The March edition is out now in print and online here.
As January ground to a welcome end with spring now in touching distance, several poor Nob Ed Korna pensioners sought escape. Having received their winter fuel payments, off they went to find the sun to parts far from the grasp of robbing energy companies.
As if we really needed to be reminded, Sky Sports Cricket captured the Mini Mes doing a good rendition of Thunderbirds dancing by strings. With the imminent arrival of Lindy Hop classes to the village, they were definitely long-shots for the Idle Dirty Dancing prize. Apologies for the picture quality but no amount of soft lighting could help the male.
The hot favourites for the upcoming dance fest – The Trowel and Jiving June – had also chosen to finish their training regime in warmer climes albeit the Con Club were unlikely to be switching on any radiators come the opening night. The perma-tanned couple had headed off to Lanzarote for three weeks and The Guvnor could not resist a chip at his old mate. “What will Rip Off Britain have to talk about now” he smiled referring to The Trowel’s prowess with a trowel and old ladies.
To round off travels from The Scruffy, Gentleman John had vanished too on his annual cruise complete with dinner jacket, dickie bow and online subscription to The Yorkshire Post. If the Con Club ever introduce tango classes he will be there.
Fagin had hit on a new money making scheme; he was going to licence The Scruffy brand worldwide launching it with a £2.99 sign in the pub. However, his cheerful mood was not to last as he entered the pub and interrogated each and every soul sat enjoying a quiet drink.
“Do you drive?” he asked of each of us with a mad-eyed stare demanding we all reply. As nobody could offer a set of car keys it was clear what the source of his anger was; the car park was full. Across the road a meeting of the spiritually minded was taking place but they had obviously not seen into the tea leaves and copped an irate landlord. Off he went on a mission, cheeks flushed, a determined stride.
A few minutes later, numerous people were scurrying back to their cars as Fagin arrived back with a contented grin on his face and, doubtless, a few lifetime curses and spells. Apparently there was a top psychic offering all manner of insights into lives past, present and future. That said, they’d clearly missed the signs of a wound-up landlord.
It had happened before as Fagin told the story of yet another episode of Emmerdale cruelly interrupted. Apparently one irate client had challenged Fagin the last time he burst through the doors.
“You’ve let all the spirits escape!”
“Well come across to the pub I’ve got plenty there!” replied Fagin. Boom boom!
Searching for a quiet Thirsty Thursday beer we soon had reason to question this naïve expectation. Sat at the bar was a mystery character, taking in the surroundings like a new born baby. As his confidence grew with the passing of time he eventually introduced himself as Peter from Slovenia, a long-distance lorry driver far from home and family but seeing the positives of life. A planned quiet few beers and then retiring to his cab soon evaporated like the creamy top of his beer. He was having the time of his life and soon was in possession of a copy of The Trumpit to expand our boundaries evermore.
Following last month’s cheeky rear picture, another contender for The Scruffy 2024 calendar staked his claim after a walk across the moors to Posh Bradford aka Ilkley. Having completed the arduous course – much to the surprise of his fellow walkers, the local bookmaker and funeral director, he ripped his sweaty shirt off as if he had scored the winning goal at the World Cup. The gentrified locals had never witnessed anything like it since Erika Roe famously streaked across the Twickenham turf many years go. The big man was unrepentant and is a shoo-in for the pending photo shoot and Love Island.
To escape the dark satanic mills of the cannabis capital of culture, Suntan and I took the pampered pooch to the exotic east coast for a few days. Taking advantage of one of Bradford exiles Vitty’s Cottages superb properties – see page 17 – it was a joy to find The Ship newly restored and open for the first night this year. If I lived in Whitby this would be my local of choice.
It was back to reality at The Scruffy as Nob Ed Korna – shorn of the numerous Valentine’s Day trimmings – returned to full capacity. Winner of The Scruffy Golf Open on numerous occasions – Dog Leg Dave – was in-situ with his glamorous wife, Miss Sixth Form 1979. Dog Leg was rounding up his fellow hackers for the start of the golfing calendar. Talk was flowing of the challenges ahead.
Miss Sixth Form 1979 was, back in those long-gone days, a county champion cross country runner and the pride of Hanson Upper School where several of us completed our preparation for the big bad world. Although studious types we were also keen footballers albeit it is fair to say that the prospects for the 1979-80 season for Hanson’s Sixth Form X1 were not good. We were crap.
We decided to convince Miss Sixth Form 1979 to become our fitness coach to which she surprisingly agreed. Our training programme was to start immediately to prepare us for the new season against the bearded giants of the likes of Grange Upper and our eternal rivals, St Bede’s. We gathered for our first lunchtime run as our trainer arrived looking pristine; and that was about the last time we saw her on the run.
With the school gates still visible she was already out of sight. The midway point of the run was the foot of the steep Carr Lane in Shipley. The bus looked a far better option as we crawled to the summit. Eventually we arrived back at school midway through the afternoon. Our trainer was sat at her desk, hair and nails immaculate, barely flushed. We resigned ourselves to a long, hard season.
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