Return to Neverland

The Dutch, the inhabitants of the Netherlands, Holland.

As if I really have to explain beyond that first word.

I have an instant array of images upon the mention of The Dutch.

The strongest is the National stereotype of a nation wearing only bright orange attire on the occasion of any event from the World Cup to the Olympic Games and The Tour de France to Eurovision.

That is followed by yet more cliched associations that are synonymous with the identity of that proud country of windmills, tulips, upright bicycles and, unfortunately, a liberal recreational drug culture.

My first childhood perceptions were based on a bedtime story of the small boy who put his finger in the huge dyke wall and so saved the whole country from a disastrous flood.

It was not however a fairy tale or fictional invention because it is a hard fact of life for the Dutch that theirs has, for centuries, been an existence very much at the whim of the waves and tides of the rivers and seas that surround and bisect it.

Fifty five percent of the land mass of Holland and sixty percent of its population are below sea level and in economic terms that translates to well over half of the Gross Domestic Product.

The constant threat of inundation has however brought out the best in terms of inventiveness and resilience in the Dutch in their attitude towards water.




It has been a harsh reality and in 1953 the tidal surge which also swept along the East Coast of Scotland and England caused catastrophic floods in the Netherlands and with more than 1800 fatalities.

This prompted a State funded range of projects, in effect a huge finger in the dyke equivalent with a series of dams and surge barriers to strengthen the vulnerable coastline.

In 1993 and 1995 the problem was not from the sea but a build up of flood levels in the rivers that flow across the land mass towards their outfalls in the North Sea.

The network of dykes managed, just, to hold back the water but not before a quarter of a million residents had been evacuated. You cannot accuse the Dutch Government of complacency as this sharp intake of breath at a narrow escape prompted a major rethink of strategy not so much to contain and suppress the natural forces but to work with them.

Innovative ideas included creating space for controlled flooding rather than adding a bit more onto the top of the existing defence walls. Channels and spillways were formed to divert surplus water into designated zones. This did mean that compulsory purchase powers were used to acquire homes, businesses and farms in order to ensure that no one resisted and stayed behind to be at risk of danger or a liability for rescue. There has been an ecological price to pay for public protection on this scale. The post 1953 phases of surge barriers and walls caused stagnant water conditions and a decline in the habitat of shellfish and marine mammals. That is another example of the pragmatism of the Dutch.

Other more recent projects to cope and co-exist with the threat of floods have included floating panels to act as a self closing flood barrier, an army of volunteers to slot in metal planks to stop up any gaps in existing defences in the event of potential flood conditions and an impassable bridge at high water to make citizens aware of dangerous conditions and to ensure that they do not attempt a crossing.

In housing the imagination of Architects has led to the building of homes in risk areas on a system of hydraulic piles that rise and fall under flood conditions. Conventionally built houses have a lower ground floor that can be surrendered to any flood levels to later be dried out and returned to full use with as little as disruption possible to its occupants. Other residences simply float.

The Dutch have, over centuries, had to self educate in matters of flood control and alleviation but above all have remained realistic that there is a good chance on a daily basis of defences being overwhelmed.

Huge projects and investment have meant that one small boy and his finger have been able to go on and make something of his life without the pressures that come with being on call as the saviour of a Nation.

Source; Sweet and Salt, Water and the Dutch by Tracy Metz

String Theory re-revisited

I actually wrote this back in 2012 when Gerry Anderson passed away but felt that it would also be a fitting tribute on the announcement just this week of the death of Shame Rimmer, a multi-talented actor*, screenwriter and much more but with a special place in my formative years as the distinctive voice behind the character of arguably the most sensible and endearing of the Thunderbirds, Scott Tracy. 

Who is Hiram K. Hackenbacker?

There may be some interesting answers.

Try, did he invent a game involving a small seamed leather ball that you juggle and attempt to keep up in the air or between multiple players?. No That is Hacky Sack.

Was he the inspiration behind of a type of guitar used, for example, by Paul Weller, amongst others? No, that is Rickenbacker.

Is he, by chance the namesake founder and former Mayor of a town in New Jersey, USA? No. That is Hackensack.

It is a tantalising name but yet if you are a lifelong fan of the 1960's TV Series Thunderbirds you will instantly know that it is the real name of the highly strung and a bit nervy prodigy, Brains.

His name has come to the forefront in the last 24 hours with the death of his creator, the Supermarionation genius, Gerry Anderson. I grew up in the halcyon days of children's TV when there was no real competition or distraction from other media. No computers, Video Games, Apple products, etcetra  and a childhood consisted of only sleeping, eating, playtime and education.

