This 'un's when Oi got the 'ump abewt the flippin' hotrod banger-racin' bunch over Foxhall Staydium one evenin' - noisy gits!...
Caw, them blimmin' 'ot rods get lowder an' lowder, dun't ey? Sat sittin' 'ere tryin' ter watch the gogglebox, when up jumps Pogo (me mutt) and 'e start yammerin' fit ter bust, coz the wind's blowin' our way, an' them rowdy round-racerists are at it agen! Blimmin' rackit! Is it a rool that they in't allowed exzorst silencys? Dread ter think wot it's loik in the arena, never moind 'arf a mile frum it 'ere. Coodn't stop poor li'l Pogo's yappin' fer ages, poor li'l feller.
Come on, yer noizy oiks - stuff sum socks or brillos in the toobs, for peace's sake! It 'int roight...!
Trubble is, the rest uf us suffer fer ages parst race day, coz our mate Bernie Tupp's a keen fan 'oo goes ter the meets, gets totally deffened, then yells 'is 'ead orft fer the nex' few days cuz 'e thinx evry'un else's Mutt & Jeff as well. 'E never thinx ter take earole muffs, gets ringin' in 'is ears (fire alarm bells, we reck'n!) an' 'e c'n bellow fer England, Oi can tell yer.
'E used ter go watch the Ipswich Tracter Boyz, so e's 'ad lots o' yellin' practiss, an' 'e's got a strong pair o' lungs, that 'un ...which wuz very 'andy a whoile back, as it turned owt.
Y'see, Bernie used ter be a fireman, an' 'e wuz the unsung 'ero when the Farm'ouse Pub in Grainge Farrrm caught foire a few munfths agew. 'E dashed in, and ter evry'un's amazement, sucked all the smoke into 'is chest, ran outsoide and blew it all away. Not a single koff.
Folks said "'Blimey! Ow'd yer do that, matey?", an' e said, quoit modest, loike "Easy - Oi'm an ex-Tractor fan..."
G'nite!
(Oi 'ope they've sorted ewt the Farm'ouse - ain't been in fer ages, 'ave ter drop by fer a foo tipples, eh?)
Friday 10 December 2010
7: Doctor No, Oi Reckons...
This un came abewt arfter me lassie got short shrift frum the local Docs practiss when she rang up, suffrin' chesty pains an' palpimitations an' stuff -an' they'd bin boastin' in the lewcal rag abewt their new improvicated tellybone sysstem; yer, sure...
'Allo all - y'oroight? Oi'm oroight, too - an' tha's juss as well, in't it, eh? Oi mean, yer carn't get inter the docs fer an appointyment ter save yer loife, eh? An' Oi mean that quoite literal, loike...
Take moi poor step-dorghter-in-law - there she were, 'avin' a roight rum year wot wiv losin' 'er lad an' puttin' up wiv lots ov aggaravashun frum all sorts o' places, still gettin' on wiv all 'er chores an' stuff a foo weeks agew, an' not susprisin', she gets a roight whammer ov a chest pain - an' not fer the first toime, oither (she usuarlly juss don't utter a mutter - juss carries on, loike) - only this toime it were bad enuff ter worry 'er, an' she gets on the jellybone ter the doc fer an urgent appointyment.
The ol' gel on t'other end o' the loine says she can't 'elp, coz there's no toimes left...but 'ad me lass rung in a cupple ov 'ours earlier, they could'a squeezered 'er in! Lass on fone sez, "Go ter A an' E at the 'ostiple, if yer that worried" - an' wot sort o' hattitude is that? Moi lass juss wanted a bit o' checkover, not a hambuliance an' all that palaverication whoile 'er 'ubby's over t'other soide o' Norfik workin' up a sweat or two. She carn't droive, an' she di'n't want 'ubby pannikin' an' droivin' loike a loony ter get 'ome, in case 'e crunched up or sumfin'...espeshully if she were in t'hambuliance wot moight 'av been needed fer 'im, in that case...
Dun't bear thinkin' abewt, eh? An' ennyway, she were a bit wurried abewt goin' in ter A an' E, espeshully 's she recalled that Oi'd 'ad that sort o' trubble a foo year' back an' the 'ostiple akcherly popped me clogs fer me, fer a foo minnits - enuff ter put any'un orft, eh? Well, Oi'm still 'ere ter tell tales an' 'ave me moans, but Oi arsk yer - since wen d'yer get two 'ours warnin' o' possibibble 'eart attack, or anyfink else narsty???
