Christmas day at arr 'ouse.

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     Packed t' rafters it wor.

          ' appy Christmas to thi all.

Christmas time allus reminds me o' fowks long since gone.

Mi Mah 'specially, dernt nah worra wud 'a done wi'owt er. Salt o't 'erth shi wor.Allus doin' summat shi wor, 'cleanin'dahning arr dads socks, cookin' cleanin', mitherin' oeer t'bairns, nivver stopped she dahn't, god bless 'er , oh how I miss 'err.

Thah wor good timers back then, Christmas day at 'arr 'ouse. Wi all 'ad t' be theeahr, packed t'rafters it wah, allus full o' good cheeahr.

Pullin' crackers, an laffin' at all daft jokes that wor in 'em. Crackin' nuts, wi nutcracker, that wor only used at Christmas. Oranges stuffed dahn socks, hung up on 't mantlepiece, propa smashin. 

Smell o' 't turkey and roast tatties waftin' owt o' t kitchen, made thi feel maffted wi all t' 'eat comin' owt o' t oven,  i can smell it nah.

When wi'd cleared up, mi and mi ma’h , would av’ a tipple o' sherry, whilst all t' men, went dahn t' pub fer a jar o' two.

Thah wor allus summat t' do back then, 'ad nowt t'do wi' moonay, wi'all 'ad nowt back then, all o' us went wi'aht, but wi' di'nt moap abaht, nor like thi do thissdays " wot thi nivver 'ad , thi nivver missed " mam used to say, she wah reite an'all.

Wi wor quite 'appy either lakin' abaht wi' t' monopoly or watchin', Ken Dodd,  Morcambe & Wise, Tommy Trinder,or if wi wor lucky, wi wud watch Bob Monkehouse 

on ' t London Palladium christmas special.

All gone far t' soon, them days, so mind that thi leeks after me mam up there 'God, an'all 'em special 'ard workin' fowks thats gone, wish em all Merry Christmas, and thanks fer all thi done.

Grandah's Credit Crunch

 Grandpa

 Mi, dah's knocking on a bit, still 'a likes 'im coming round fer a brew, likes t'tell 'is tales.


"When I were a lad, our mam would send us down to t'corner store wi' a shillin',and I'd come back wi' five pounds o'potatoes, two loaves o' bread, three pint o'milk,a pound o'cheese,a packet o'tea,an 'alf a dozen eggs. Yer can't do that nowadays. Too many fookin' security cameras."

Arr Norma, ad 'eard it all afooar, yawning 'err ed off she wah,  "Bah, granda' went on, all this clap trap, abaht credit crunch, thah dunnno't know meaning o 't word, nooah brass ".

"By gum, Ah'ad summat on when ah, wor a lad, browt up wi' nowt wi wor, aye, wi wor that 'ungry mi belly, thaw't mi throit wor cut, nah such thing as luxuries fer us, wi wor lucky, if wi gorra kippa fer us tea, thin wi all 'ad to share it, wi 'ad t' rub kippa's backbone, on 't slice o't stale bread, so wi all 'ad summat 't eat. Woe betite us if wi  turned us nose up, wi'd 'a gorra reite tounge lashing, wi' wud ". 


"Nah, thah dun't know 't meaning o't word credit crunch, not this days ".

 

Shaz & Mave

                          Shaz & Mave                       

             ( Dahn bother 't book 'em )

By gum, wi' 'erd em yellin at each other frem one corner at t' pub t'other.

Nivver erd owt, like it either, language fit fer pits,  yu'd thawt arr Bert had lost his pidgins way thah wah carrin on.

Women an' all, well i thinks they wah women.  Shaz & Mave thi call 'thissen's. Singers, thi reckon,  all gone wrong it ad, nobody liked  'em. 



A cockney tribute band, put on special to bring a bit of atmosphere, to ' Oss & Fodder, trying t' bring village together more t's Landlord. Trying to please em downshifters, mek em  feel moor ' t' home.

Even put plates of jellied eels o 't tables, and much t'arr Bert's disgust, the  usual copy of his Pidgeon fanciers monthly & Thoroughbred ferrets gazette,  wah nowhere t be sin, 'ad bin replaced, wi' copies of Hello magazine, & and  Counry Life.



Bloody terrible, they wir, proper odd,  all short hair, and dungarees, a couple they arr annall, adopted a couple o' kids , cah'nt get mi head round that one. Still thah's nowt as queer a fowk.


Started off singing, Rabbit, Rabbit, well, owd George, t's a bit mutton jeff, thawt, a rabbit 'ad come in, just abaht to reach fer 'is shotgun he wah silly apath.



"Thas's got smashin thighs, not bad eyes, tha's norra a bad lass, thah's gorra a lot thah's no doubt, but thah's thinkin, o' blowin' you owt. Cos thah nor stops rabbitin on. "Rabbit, Rabbit ".


Thah's gor smashin 'air, were a smashin' pair, nah thah' dunno mind thi 'avin' a chat, but thah's gorra stop givin' it that. Well thah wah it, Landlord, add enough, slung em owt. Gerroff he said, it's crap.