This was the perfect environment for imagination to take hold and run riot and a major catalyst in my own formative years was Thunderbirds.

The distinctive countdown, in my memory missing out the first "F", therefore "..ive,....four.....three.....two....one....Thunderbirds are Go!"was the introduction to a completely enthralling part of my day. It went further than that though and the individual  episodes and subsequent adventures gave many, many hours of play value over the following days, weeks and months.

I was obsessed with Thunderbirds, the characters and of course the amazing equipment. International Rescue, the organisation founded by ex-astronaut Jeff Tracy was dedicated to getting the stupid, reckless, misled and unfortunate out of tight situations and in what style!.

Of course, now approaching my 56th birthday I may question how Mr Tracy managed to fund and sustain his charitable operation which must have involved an annual budget even in the 1960's of billions of whatever currency the off shore paradise of Tracy Island affiliated to.

I hate myself for this totally cynical attitude and in some way it is a betrayal of my fascination with and complete trust in International Rescue in my early years. However, Gerry Anderson second guessed this later life inquisition with a convincing back-story of a personal fortune earned through the hard work and speculative ventures of Jeff Tracy in the construction industry on his retirement from the space race. All this and, as a widower, bringing up a large family.

The obituary for Gerry Anderson brought back a long forgotten memory of mine of a TV series he devised called Twizzle. This was originally broadcast from 1957 and unfortunately only the very first episode appears to have survived over time. I recall watching this programme in my pre-school years with my Mother and siblings and although I cannot actually summon up any bits of vision or dialogue I do have a very warm and comforting feeling from knowing that I saw it.

The output of Gerry Anderson and his wife Sylvia continued to be prolific with high tech puppetry (although I hesitate to use this term for the Supermarionation process) and also real life productions.

In no particular order but also representing avid viewing on my part were Stingray, Captain Scarlet, UFO, Joe 90, Fireball XL5 and Space 1999. The latter caused me considerable panic at the age of 36 which fell in that fateful year of the exit of the moon from earth's orbit. I was pretty relieved to get through that time with no incident, a bit like last Friday and the predicted Mayan Apocalypse.

The imaginative currency of the Anderson's productions was reinforced considerably by the clever merchandising which with hindsight would give the much criticised catalogue of the Star Wars franchise a run for its money.

I grew up under a Thunderbirds bedspread (ask your parents what one of those is, clue- it predates continental quilts ), I went to sleep after drawing my Thunderbirds curtains. I slept in Thunderbirds pyjamas. My favourite toys were a heavy metal Thunderbird 2 (The chubby green one) with the amphibious Thunderbird 4 in a removable pod, a larger plastic Thunderbird 5 and a diminuitive rocket model of Thunderbird 1. I also collected, from a brand of cereal, the small gawdy coloured plastic figures of the main characters. The aforementioned Hiram K Hackenbacker was a multiple swop and must have been heavily overproduced in some distant Hong Kong factory compared to the others.

A particular thrill when staying with my Grandparents was the sighting at a visit to Luton Airport of a full sized replica of the pink FAB 1 Rolls Royce of Lady Penelope, the racy and in a strange pre-adolescent mind, sexy family friend of the Tracy Family. I was genuinely disappointed to see it being driven by a mere mortal human and not Parker, the rather dodgy, skeleton-in-the-cupboard chauffeur.

In the playing out of the adventures of International Rescue I was always Virgil. It was not that the other four brothers were any less charismatic. Scott was alright but being the oldest a bit serious, John was just a bit invisible, Gordon too much of an enigma  and as for Alan, there must have been a reason why he more often as not seemed to be banished to the earth orbiting space and communications centre that was Thunderbird 5.After all, he was a typical 19 year old.

The further science fiction creations of Gerry Anderson kept up with my demands to be entertained and though my under 10's and early teenage years I also collected and duly  overpainted with Airfix enamel paints and then demolished the merchandising range of Captain Scarlet, UFO and Space 1999.

My own children were able to enjoy regular re-runs of Thunderbirds although the movie was mighty disappointing. Captain Scarlet was faithfully updated in recent years and no doubt captured a new generation of fans.

Even in schoolboy humour the characters featured. I still remember the story about Lady Penelope saying to the dour and expressionless Parker, "Take off my coat", followed by "Parker, take off my dress", then "Parker, take off my underwear". The punchline was "and Parker? ", to which he replies "Yes, me Lady",  "don't let me find you wearing my clothes again". 

Classic.

