“The difference between a politician and a statesman is that a politician thinks about the next election while the statesman think about the next generation.” James Freeman Clarke
Another one from this month’s Trumpit vanishing faster from the shelves than a politician’s promises into thin air. Speaking of which, since my piece Sport For Votes, I have tried very hard to elicit a sensible reply from the Great Leader, Cllr Hapless. Regrettably, in common with most who swim in her pool, she seems incapable of answering simple questions.
More On Sport For Votes
In last night’s Telegraph & Argus Editorial, the paper did little to change my opinion that it is merely a mouthpiece for the local council. Supporting the so-called sporting strategy, the Editor noted the “success of the women’s national football team and our tennis players”. What success? We finished fourth at the football and have nobody left at Wimbledon. Even the England manager did not claim this as “success”.
Like so many councillors, the Editor would do well to read the expensive report on which the council will blow £15m and the rest. As would the leader of the Council. From my email to her last Friday – as yet unanswered – here is an extract.
I make two additional points for you to consider given your assertions…concerning the money pit that is Myra Shay.
The report (p66) makes the following comments:
Cricket – A standard quality square consisting of two grass wickets. The pitch is available for community use but is currently unused.
Football – Three adult pitches, one youth 9v9 pitch, one mini 7v7 pitch and two mini 5v5 pitches, all of which are standard quality. The adult pitches and mini 5v5 pitches currently have actual spare capacity whereas the mini 7v7 and youth 9v9 pitches have no additional capacity at peak periods. Good quality ancillary facilities.
Is it not natural to wonder why a) the cricket pitch is unused especially given the outlay barely a decade ago and b) when spare capacity is available and the facilities are “good quality” why the need to spend millions?
Strange that no answer is forthcoming?
Tales From The Scruffy
It was back to business at The Scruffy recently with the return of our hosts, Michael and Sara, fresh from a week in detox. In their absence and, in a moment of madness, Michael had entrusted his empire to Fat Lad for the week. There were two obvious flaws with this “plan” namely: i) Fat Lad could easily drink the place dry and ii) few had ever seen him venture far from his beloved spot in Nob Ed Korna.
As news spread of Fat Lad’s new authority, word spread amongst the locals and applications for tabs reached Wonga.com levels; The Scruffy was experiencing a debt boom. Even Homeless had a wash and queued as if waiting to see his local bank manager. Shaken from his usual drunken stupor, Fat Lad burst into action; he needed a plan, one that would keep him sat comfortably and avoid bankruptcy for The Scruffy.
Meanwhile, Our Jackie had announced that as she was such a regular feature of The Trumpit, she was considering getting an agent to negotiate appearance money. I put it to her that she should consider becoming The Trumpit’s centrefold although the way she was expanding we might have to go broadsheet.
Smouldering Sue looked up alarmed as Our Jackie continued guzzling her third packet of Wotsits. “’Oo do you think you are lass?” she squeaked, wagging a bling laden finger at Our Jackie who necked the last few morsels down, cuffed Homeless around the head and skulked off back behind the bar. Fame and fortune would have to wait, just like the diet. Smouldering wandered off home for a few more UV tubes, the recent Chernobyl television drama not a concern at all.
Sundays had been quiet of late with rumours circulating that the local Working Men’s Open the Box jackpot was at over £900. Even Our Jackie had been spotted sneaking in the back door. As tempting as this jackpot clearly was, Tipper the Stripper has continued to roll through the doors with his entourage. Somewhat worse for wear – again – he was sporting his usual faux silk Matalan knickers stuck in his top jacket pocket.
Surveying the pub, he stuck out his pigeon chest and ordered three pints of Guinness for him and his dance troupe. I caught up with him in the Gents as he was secretly touching up his fake tan; he was a worried man. We faced the wall, as men do, as I waited for his confession, conscious that if it took much longer my shoes would be beyond help.
The world-renowned Idle Working Men’s have built some new decking, clearly a late summer is on the way. The Committee are hopeful that the punters in the snooker room will be able to adjust to natural light as bats would not be out of place flying above the tables. Overlooking the High Street, it will be Idle’s version of the sponsor’s balcony at Monaco. The locals will be able to watch the quad bikes roar up the hill, cheering them on to the neurological ward.
In winter there is potential for a ski-slope; this could be a canny move. Idle would be well and truly on the piste! Tipper zipped up carefully and confided he was considering an offer to open the new decking with an open-air concert for the ladies of the village but worried about the effect of the rains on his “tan”. “You watch…there won’t be a light on in Thorpe Edge!” he slurred confident of his pulling power “The village will be like a ghetto!”
And with that he staggered out of the gents back to his Black & Tan incredibly negotiating the two-step descent like a quick step. Tickets will be on sale soon – watch this space.
And Finally
Advertising does work. Only the other night a man wandered into The Scruffy and stood as if viewing The Vatican for the very first time. Michael approached him, worried as he stood fixated to the spot, keen to chuck him out had he only come in to use the loo.
“It really does exist” said the man, eyes wide open. “I’ve read about this place so much but never been. Now I’ve seen The Scruffy I can die peacefully! Thank you The Trumpit!”
And with that he vanished into the night air…
Leave a Reply