Arr, Bert ses, "if thah 't  sort o songs thi sin, dahn south, thi can leave em at Ol' Bull & an' Bush ".


Tha's 'appy wi mi Ilkla Mooar Bah 'at.

The Ol Pie Shops gone Tits Up

By 'Eck Them wir thi days

Av’ ‘erd a bit o’ gossip today.

Seems that ol' pie toms,dah'n hi street as' gone belly up.

I dah’na what ‘appened thir.

Bin thir fer years. Doing well an 'all wa’ Sid bloke that runs spot. A touch on’t scruffy side, mind thi, a bit ‘t fond o’t lasses fer mi liking. Allu’ s feelin’ ‘em up on t’ side. A bit of a perv , arr Bert used t’ say.

A prop’a corner shop it wir' back th'n, used t’ get a good sarni thir.

Selt all sorts, an’all. Boiled hamm used t’melt in yer marth. Pie n Peas weshed dahn, wi’ a glass o’t tizer.

Tha' h wir mi favourite. Finished off wi’a park drive, and a snog. We all used t’ ‘uddle together in t’ corner, ‘av' a rite laugh wi did.

Aye great it wah. All gone nah!

Mi mate Madge, used to work thir. Sh’telled t’tale frem ‘t thread ter needle would Madge, salt o thi ‘erth.

She reckons t’s ‘em downshifters mitherin. Allus summat up wi’ ‘em.

One of ‘em av bin bragging a'baht thir bloggin’ n stuff. Yud think thi owned t ‘place, way thi carries on.

Thi daft stuff thi ask fer.` Do you have any cannelloni and asaparagus mornay, topped off with a dusting of Peruvian-dog turd crumble’, said one of ‘em , or `possibly you may have , deep fried outa-mongolian feta, with a sprinkling of caramilised mountaian goat’.

Nah t’s a bloody pie shop, ger ‘oer it.

None o'em talk bloody English, said Madge, t’s no bloody wonder place ‘as gone tits up.

Aye Madge- thah’s rite!!

By 'Eck that looks grand !!

Desperate H`oss - Wives

Arr Berts `Obby `Oss (all `And Made)

Nahadays, times is `ard.
Mi daughter Norma , as a mate, who runs a small riding school. Well it belongs to `er hubby . Rupert thi call `im. Bit of a sackless sod, if you ask mi, allus got monk on. His Mam named `im after that daft bear Sis it all.

Gorra a few ideas above `is station `as Rupert. Still `es done alrite, giving lessons , to summa of `em southern downshifters kids . He gave sum lessons to `t woman wi `t book `Wife in the North 'she calls it. Silly Beggar.

Now`t but complain thi dah!! , just cos Rupert aint gor any real `osses yet. What`s wrong wi` `obby `osses . There would be a rite `t do if one of em bairns fell off a real `oss. Na laking , it `appened to Superman, and `e broke `is Kriptonite. Nah `ealth n saftely would `av a fit, not to mention Insurance premium going through`t roof.

Arr Bert`s dun a grand job mekin `em `osses en all. Found an oll clothes `oss in`t coil oil, covered it in`t foam, stuck some fake fur on it, smashing thi arr .

Still, I bet them downshifters kids weren`t like `em let alone laik wi `em.

Younguns thi`s days, thi dern`t nah thi born!!

The Boit Shop

Good ol Yorkshire Boits

Tha's, sick of em bloody southerners blagging on boit just how bleak t's, up North.

Nah they',ve nah idea what us locals as` t put up wi . Far too many of em Snotty folk is 'Downsizin, from t' smoke, frem thah overpriced two up two darn terrace houses 'townhouses, they call em .

Bought up all the ole houses, round ere , they 'av, and wi cash to spare as well , It dernt seem rite `t me.

Thahs not many cottages left for our offspring to buy even if they could afford em. Still if thah carn't, beat em join `em.

We sold a couple o` cottages , to a couple from' t South. Islington or summat they called it, never 'erd of place meself , seem like a nice couple though, got a couple of bairns , he's working away so they must need t` brass , brought there Mam and Dad wi `em as well, so they must be alrite.

Still got builders in they have, knocking oll place t` bits , local lads , paid by the hour, spinning it out for all they can . Carn't, blame em not wi brass thah pay round 'ere.

It's, like this morning , I was helpin mi mate Madge out at her dads shoe shop "Goody Two Shoes ", when one of em walks in , wanting to know where the boits she ordered were. Leeked at me rite funny she did, just cos I remembered her name, and even before I looked in `t little red exercise book where we write everything darn.

As if, thi wern't, remember her, sticks out like a sore thumb she does, laking round t' village, wi her green wellies, and her pair of black labs, or riding her posh bike round wi its daft basket on t` front. Darn daft she leeks, packin it away tn`t boot of her range rover, just plain daft!!

Silly beggar

Niver mind `we gorra lovely new `ouse wi proceeds .