* Shame Rimmer selected filmography included roles in 3 Bond Movies, Dr Strangelove, Star Wars, Gandhi, Out of Africa and Batman Begins in a long career in movies from 1957. He attributed many of his roles in British Television and on the stage to his usefulness as "Rent a Yank"

Something to think about

Five cities have recently been selected to take part in a project funded by the philanthropic Rockefeller Foundation to help develop a global framework for water resilience

The five cities on five continents were selected because they represent the range of water challenges facing cities around the world. They are also diverse in terms of size of population, geographic location and economic status but share a common sense of purpose in their commitment to take a strategic approach to resilience.

Amman (Jordan) has a population of 4 million and it's problem is that geographically and logistically it is not located near sustainable sources of water. The City regularly experiences drought. There is an equally significant impact from unusually heavy downpours which cause flooding in the lower lying districts of the city.

Cape Town (South Africa) is home to around 3.7 million inhabitants. It has had unprecedentedly low rainfall over the last three years. Last year there were prominent features in the global media that the city was within a critical phase with a matter of days until the water supply ran out. This led to a massive relief programme of bottled water.

Mexico City has a vast population of 21.3 million. Its rapid growth has put a huge strain on the underground aquifers which are relied upon for the water supply and there is a real risk of the city simply running out of water in the future. The main developed areas are also on a former lake making it prone to flooding.

Greater Miami and the Beaches (United States). Population 5.9 million. The coastal location, high groundwater table and complex canal system make the area very vulnerable to rising sea levels. Tidal surge flooding is increasingly common causing significant disruption and risk to life.

The fifth location is my home city of Hull , or given its full name, Kingston Upon Hull in Yorkshire in the United Kingdom. 

Compared to the other four places it is a relative minnow with only 323,000 residents but most significantly some 90% of the land area of Hull is below the high tide line. This makes it very vulnerable to rising sea levels which are an inevitability of global warming as well as storm surges and surface water issues. 

Large parts of the housing stock were flooded in 2007 and as recently as 2013 the defences of the Humber Estuary were breached by a combination of high tides and adverse weather conditions. 

The City Water Resilience Framework (CWRF) is being developed by multiple agencies of engineers, scientists, water authorities and emergency services with support from the Rockefeller Foundation, to help cities better prepare for and respond to shocks and stresses to their water systems in the years to come.

As part of this partnership, the project will explore each city’s specific water concerns through field research and stakeholder interviews. Data and findings will be used to establish qualitative and quantitative indicators to measure city water resilience, for use in any city anywhere. The resulting City Water Resilience Framework will be a global standard for water resilience, which enables cities to diagnose challenges related to water and utilise that information to inform planning and investment decisions.

A spokesperson for the project reported that “A changing climate coupled with rapid urbanisation is increasing the frequency of water related crises facing cities. Increasingly, unpredictable rainfall, flooding and droughts are impacting cities across their water cycle. To develop a global framework we’ve selected these five diverse cities, all facing very different water challenges. By understanding a wide range of issues, being played out in different contexts, we will be able to help all cities to understand how to assess the risks they are facing, and how to prioritise action and investments to become more resilient.”

I wait to see how the research and modelling translates into actual schemes and measures in my local area. There are already some major excavations and earthworks intended for surface water storage on the western side of Hull which is of slightly higher ground and in 2007 was the main source of the run off problem. 

One Scientist said that the education and attitudes of those in the potential risk areas required as much attention as the physical projects. Many people had no emergency plan whatsoever in the event of a flood threat or event and yet a good proportion of the population knew exactly what they would do in the case of a Zombie Apocalypse.

Laughing about something

I like to follow the recommendations of people who know about things. It can be an interesting path of discovery and you can never be sure of where it might eventually lead. A Continuity Announcer at BBC 4 Extra casually mentioned a recitation of the lyrics below by Patricia Routledge. Her tone and delivery of this fine piece of satire by Noel Coward is a joy to behold.

Of course the subject matter is very much of its period but in its characterisation and depiction of the antics of those of a certain social standing it has a very strangely familiar relevance to current day Reality TV and Celebrity Culture.