Blimmin' 'eck, docs - 'ow comez yerz all on such fandoozy sallaries, yet yer starff put us all orft sayin' yerz 'in't got toime ter see all the sufferin' folks when we needs yer most? Oi know our area's growed lots over the parst foo years wiv 'ouses an' resimidents an' all - Oi've watcheded it whoile Oi'm roidin' me scooty - but it 'in't much ter arsk fer a qwick peek, eh? Juss wot are youze lot doin' in there wiv all yer toime? Debatimitatin' abewt buildin' annuver surgerery? We live in 'igh 'ope 'o that...
"H'improved appointyments", moi foot - they deserves the "birch"* fer that porky...
(Birch bein' the name o' the surgery, 'ere)
'Allo all - y'oroight? Oi'm oroight, too - an' tha's juss as well, in't it, eh? Oi mean, yer carn't get inter the docs fer an appointyment ter save yer loife, eh? An' Oi mean that quoite literal, loike...
Take moi poor step-dorghter-in-law - there she were, 'avin' a roight rum year wot wiv losin' 'er lad an' puttin' up wiv lots ov aggaravashun frum all sorts o' places, still gettin' on wiv all 'er chores an' stuff a foo weeks agew, an' not susprisin', she gets a roight whammer ov a chest pain - an' not fer the first toime, oither (she usuarlly juss don't utter a mutter - juss carries on, loike) - only this toime it were bad enuff ter worry 'er, an' she gets on the jellybone ter the doc fer an urgent appointyment.
The ol' gel on t'other end o' the loine says she can't 'elp, coz there's no toimes left...but 'ad me lass rung in a cupple ov 'ours earlier, they could'a squeezered 'er in! Lass on fone sez, "Go ter A an' E at the 'ostiple, if yer that worried" - an' wot sort o' hattitude is that? Moi lass juss wanted a bit o' checkover, not a hambuliance an' all that palaverication whoile 'er 'ubby's over t'other soide o' Norfik workin' up a sweat or two. She carn't droive, an' she di'n't want 'ubby pannikin' an' droivin' loike a loony ter get 'ome, in case 'e crunched up or sumfin'...espeshully if she were in t'hambuliance wot moight 'av been needed fer 'im, in that case...
Dun't bear thinkin' abewt, eh? An' ennyway, she were a bit wurried abewt goin' in ter A an' E, espeshully 's she recalled that Oi'd 'ad that sort o' trubble a foo year' back an' the 'ostiple akcherly popped me clogs fer me, fer a foo minnits - enuff ter put any'un orft, eh? Well, Oi'm still 'ere ter tell tales an' 'ave me moans, but Oi arsk yer - since wen d'yer get two 'ours warnin' o' possibibble 'eart attack, or anyfink else narsty???
Blimmin' 'eck, docs - 'ow comez yerz all on such fandoozy sallaries, yet yer starff put us all orft sayin' yerz 'in't got toime ter see all the sufferin' folks when we needs yer most? Oi know our area's growed lots over the parst foo years wiv 'ouses an' resimidents an' all - Oi've watcheded it whoile Oi'm roidin' me scooty - but it 'in't much ter arsk fer a qwick peek, eh? Juss wot are youze lot doin' in there wiv all yer toime? Debatimitatin' abewt buildin' annuver surgerery? We live in 'igh 'ope 'o that...
"H'improved appointyments", moi foot - they deserves the "birch"* fer that porky...
(Birch bein' the name o' the surgery, 'ere)
6: Buses An' Fings...
This 'un's sort-of self-explanicatin'...'
