The June edition is out now. If you cannot find a copy you can read it here.
With two weeks to go until the reopening by William and Kate of The Scruffy, we continued exploring local delights.
I visited the inside/outside/you choose Idle Draper styled by local craftsman Jim. This is a great bar with two disused buildings now a bar, tea shop and a couple of flats too.
Come Sunday it was time to meet my fellow middle-aged, worn-down-by-life pals to take in the offerings of the new wine bar, the refurbished Great Northern. A pub held in great affection had slipped sadly into closure. Now it is a smart addition to the area with a pizza offering too.
It was no surprise to see local celebrity and Trumpit Cover of the Year 2019, Tipper the Stripper, pedalling his wares chasing a few teatime shows to warm the crowds up before the overhead bathroom heaters were flicked on.
Times had been tough for the King of the Thong. Unable to secure a new contract at the Idle Working Mens bingo hour, he had been caught shamelessly taking advantage of the free tanning services at the Northern.
As ever he was immaculate in four layers of one hundred percent Designer Outlet labels as the rest of us shivered in our polar trekking gear. “I just need a chance” he said “I know what ladies want. Can The Trumpit save me?”
Meanwhile, Big Al, long beyond saving and thankfully not offering to strip, had organised the Oxfam truck to collect his old clothes. Despite the cold, he was again sat in shorts. At this stage in life many of us contend with elderly parents as well as elderly friends, so I had brought a book – Contented Dementia – in which several had expressed an interest. The only problem was nobody could recall who.
We decided the best option was to live in the moment and order another round. There was news on the home front from the big man. Having stripped the walls last year, Luckless Linda had put her foot down before the grand moving in date. Several rolls of expensive looking wallpaper had arrived marked “Excess Stock – B Johnson”: he was about to get a makeover. The local museum had sent archivists for the old wallpaper.
With only a few days to go until the grand reopening, I continued in my dream job as Trumpit Hospitality Correspondent. Jim kindly reserved my usual table for one by the toilets at the ever lively Draper. The following day I hopped across the road to the Beerhouse having not been since the change of owners a few years ago and what a lovely bar. Suspend disbelief and the outside terrace could be on a Mediterranean hillside. A few beers helped.
In came the suave Best Dressed Pensioner Bradford 2020, The Trowel. He was slick as ever sporting his waxed twirly Terry Thomas tash, a pair of classy suede shoes, matching laces, socks and silk panties too. Another cracking local bar with regular food nights to keep an eye open for.
Now then, where were we? Six months of exile from The Scruffy and, as the song goes, reunited and it felt so good. Tropical Tim had been camping out overnight in his most garish Hawaiian shirt.
Greenfingers had abandoned the allotment early but not before covering himself in L’eau de Dung to ensure a socially distanced seat. I walked through the inviting open doors like a teenager to find Mick the Quiz already there as was a bearded Happy Days sporting the tan of a man who sees a lot of fairways.
Our Jackie was in charge of a clipboard and was wandering from table to table on her track and trace mission, the locals lacking trust in the NHS app. Suddenly she howled “I’m not going down there!” to equal howls of laughter as she dropped a quid at the feet of Homeless who looked down at her, momentarily hopeful.
At 4.17pm order was finally restored as after six long months as The Guvnor walked in and we all took the knee. In followed the dapper Trowel, followed by local cricket legend Wisey, who bowled through the doors after a tour of the village; an interpreter was quickly called for. The Nob Eds were in full flow as Young Geoffrey floated in gaily sporting shorts that had not been washed since we last saw his knobbly knees.
When asked for his number Wisey replied “How do I know? I never ring meself!” Not one to give up easily Our Jackie asked Young Geoffrey if he had scanned in. He threw his battered Nokia on the table; no further words were needed.
Gentleman John thankfully brought some dignity to the proceedings as Mr Dead wiped a tear from his eye, overcome with emotion. “I’ve got to go to work tomorrow. It’s not fair!” It was lovely to see our treasured staff as our landlady celebrated her birthday in the finest company possible and Florence glided between tables, her smile a lighthouse.
Greenfingers confessed he’d been marking off the number of sleeps like an Advent calendar. In came Malcolm X with an attractive young woman on each arm; he gave me his trademark wink having ditched the black biking leathers for a the new Age Concern Catalogue.
The Octogenarians waddled in through the door to smiles all round; it was lovely to see this couple again. The old boy offered his trademark two-fingered salute and we knew he was back in town as Sheila necked her pint like a thirsty horse at a trough.
How I had missed this place. Treasure your local, wherever you live, because these places are irreplaceable.
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