Quite for no reason

I'm here for the Season
And high as a kite
Living in error
With Maud at Cap Ferrat
Which couldn't be right
Everyone's here and frightfully gay
Nobody cares what people say
Though the Riviera
Seems really much queerer
Than Rome at it's height
Yesterday night

I went to a marvellous party

With Nounou and Nada and Nell
It was in the fresh air
And we went as we were
And we stayed as we were
Which was Hell
Poor Grace started dancing at midnight
And didn't stop singing till four
We knew the excitement was bound to begin
When Laura got blind on Dubonnet and gin
And scratched her veneer with a Cartier pin
I couldn't have liked it more

I went to a marvellous party

I must say the fun was intense
We all had to do
What the people we knew
Would be doing a hundred years hence
Dear Cecil arrived wearing armour
Some shells and a black feather boa
Poor Millicent wore a surrealist comb
Made of bits of mosaic from St. Peter's in Rome
But the weight was so great that she had to go home
I couldn't have liked it more
People's behaviour
Away from Belgravia
Would make you aghast
So much variety
Watching society
Scampering past
If you have any mind at all
Gibbon's divine Decline and Fall
Seems pretty flimsy
No more than a whimsy
By way of contrast
On Saturday last
I went to a marvellous party
We didn't start dinner till ten
And young Bobbie Carr
Did a stunt at the bar
With a lot of extraordinary men
Dear Baba arrived with a turtle
Which shattered us all to the core
The Grand Duke was dancing a foxtrot with me
When suddenly Cyril screamed “Fiddledidee”
And ripped off his trousers and jumped into the sea
I couldn't have liked it more

I went to a marvellous party

Elise made an entrance with May
You'd never have guessed
From her fisherman's vest
That her bust had been whittled away
Poor Lulu got fried on Chianti
And talked about esprit de corps
Maurice made a couple of passes at Gus
And Freddie, who hates any kind of a fuss
Did half the Big Apple and twisted his truss
I couldn't have liked it more

I went to a marvellous party
We played the most wonderful game
Maureen disappeared
And came back in a beard
And we all had to guess at her name
We talked about growing old gracefully
And Elsie who's seventy-four
Said, “A, it's a question of being sincere
And B if you're supple you've noting to fear
Then she swung upside down from a glass chandelier
I couldn't have liked it more

Patricia Routledge Performs

Songwriters: Noel Coward / Noel Pierce Coward

I Went To A Marvellous Party lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

Falling over something

I never found it very funny. Who in their right mind would devise such a thing? 

There I would be, in the innocence of my childhood years, in the grounds of some Country House whilst on a day trip with the family.  There was always plenty to see and enjoy amongst the opulence and splendour of some well-to-do persons’ home and grounds. I did not appreciate at that young age the merits of a collection of art or furnishings or the finer points or architectural period design.

What I did like, however, were the wide open spaces around these establishments. Understandably oblivious to most things and free to lark about I did not deserve to then come a cropper by falling over the edge of a lawn into an abysss, albeit usually soft and grassy below. 

As usual, my carefree wanderings led me to be a victim of the landscaped feature of a Ha-Ha. 

Yes, very funny, hilarious and no doubt that the first ever unfortunate soul to suffer the embarrassment of a tumble resolved the whole issue in the mind of its designer as to what to call it. They are quite a common sight on National Trust, English Heritage or Private Estates in the UK which suggests that they were once a sought after item for the discerning aristocrat or wealthy land owning businessman or industrialist. 

The concept is perhaps found in today's architecture and design of infinity swimming pools in that there is no differentiation between the surface of the water and the distant horizon. 

The traditional Ha-Ha has been around since at least the 17^th Century in France but not reaching England until late in the following century when it became part of the sales catalogue and portfolio of large scale Landscape Gardeners such as Bridgeman, Kent and Capability Brown. 

The actual concept is pretty simple in that it combined the criteria of keeping grazing livestock from accessing the more formal pleasure gardens of a Country House and yet did not throw up an intrusive obstacle which could infringe on the views from said property. 

"Let us in, it's friesian out here"

The other options were of course a conventional raised wall or metal stock fencing which had little scope for improvement of form over function. 

Going back further in time where there was a need to provide security against attack the role of the Ha Ha was performed by a Moat some of which were huge and cumbersome earthworks with the trench soil used to form a bank or in another defensive role. 

However, a typically sophisticated, genteel and extravagant clientele as emerged in the 17th and 18th centuries with no actual or perceived threat or peril to their existence will have been seduced by the idea of a feature with a bit of fun attached to it albeit likely to be at the expense of a servant, visitor or unsuspecting trespasser. 

Fast forward to the commercial value of the tourist industry to asset rich but cash poor Stately Homes of today and a good example of a Ha Ha can be a useful asset although there is certainly an increasing need for good safety notices and warnings over the risk of people falling over or down one. 