A foo munths back, sum'un moaned about the 66 buses runnin' late or not at all, sumtoimes. Well, Oi av' ter 'old me 'and up an' apogolise, 'cos the late 'uns were probbly my fault. Y'see, for a whoile, Oi 'ad ter go for reg'lar check-ups at the hostiple, an' as me mobility scooty 'asn't got the range, Oi 'ad ter use the bus - but it 'int as easy as it sownds, fer me. See, Oi've got arfuritis in me 'ips, an' Oi carn't lift me legs very 'igh, an' even though the bus does a 'curtsy' for me an' drops low, Oi still 'av trouble wiv the steps. Oi lifts me leg, but me toe don't connect wiv the step, an' it keeps rotatatin' until Oi get a toe-touch, then Oi'm on. Sumtimes, it can take abewt foive minnits ter get aboard - looks loike Oi'm kick-startin' the blimmin' bus, it do!
No problum when me 'ome-'elp wuz wiv me to start wiv, tho' - she juss grabbed me leg, planted it on board an' gave me a shove; "Sorry for the 'ead-butt, Driver" Oi'd say, "it were me shot-putter, 'ere!" Give folks a good larf, ennyway...
Trubble wuz, she 'ad ter go for an 'oliday for a foo weeks, 'ence the delays.
Talkin' o' the buses, tho', it stroikes me that sum young enterpoisin' young whipper-snapper moight be able ter rake up some money, 'ere. How's abewt fittin' up some veee-hickles wiv ramps an a bit o' space, so's us old gits c'n juss roll on wiv our scooty-cars, flash our bus passes an' roll off agin in town? We'd get more moiles per charge loike that. Oi can jus' picture it - a blast o' "Ride Of The Valkyries" frum the speakers, an' masses o' mobility scooties chargin' orft the bus tergether. Yippee!
Me 'ome 'elp's back now, so yer won't be delayed no more by me, but Oi think Oi'd better get meself a crash hat, the way she shoves me inter the buses. Oi luvs 'er, really - she's a big strong lass, built like a tank an' fast wiv it. Oi think she's frum that ol' Soviet Onion - she's allwuz 'Russian' around arfter me chores... Oi think Oi'll arsk 'er ter marry me soon - 'Ivanova Gripe' - def'nitly got a ring to it...juss loike me doorbell, an' that's juss rung, so she's 'ere for me massage. Luvvly! Oi'm orft fer me bottle o' baby oil...
See yer abewt!
A foo munths back, sum'un moaned about the 66 buses runnin' late or not at all, sumtoimes. Well, Oi av' ter 'old me 'and up an' apogolise, 'cos the late 'uns were probbly my fault. Y'see, for a whoile, Oi 'ad ter go for reg'lar check-ups at the hostiple, an' as me mobility scooty 'asn't got the range, Oi 'ad ter use the bus - but it 'int as easy as it sownds, fer me. See, Oi've got arfuritis in me 'ips, an' Oi carn't lift me legs very 'igh, an' even though the bus does a 'curtsy' for me an' drops low, Oi still 'av trouble wiv the steps. Oi lifts me leg, but me toe don't connect wiv the step, an' it keeps rotatatin' until Oi get a toe-touch, then Oi'm on. Sumtimes, it can take abewt foive minnits ter get aboard - looks loike Oi'm kick-startin' the blimmin' bus, it do!
No problum when me 'ome-'elp wuz wiv me to start wiv, tho' - she juss grabbed me leg, planted it on board an' gave me a shove; "Sorry for the 'ead-butt, Driver" Oi'd say, "it were me shot-putter, 'ere!" Give folks a good larf, ennyway...
Trubble wuz, she 'ad ter go for an 'oliday for a foo weeks, 'ence the delays.
Talkin' o' the buses, tho', it stroikes me that sum young enterpoisin' young whipper-snapper moight be able ter rake up some money, 'ere. How's abewt fittin' up some veee-hickles wiv ramps an a bit o' space, so's us old gits c'n juss roll on wiv our scooty-cars, flash our bus passes an' roll off agin in town? We'd get more moiles per charge loike that. Oi can jus' picture it - a blast o' "Ride Of The Valkyries" frum the speakers, an' masses o' mobility scooties chargin' orft the bus tergether. Yippee!
Me 'ome 'elp's back now, so yer won't be delayed no more by me, but Oi think Oi'd better get meself a crash hat, the way she shoves me inter the buses. Oi luvs 'er, really - she's a big strong lass, built like a tank an' fast wiv it. Oi think she's frum that ol' Soviet Onion - she's allwuz 'Russian' around arfter me chores... Oi think Oi'll arsk 'er ter marry me soon - 'Ivanova Gripe' - def'nitly got a ring to it...juss loike me doorbell, an' that's juss rung, so she's 'ere for me massage. Luvvly! Oi'm orft fer me bottle o' baby oil...
