presents For The Anatidaephile In Your Life
(That’s ‘waterfowl lover’ to you and me – which is illegal in some countries so careful now.)
They smell of fruit!
“… so lifelike and compelling, you almost won’t believe it’s a stuffed toy and not the real thing.”
You haven’t seen many real ducks have you?
It’s a duck-shaped kettle. I have nothing clever to say here. Move along.
Icy, ducky things for your chrimbo drinkies. Note: they probably go ‘clink clink’ not ‘quack quack’ as the picture would suggest.
It’s Star Wars, in the bath, with ducks that glow! It really doesn’t get much better than this.
Oh yes it does!
Oh no it doesn’t, etc. etc.
This looks nothing like a duck but does walk like one – apparently it’s a ‘Waddling Wonder’. Wow.
Our token eco gift. We had to have one, it’s contractual.
and finally, in the ‘looks absolutely nothing like a duck’ category, it’s …
No really, it’s a duck. You just have to squint a bit.
There are probably a gazillion more duck related gifts out there … so let us know. Or anything else you think would look good in our stockings.
Roll up, roll up, ladeez and gen-tel-men …
It has oodles of history, fantastic sea views, plenty of privacy and no real neighbours to speak of. And if you live here you’re unlikely to be bothered by door-stopping salesmen.
Totland Pier on the Isle of Wight, a slightly dilapidated Victorian charmer that rolls up its trouser legs and wades 88ft out into the ocean, is up for auction with a guide price of £100,000.
The building perched on the end (13ft x 34ft) includes a separate bunkroom/kitchen with water and electricity, a mooring and a landing stage.
In the past it’s been used as an artist’s studio, and the auctioneer reckons it would also make a cool holiday retreat.
I agree but want to live there permanently. I’ll grow a Captain Bird’s Eye beard, learn to play the concertina, and keep a parrot who swears fluently in five languages. It’ll be grand.
You, however, may have different plans, in which case get yourself down to the Barnard Marcus auction in the New Connaught Rooms on Dec 8th and start nodding, winking and tapping your nose …
“First, I’d like to get the confession out of the way. I’m an estate agent. As the rain lashes against the office window and the phones remain mute I can almost feel the waves of antipathy rolling my way …”
The anonymous author pitches himself as a put upon forty-something bloke hassled by a wife and kids at home, and “plagued by the cretinous idiots who I work with and for” – if it ever hits the screens Jack Dee is a shoe-in.
The SA has a nice line in self-deprecation and a sharp eye for human folly. His pen portraits of the people he works with are unflinching and often hilarious … if his cover is ever blown I fear they may drive a sharpened For Sale sign through his weary heart.
Let’s hope not – here at Winging It we’d miss his angsty reflections on life, work and the vagaries of the housing market:
“Have you looked at your crotch recently?” asks my wife disconcertingly, over the dusty bran flakes. The choice of possible retorts is virtually endless and with my mind racing out of control, I only end up spluttering out a milky request for clarification.
“The material’s gone again,” she enlightens, as youngest son shudders in horror and scuttles to the bathroom, while I inspect my threadbare nether regions.
“That’s hardly going to help win you any business,” she says with a shake of her head as she scoops up the breakfast bowls, “showing people the colour of your underpants.’
“You’d be surprised,” I tell her defensively and totally erroneously, as I grumble my way upstairs to change my suit.”
As a metaphor for the current state of the market and one man’s mid-life crisis, this could hardly be bettered.
Secret Agent: we salute you!