Musings From The Padded Cell

Brilliant!

You don’t drown by falling in the water; you drown by staying there.
Edwin Louis Cole

2020 vision?

A rare day indeed with positive good news for the old city as the Government announced £4m of funding to enable the restoration of the Bradford Odeon.

Congratulations to all those individuals who have persevered almost twenty years to keep this building alive. Cue odious, shameless politicians lining up for a photo call.

Front of the queue as ever is Bradford East MP Imran Hussain.

“I am pleased that my months of lobbying Ministers and meeting a host of different groups has paid off and the regeneration of the Odeon into one of the North’s premier music venues can finally get underway.”

What a ****!

Tales From The Scruffy

Social media has it’s positives and even Big Al would rue his avoidance of Facebook as last week The Scruffy announced an impromptu visit from the Pravha rep offering free beer.

Promoting this up-market Eastern European lager, he was offering thimble like free samples to a packed Nob Ed Korna, sheltering from another spring storm brewing outside.

The Guvnor was sat there looking like Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now , head of his brood.

“Call this a free sample?” he barked “I’ve left more for the doctor!”

The tall and very well-spoken Pravha rep, most likely wondering how a First Class Honours in the Classics had left him peddling over priced lager to Nob Ed Korna, quickly offered the Guvnor another placating shot.

Sensing an opportunity, son Red Bricks, parched after another day selling £300k affordable homes in Hapless Hinchliffe’s Paradise, quickly snaffled one too.

Feeling left out, Magic Joe made his Carling and Sambuca shot vanish in a puff of smoke and lined up, tongue out, as if for communion.

Pravha Man was also offering prizes; if you answered a question you “won” a pint of Pravha…as long as you paid 70p.

“What kind of a prize is that?” asked Happy Days who no amount of freebies would prise him from his tipple nor indeed the bar top.

The rep checked his watch promising to look harder for a proper job and returned behind the bar as landlord Il Padrino flashed a new Slimmer of the Month tattoo. What kind of place was this?

Word must have spread as, about to leave, something unusual happened. Firstly, young people came into the pub; secondly, old Young Bet turned up for work early.

Young Bet necks a freebie

And still there was no sign of Big Al as eventually Pravha Man realised he was flogging a dead horse, waved off onto the night by the finest Nob Eds in the land, never to return.

Normality crept back over the inhabitants like a warm duvet.

One Hundred Years Ago – Council Tax

Idle faces prospect of a 10 shilling rate…Chairman of the City Finance and General Purposes Committee, Cllr Stringer…will present Bradford’s next budget and the new rate will be made known in a week or so.

Today the poundage is 9s 3d…the new rate is almost certain to be bigger.But a 10s rate would not be a record in Idle. Some 23 or 24 years ago Idle had such a ‘distinction’ and the township had very little to show for the expenditure.

You might say nothing changes then.

Smooth Sleep Ins

My switch from whining politicians on R4 to somewhere Brexit is never been mentioned has gone rather badly. Whereas R4 would have me up in an instant hurling soiled undies at the walls, Smooth FM induces a touch of the “Snooze” button and, in no time at all, it’s lunchtime! This needs a rethink.

Patronising, Robbing Bastards This Time

“It now costs the British tax payer more than £6 million pounds per annum to supply public servants with subsidised food and alcohol.

Given the recent MP salary increase to £74000 (before expenses) it’s not unreasonable to expect that they pay for subsistence in the same way the majority of other workers do. The average wage in the UK is £26000.”

Share this if you agree with this.

More Tales From The Scruffy – Then And Now

Four Pints awaits the bleep from his wrist tag as The Fishermen fight the odds

The Fishermen were depleted last Sunday with only the sprightly Young Geoffrey and Charlie the Rod in for the quiz. Arthur’s generous good cheer was sadly lacking as they took up their allotted spots, fearing a rout as Young Bet began the weekly dementia test before supper for the inmates.

The Rod looked across the pub, surveying the flow of the competition and, all of a sudden, a look of shock spread across his face.

More Fishermen?

“Geoffrey have you seen that team over there? They look like us? Is it us?” said an open-mouthed Rod as Young Geoffrey ceased building his store of paper pellets for the half-time frolics with the natives.

“I think somebody’s taking the piss!” he muttered at the vision of several other blokes all dressed in the trademark Fishermen red. “Either that or Viagra is hallucinatory!”

“Ey ‘ant you noticed me too?” shouted Young Bet as she jiggled her droopy boobs in a tight fitting red blouse that had given up the struggle.

The Fishermen went pale; they were drowning in a sea of red. Was it a dream? Had the nursing home finally come around? Would everybody wear red in their dotage?

The nightmare continued as landlady Sara strode out to sell weekly raffle tickets dressed in red.

Any intentions for a quiet night had flown out into the chilly night air as Four Pints contemplated dancing on ice attempting to return the weekly tray of eggs to Mission Control.

Some took it way too far.

Please drink responsibly and never take a selfie if you don’t.

Apology

Apparently there were some technical issues re my piece yesterday re Bradford Park Avenue. Neither the English Cricket Board nor Putin are to blame.

Here is the full article.

Have a good weekend all.

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