See yer abewt!
Saturday 13 November 2010
5: Oridginal Flat-Pack? Reckon So...
Oi juss been diggin' owt me paypers fer recyclyclin', an' came acrowst a harticle in our local parish magamazine frum our good ol Pastor Jim , so Oi thort Oi'd 'av a little tickle at 'im...
Coo, 'e's a gadabout, in't 'e? Gallivantin' acrosst ter Africy ter convert folks? Noice work if yer can get it, they say - tho' Oi can't 'elp but wunder 'oo coffed up fer it. Oi mean, Oi fownd anuvver h'article by 'Is Good Self in which 'e pontifimicated that no'un shud work on Sunday - an' there's 'Imself doin' dubble shifts in 'Is church on that self-same day, probbly on dubble-time, too. Tch! Moi late missus used ter say "Peeple in glass 'ouses shudn't throw stones", know wot Oi meen? Good luck ter 'im in Africy tho', Oi sez - good luck ter 'im. No dowbt the local troibsmen there henjoyed 'is sermons.
Well, at least 'e wuz lucky enuff ter come back aloive, unloike one of 'is Baptistical fore-fathers frum this parish - that poor ol' soul, Pastor Best, came 'ome in a coffin. Tragic, really. Y'see, the ol' chap also went orft ter Africa ter visit a bush villige out back o' beyond, an' the chief o' the troibe let 'im sleep in 'is royal 'ut.
Trubble wuz, chiefy 'ad this blimmin' great oak chair in 'is 'ut, wot 'e used ter deal wiv troibe laws an' such, an ter get sleepin' space, 'e 'ad ter 'oist is chair up inter the rafters wiv a block 'n takkle wot 'e'd blagged frum a travllin' salesman (before they casseroled 'im fer lunch, Oi 'spect). Any'ow, the 'ut wuz only made frum branches 'n lots o' grassy reeds 'n muddy stuff, an' bad luck 'ad it that it collapsicated that very noight an' squished 'em both flatter than a plattypussy's tail.
Poor ol' Minister came 'ome in a box six foot long, three foot woide an' arf an' inch deep, which wuz a bit tuff fer the gravedigger as 'e'd dug a normal-soized 'ole, but it got sorted juss in toime. Sad do, too - whenz they layed 'im ter rest, poor soul, he went dwip-dwop-dwip-dwop, loik ol' Rolf 'Arris's wobbly-board. It wuz 'ard not ter smile, Oi can tell yerz...
Juss goes ter show, eh? People wot lives in grass 'ouses shudn't stow thrones...
Tara fer now!
Sunday 7 November 2010
4: Cowncil Electromecutions
'Allo again!
Oi been a bit orft me best fer a few weeks, 'cos Oi 'ad a bit of a family trageredy so's Oi 'int been up fer wroitin' letters an' fings, but Oi 'ad ter wroit this 'un 'cos Oi got the 'ump, t'other day.
Y'see, Oi 'ad visitations from a couple o' them Councillor folks 'oo wanted me vote in them local electromecutions (made a nice change ter meet 'em, 'cos all Oi usually get is the leaflet bods) but the bloighters wouldn't gimme the time o' day ter voice me needs as a parish pensioner - too much of an 'urry ter get along the street an' pop their papers in doors, Oi 'spect. Typical o' them folks, Oi reckon - want yer vote, not yer oppinimions. It 'int roight, Oi tell yer.
Well, me an' some o' me ol' mates in these parts av' 'ad enuff, an' we've decided ter form our own presshure group, so's we can foight our own campaign an' not av' ter rely on someone 'oo 'int really interesticated in our case. We 'ad a pow-wow, us Fogeymen, an' we decoided ter give us a name wot'll catch yer ears, so's everyone'll know 'oo's we are an' what we're abewt.
First, me ol' mate Arthur Pynte wanted to call our little band o' foighters, 'al Qaeholics' or 'al Qaseltzer' ('cos the ol' sot's always pickled, an' uses the ol' liver salts ter sort 'is 'angovers), but we sed no ter that an' settled for anuver name...wot hescapes me right now...um...Wait up - it'll come to me... Oh yerst - 'al Zymers', Oi think it were...not sure, really...gettin' forgetful in me ol' age... Can't even remember what we wuz gonna fight for, either...
