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