YOU may have noticed the weather’s been a bit damp of late. To say the least. Roads haven’t been easy to navigate and it prompted Rog to regale us, in the pub, regarding an incident when landlord Ivor unfortunately rolled his Range Rover a few years ago.

The car finished up on its side but thank goodness no-one was hurt – at least until Ivor tried to climb out vertically.

Having got half way up, he was able to push open the passenger door of the car and try to climb out. At this point, the heavy door closed and bumped him on the noggin, the only injury.

This type of scenario is again a possibility, though, of course, hopefully not, as Ivor, by the miracle of modern surgery, had one eye fixed a few days ago, with one more to do (I guess that’s logical).

While Ivor’s return to the road might cause a passing flicker of concern in light of the previous incident, there was much greater consternation in the pub one day recently. Ivor is a creature of habit and his usual haunt is one of the bar stools with arms (not the basic ones that bite your bottom, which the customers get) in the corner of the bar where he can survey his fiefdom.

You can imagine the incredulity and sharp intake of breath when he suddenly appeared behind the bar. There were calls for a photo, some asked for a pint (that really threw him) and a lady fainted. He soon regained his senses and departed, without contributing anything meaningful – in fact Carley, resplendent in a green Christmas dress, suggested he was getting in the way at a busy time.

I suppose we all have our place, and Ivor’s clever plan is to stay well out of the way, ensuring everything runs perfectly.