Any'ow, we'll get sorted for the next 'lectrocution an' we'll be droppin' leaflets in your street, listenin' to your oppinimions - if we'ze can remember where we's goin' an' can all stay awake long enuff...
Roight - toime fer some more memory pills...Oi think it's them, anyway...
Tara!
Ivor Gripe.
Oi been a bit orft me best fer a few weeks, 'cos Oi 'ad a bit of a family trageredy so's Oi 'int been up fer wroitin' letters an' fings, but Oi 'ad ter wroit this 'un 'cos Oi got the 'ump, t'other day.
Y'see, Oi 'ad visitations from a couple o' them Councillor folks 'oo wanted me vote in them local electromecutions (made a nice change ter meet 'em, 'cos all Oi usually get is the leaflet bods) but the bloighters wouldn't gimme the time o' day ter voice me needs as a parish pensioner - too much of an 'urry ter get along the street an' pop their papers in doors, Oi 'spect. Typical o' them folks, Oi reckon - want yer vote, not yer oppinimions. It 'int roight, Oi tell yer.
Well, me an' some o' me ol' mates in these parts av' 'ad enuff, an' we've decided ter form our own presshure group, so's we can foight our own campaign an' not av' ter rely on someone 'oo 'int really interesticated in our case. We 'ad a pow-wow, us Fogeymen, an' we decoided ter give us a name wot'll catch yer ears, so's everyone'll know 'oo's we are an' what we're abewt.
First, me ol' mate Arthur Pynte wanted to call our little band o' foighters, 'al Qaeholics' or 'al Qaseltzer' ('cos the ol' sot's always pickled, an' uses the ol' liver salts ter sort 'is 'angovers), but we sed no ter that an' settled for anuver name...wot hescapes me right now...um...Wait up - it'll come to me... Oh yerst - 'al Zymers', Oi think it were...not sure, really...gettin' forgetful in me ol' age... Can't even remember what we wuz gonna fight for, either...
Any'ow, we'll get sorted for the next 'lectrocution an' we'll be droppin' leaflets in your street, listenin' to your oppinimions - if we'ze can remember where we's goin' an' can all stay awake long enuff...
Roight - toime fer some more memory pills...Oi think it's them, anyway...
Tara!
Ivor Gripe.
3: Beware Bogus Visitators!
'Allo again, mateys!
Just 'ad ter drop a foo lines ter warn all o' me parish pension pickers abewt sum dodgy folks bangin' on doors arewnd 'ere, floggin' all sorts o' crap n' clap wot no'un wants....
Oi saw one of 'em orft, t'other day, when 'e brazenly hadmitted 'e wuz one o' them bogus caller nasties, touting fer me money an' bank details. 'E reckoned 'e could save me a fortune if Oi signed 'is papers - but Oi can't see as 'ow Oi'd save owt by givin' im me bank numbers an' fings. Oi told 'im ter 'oppit a bit smartish, or Oi'd sort 'im owt, no matter Oi'm an ol' git - Oi can still 'andle meself - an' besoides, my li'l mutt Pogo 'int big enuff to nibble 'is ankles, so Oi gotter look arfter meself.
Any'ow, the fella wouldn't go at furst, but 'e left a bit smartish, loike, when Oi told 'im Oi'm a black belt in Origami. Dunno why 'e wuz larfin', though - Oi could still fold 'im into a paper swan in seven moves wivout breakin' sweat.
Good fing me dear departed woifey weren't 'ere, either - if she'd got at 'im furst, she'd 'av sorted 'im in two shakes uv a lamb's tail. Ada Gripe-Water wuz 'er name (she 'insisticated on dubble-barrelin' wiv 'er Water maiden name, silly moo), she wuz a black belt, too, but in Sakapupu, wot's the ancient Oriental art o' nappy-swappin' - she was blimmin' lethal wiv a safety pin, she were. 'Ad a triffic aim wiv a frying pan, too, if yer weren't past the garden gate quick enuff, Oi can tell yer (wsssshhht - doink!, juss loik that!), an' Oi've 'ad a few big ol' knots on me bonce frum 'er when Oi got a bit cheeky, Oi can tell yer. She could sort dodgy dealers, too, juss loike that...
