Along with the early buds of spring come weeds, slugs and parasites; so it seems at the local church where mindless idiots are abusing the beautiful grounds.
Unbelievably, these morons are riding motorbikes over graves. Added to this the local T&A describes “…littering…with cigarette butts and beer cans and irresponsible dog owners failing to clean-up after their pets…”
Yet more progress for the 21st Century human race!
Rev Robin Gamble describes the churchyard as “…like a gift to the whole community, a small urban park – a peaceful oasis where people come to sit and reflect and walk around.”
I actually nip through on the way to the village but he is right, it is a lovely spot…unless you’re six-feet under I guess with a quad bike interrupting a peaceful Eternity.
Although I am not one of God’s greatest fans, churches used to be sacrosanct even to morons; would it not be great if the odd hand reached out from beyond the grave just like in the film Carrie?
Places like these are central to any peaceful community; the police have apparently been “supportive” but they are stretched beyond reason.
Predictably, local councillors have been quick to comment but, in the pre-election frenzy of promises, promises, promises who really is listening?
Stop and think for a minute about this notion of a fair society that the politicians bleat about to get your vote. Trouble is this costs money and there is not a lot around.
Would you really object to paying a bit more if you believed the police could actually function to stop half-wits like this?
Perhaps we could introduce a Shit Tax as well? Dogs would be taxed depending on size. Or maybe we could get the owners to spend a day with the Reverend tidying up the churchyard.
Things Can Only Get Better?
Wear protection they say and, judging by the first sight that greeted me on the day of the new cricket season last Saturday, some need more than others.
There sat Molly, naked from the waist up, adjusting his Jock Strap over his new underpants, all gleaming white if not for long. It may have been uplifting for him but certainly not for your’s truly.
Getting On Your Tits Too?
The woman has more front than Hadrian’s Wall but maybe there is a cunning plan here?
Having failed to get independence the legitimate way, perhaps she is hoping she gets so far up the nose of us South of the border that we simply grant the Jockos a ticket to ruin?
Dear Old George
It seems it was actually George who saved the Odeon from the wrecking balls at least according to…well George of course. This despite the fact that he’s only been sponging off Bradford since 2012.
Doubtless he also built Salts Mill single handedly and carved every stone that was used in the Town Hall. How much longer do we have to suffer this pompous bloke?
Having A Bad Day?
We all suffer from a bit of “woe is me” from time to time but every time I see this remarkable bloke on television I quickly realise how little most of us appreciate what we have.
Blown to bits by a Taliban bomb back in 2003 and not expected to live, even when it was clear he would survive, he was not expected to either walk or talk again. The man is testament to a level of courage most of us cannot imagine.
Having a bad day then think about Ben.
What a man.
More on the Muppets
The former Anns Grove School is Sheffield’s largest Grade II listed Board School and was restored recently to provide a business hub for fledgling enterprises; well done Sheffield!
In Bradford a bunch of senile old duffers have voted to flatten a similarly attractive Victorian school to make way for non-descript houses.
Incredibly, not one of the old duffers represents the Eccleshill ward where the school is so any anti-old duffer feelings are useless because the voters in their constituencies generally don’t give a stuff. This is local politics at it’s worst.
Today though, yet another possible route to saving this building discovered by committed campaigners; good luck to them.
Movie Star?
This week I started some cricket coaching in local primary schools if only to remind me of the joys of voluntary sterilisation and why I never became a teacher.
Revisiting my old school – St Francis RC Primary – it was nice to know that I could automatically find my way to the Head’s office although refreshing that old Mr McAvoy was not still in there wielding his Dunlop Green Flash and hickory shafted three-iron.
The school are making a film and have asked me to participate as an old boy; better still I get to play on the old football pitch which, sadly, appears not to have been used for many years.
Surely, some forty-one years on, a nobbly-kneed little blond kid may finally be able to say to his mum: “I’m in the Franny’s First Team”?
You see, if you hang around long enough, opportunity eventually comes knocking.
Whatever Happened to School Sport – More
Here we go again, harking back to the good old days of frozen toes, clinging mud and another whipping at the hands of the Swain House Bash Street Kids X1 on a bleak winter morning.
This week, one of my Godsons is doing orienteering in school PE. We used to call this Hide & Seek, did it in our own time and knew it was just an excuse to chase down the titivating target of our troublesome dreams.
We disbursed in darkness and then hunted down our prey, hoping to chance a quick snog by the old wooden door; they didn’t call it All Alone Road.
A wonderful childhood pastime but never in a million years anything to do with PE.
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