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!

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.

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!

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

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!).