Me naybour 'ad words wiv me arfter the feller 'ad moved on - 'e told me the bloke thort Oi wuz a bit 'touched in the 'ed', cheeky so-an'-so. 'E reckoned the bloke wuz selling British Gas or summat, but Oi swear 'e said "BoGus", so all youze old 'uns watch out, ok?
Mebbe Oi need new batteries in me 'earin' aid, arfter all - Oi'm orft ter get sum...
Tara!
Just 'ad ter drop a foo lines ter warn all o' me parish pension pickers abewt sum dodgy folks bangin' on doors arewnd 'ere, floggin' all sorts o' crap n' clap wot no'un wants....
Oi saw one of 'em orft, t'other day, when 'e brazenly hadmitted 'e wuz one o' them bogus caller nasties, touting fer me money an' bank details. 'E reckoned 'e could save me a fortune if Oi signed 'is papers - but Oi can't see as 'ow Oi'd save owt by givin' im me bank numbers an' fings. Oi told 'im ter 'oppit a bit smartish, or Oi'd sort 'im owt, no matter Oi'm an ol' git - Oi can still 'andle meself - an' besoides, my li'l mutt Pogo 'int big enuff to nibble 'is ankles, so Oi gotter look arfter meself.
Any'ow, the fella wouldn't go at furst, but 'e left a bit smartish, loike, when Oi told 'im Oi'm a black belt in Origami. Dunno why 'e wuz larfin', though - Oi could still fold 'im into a paper swan in seven moves wivout breakin' sweat.
Good fing me dear departed woifey weren't 'ere, either - if she'd got at 'im furst, she'd 'av sorted 'im in two shakes uv a lamb's tail. Ada Gripe-Water wuz 'er name (she 'insisticated on dubble-barrelin' wiv 'er Water maiden name, silly moo), she wuz a black belt, too, but in Sakapupu, wot's the ancient Oriental art o' nappy-swappin' - she was blimmin' lethal wiv a safety pin, she were. 'Ad a triffic aim wiv a frying pan, too, if yer weren't past the garden gate quick enuff, Oi can tell yer (wsssshhht - doink!, juss loik that!), an' Oi've 'ad a few big ol' knots on me bonce frum 'er when Oi got a bit cheeky, Oi can tell yer. She could sort dodgy dealers, too, juss loike that...
Me naybour 'ad words wiv me arfter the feller 'ad moved on - 'e told me the bloke thort Oi wuz a bit 'touched in the 'ed', cheeky so-an'-so. 'E reckoned the bloke wuz selling British Gas or summat, but Oi swear 'e said "BoGus", so all youze old 'uns watch out, ok?
Mebbe Oi need new batteries in me 'earin' aid, arfter all - Oi'm orft ter get sum...
Tara!
2: 'T'ain't roight!
Dear Ed,
'Tain't roight, yer know - 'tain't roight at all! Closed me local Postie Office, so now Oi's got ter trek all the ways accrosst ter Penzance Road ter get me pension, what meant I 'ad ter get me lad ter hook up a spare battry in the shoppin' basket on me mobility scooty, just so's I c'n be sure ter get back orlroight...
Mind yew, I gets to play me favourite sport a bit more - it's called " 'Andlebar draggin' ".
What yer do is squeeze past all them big motors what's parked on the verges blockin' the paths, an' scrape yer 'andlebar ends all along 'em (sharpened moine up speshul, I did!). Makes a luvly noise.
Them big Bee-Emm-Wobblies wiv 'arf inch o' lakkery stuff on the metalflake make a sort of 'Skrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr' noise, which sets me false teeth clackin' an' voibratin' sumwhat, but those Merky-Bender barges ("S"charnhorst battleships, I reckon) they're triffic at gettin' the hearin' aids whistlin wiv feedback (clears out me earwax a treat). They get up a noice loud 'Skrreee-eeeee-eeeeeoooo-eeeee' racket. The gaps in the noizes is when yer clip the door gaps, an' the 'ooo' bit's when yer dig a bit deeper to dodge the blimmin' dog poo - summat else wot ain't roight....Good larf, tho' - speshully if the owner's near enuf ter 'ear it but don't see it till yer way dewn the path an' away...