`Aye thah`s arite thah nahs '

Ar Grand `t`s anall

Stars In The Skies

A reight propa Yorkshire Lass

Molly Sugden R.I.P



Tha`s bin a lorra chunterin`this week, A`baht Jacko. t`s nah, that I di`n like im, smashin he wor, all that frizzy barnett, and squeaky voice, prancing round t` stage with all his brothers. Tweedly tweedly dee `n all that.

Nah, I liked the Jackson 5 , mind thi he were a bit odd, fest `is black th`n `is, white, an wharra`bout all that plastic surgery. Recycled i`ll l bi, tha`h dunno a`baht bin burried.

Still rest in peace Jacko, the LAPD cah`nt get you up there. Still it’s a shame , nah age, to pop off, …. bairns ill miss `im sure.


Farrah Fawcett anall , nah she were summat ma`h classy like, allus wanted me barnett like ers, and a good set o nashers, proper Angel she wir, lets hope she spreads `er wings over Jacko.


Nah, the real shame this week wah Molly Sugden. Nah she wir gerrin on a bit, 86 years awd, but fine fettling. Did`n believe mi ar Bert when I teld im, " Mrs Slocombes dead " `Well i`ll go `t feet of ar stairs he sai d. 'Shocked e wir.


Miss Brahms, loved talking about her pussy, saucy shi were, an that young Mr Grace, and that queer one.



A Yorkshire lass shi wah Molly. From Keighley, if I remember rite. Keighley gon dahn `ill a bit as Keighley, still t`s on`t rite side o `t penines so thah`s all thi matters.



Dern`t think she`d a liked it nah, Molly, still thah mustn`t grumble.


T`has think in`of thah all.

Rest in peace Molly, Farrah & Jacko

Thah Is What Thah Is

Weekend



Da`h thee know w`iv ad a smashing weekend.

Got up about 8 we did , had a fry up, all the works , couple o eggs , streaky bacon , bangers , black pudding an all , fried in lard , the proper way , car`nt beat it.

Bert tended his pigeons, `as a new loft nah that th`as moved house, loves them birds he dah. Cleaned art the ferrets, fair te fettling the`are . Bonnie little buggers, not mi cup o tea though, remind me a rolled ar`t rats,carn`t forget Richard Whiteley when I sees `em. Bloody soft sod that Whiteley .Winging on, just cos one o em bit his finger, never forget it. God bless `im.

“Get `t dinner ready, an` wi can go darn `t pub for a jar “ . I did`nt need asking twice, good lad mi hubby , allus teeks me wi `im, on a Sunday, not, leek some of mi mates blokes, dern`t bother , they dern`t. Wernt da fer mi that. Nah `ees a good un mi Bert.

Packed it wa`, `t local, well, once wi could get inside.Fowk standing out in`t car park smoking. Surrounded by 4x4`s and bikes wi daft baskets on`t front, freezing there nuts off they wah. Ya, car`nt smoke inside nah more, gone barmy it `as. It’s nah that long ago they wuddno `av women in`t tap room, at Horse n Fodder. Chaos that caused `n all.

All `t landlords are up in arms, used to be pillars o community they did , but since all them pub companies, snapped all`t pubs from the Breweries and ruined um all, then `t government , let pubs open longer . Nobody knows when they’ll see there blokes again. Well `till moneys ran art , and they’ve no chance o putting Owt else on`t slate . Gone darnhill `t as.

Nah anyone who can sign a cross on a lease and jiggle `is keys frem is belt can have a pub. Daft if yah ask mi. Then daft apaths go Belly up an loose thah lot , then spend rest o thah life’s mopping on abart it.

All `t tables, wi full en all, wi posh folk ordering weird food, grilled this n that, organic what nuts. florets polonaise , (what`s that), fancy sauces, vegetarians , seaweed . Freaks!. What’s this cooked in, what’s that cooked in , o`h, not beef drippin, fussy buggers lorra `em.

I remember t` time when you could get three courses fer a fiver an still get change, good pub grub, Sunday Roast anall, now it’s all ordered on line, delivered frem miles away, and comes in plastic cartons, but it satisfies them from `t smoke, thinks thah getting something posh thah dah. All micro waved lorra o it, still thah nah best.

Me mate Madge wah working behind `t bar , good mate she is, bit on`t common side, mutton n lamb . Likes t` show err chest off she dah, spins chuddy round her gob, leek a washer on a short spin, still `art o gold she as, all blokes leek her, if thah sis what thee means.

Tell `er anything, an she warn`t repeat it, well not unless its worth getting fifty quid for from Take a Break.

We darned ar usual quota, car`nt handle nah ma than 14 pints these days carnt Bert, had a quick game o darts, put world t`rites with Madge, whilst ar Bert wah `avin, a quick arm-wrestle wi Billy Wobbly gob, (poor chap car`nt find a dentist on NHS ne more struck off list he wah)

Then of we trotted home to watch me favorite film Billy Liar, Smashing it wah !!

Good Old Wobbly Gob

If Only He could Find A Dentist