Time ter go get me pennies - gangway! Commin' through....Dink! Oopsie...
Tara till next toime!
Ivor Gripe
'Tain't roight, yer know - 'tain't roight at all! Closed me local Postie Office, so now Oi's got ter trek all the ways accrosst ter Penzance Road ter get me pension, what meant I 'ad ter get me lad ter hook up a spare battry in the shoppin' basket on me mobility scooty, just so's I c'n be sure ter get back orlroight...
Mind yew, I gets to play me favourite sport a bit more - it's called " 'Andlebar draggin' ".
What yer do is squeeze past all them big motors what's parked on the verges blockin' the paths, an' scrape yer 'andlebar ends all along 'em (sharpened moine up speshul, I did!). Makes a luvly noise.
Them big Bee-Emm-Wobblies wiv 'arf inch o' lakkery stuff on the metalflake make a sort of 'Skrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr' noise, which sets me false teeth clackin' an' voibratin' sumwhat, but those Merky-Bender barges ("S"charnhorst battleships, I reckon) they're triffic at gettin' the hearin' aids whistlin wiv feedback (clears out me earwax a treat). They get up a noice loud 'Skrreee-eeeee-eeeeeoooo-eeeee' racket. The gaps in the noizes is when yer clip the door gaps, an' the 'ooo' bit's when yer dig a bit deeper to dodge the blimmin' dog poo - summat else wot ain't roight....Good larf, tho' - speshully if the owner's near enuf ter 'ear it but don't see it till yer way dewn the path an' away...
Time ter go get me pennies - gangway! Commin' through....Dink! Oopsie...
Tara till next toime!
Ivor Gripe
1: 'Allo, All!
This awl started when some odd folks decoided ter erect a funny-lookin' arty-farty obbylisk roight smack-bang in the middle o' Grange Farm h'estate, in Kegrave, near Ippyswich. Oi thort it wuz a bit weird, plonkin' it there, moiles frum the place it were susposed ter be celebrecatin', so Oi thort Oi'd wroite ter the local Kesgrave News abewt it, fer a larf, y'know? Well, the h'Editor only went 'n printed it - Oi were chuffed ter bits - "fame" at larst! This 'ere's that furst letter, ter give yers a taster, loike. Eyeballs down, lewk in, an' 'ere we gew:
Dear H'Editor,
'Ere, wossat obelisk-doohickey off Ropes Droive, Grange Faarm? Sum folks tell me it's a monniment to the compooter, but Oi can't see 'ow it even lewks anyfing loik a compooter, or even any thingummy insoide one! Certainly ain't loik mine - that ol' things got glass toobs that glow hot an' kicks out Glen Miller toons...oh, sorry - that's me grammyphone (gettin' confoosed in me ol' age)...
Ain't you councillors got anyfink better to spend fahsunds of our taxes on, than some eyesore tent-peg carbuncle? Why a tribewte to the compooter here, anyway? Did they grow them sillycone chippies on Grange Farm, then? No - 'course not! Woulda been better to 'ave a concrete cow or two, or stainless corny-cob fountain, or wotever.
Mind you, if oi park me mobility scooter there an' chain it up to it, no-one'll be able to nick me scooter whoile Oi gew walkabewt, eh?! (Asoide frum low-floyin' Chinooks, that iz!)
See ya,
Ivor Gripe.
(That larst bit woz on accewnt o' some roight funny goin's on at the Suff'k Police Headamequarters juss up th' rewd a bit, wiv flippin' great 'elimicopters bumblin' abewt an'landin' their in the dead o' the noight, scarin' all the locals an' cats 'n dogs, an' wot'avyer. Roight spooky, it wuz, too...)___________________________________________________________________________
So, yer get the gist o' me point-makin'? Oi wrote sum more letters ter follow, an' some got in (others got binned too, Oi reckon), so Oi thort Oi'd treat yerz to all wot Oi've scribbled, and some wot the paper won't 'av' seen.You c'n dig 'em ewt fer yerselves, so take a peek an 'av a chuckle or four, then mebbe's come back for more (Oi 'ope!).
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