In my childhood there was a much more relaxed and common sense approach to Health and Safety and so my disturbingly regular accidents were in fact providing a service to prevent those from following in my misfortune. Ha Ha.

Running away from something

I was always running.

That activity formed a large part of my formative years.

I was always willing to offer to do a chore for a family member, neighbour or just any stranger in the street which would allow me to do it at running pace.

Even if there was no request for assistance I would just run for the sake of it.

The fact that my parents had bought a house on a modern estate meant that there was a ready made route down, around, up and back across the maze of streets to the starting point. I never got tired or bored of just doing successive laps whenever I found myself with the urge to do it or just a few minutes of slack time after school, before tea, after tea, between favourite TV programmes or just before my bedtime.

The funny thing about my obsession with running was that I did not really seem to reap any benefits from it.

I was up there in the first few finishers in the winter slog that passed for cross country and similarly in the summer on the freshly marked out running track that took up almost all of the neatly cropped school playing field.

I did compete on behalf of my school at the county championships and my hazy recollection has me streaking away from the rest of the field and breaking the shiny tape on the finishing line. However, I have no trophies or certificates to substantiate this abiding memory nor any photographs of holding such mementos.

My parents have assured me on a number of occasions, when pestered , that they do not have any well preserved faded newspaper clippings showing me on a podium, receiving a commemorative medal or even just a note of the finishing order in very tiny print. I would not have even minded if any form of official record had, as usual spelled my family surname incorrectly.

I was always impressed by the thought of my name being held in the National Archives based on the fact that a copy of every publication, however insignificant, was required to be sent for safe keeping, or had someone just said that and I believed them implicitly.

As that warm fuzzy memory of youthful athletic prowess slowly fades I then have a horrible recollection of being ushered hastily away by the teaching staff and bundled onto the bus as though I have in fact conducted the race completely naked and simultaneously gesticulating rudely to the massed ranks of the junior schools of my local area.

Genius Infusion or Corporate Confusion?

Most people can remember where they were when some momentous event or news hits the headlines. 

Suddenly everything assumes a certain clarity. 

You may feel it necessary to contact your loved ones, or if you are not in the sanctuary and safety of your preferred place then it may be a top priority to get there. 

That was the case for me this week when…..wait for it…. It was announced that the Unilever Corporation is to launch a Marmite infused Peanut Butter. 

It is not the first time that those with the Commercial Rights, over what has been for the last six decades my most favourite of all spreads, have messed about with perfection. 

Everything was fine and dandy in the world of brewers yeast for most of the twentieth century under the stewardship of The Marmite Limited Company and indeed for a short period after having been acquired by pseudo rivals on account of them being beefy based, Bovril. 

Those iconic dark glass jars ,metal screw lids and the unique livery had remained substantially unchanged for the duration and contributed to the very homely association of the product amongst the proportion of the population who like it. 

I did at one time have a full collection of the jar sizes in their original form and they were the first things to be carefully wrapped and packed in successive job induced house moves. 

In the interests of authenticity I didn’t bother to wash any of them out. That was essential of course in the event that they could, in the very distant future ,possibly be some of the only surviving artefacts of this post industrial era. 

I hate to think that those traces of Marmite could not be genetically replicated and made available to humankind or others. 

A radical change took place in 1990 when one of the largest food companies in the United States, CPC International Inc purchased the Trademark name. At face value they appeared to be safe hands for a heritage type product as they were themselves almost as old as Marmite having been founded in 1906. 

Some of their own portfolio were household names including Mazola, Hellmans and Knorr. 

It was not to be. Soon after having been taken into American ownership there was a rebranding and with the wonderful metal lids being replaced in cerrated edge plastic ones. I also noticed a thinning down of the quality of the jars. 

CPC changed its trading name in 1998 to Best Foods and through the machinations of the Corporate World a subsequent merger put the trademark on the product shelf, the very extensive one, of Unilever. 

Somewhere amongst the to-ing and fro-ing there were the abominations of squeezy delivered Marmite, various alcoholic traces in the form of Guinness Marmite, Marston Ales Marmite, Champagne infusion and even a chocolate manifestation. 

I generally approved of the introduction of Marmite on snacks like Twiglets, rice cakes, crisps and other snacks purely because of the fact that it is in an otherwise unadulterated form. 

However the impending launch of Marmite Peanut Butter is stepping over the line of spread credibility. 

Unilever claim it to be a natural progression and that it is what the Nation has requested although I suspect that in Brexit Type Speak that is not very convincing and I would welcome an opportunity to see the marketing research and what demographic of the public took part in such a critical process. The Unilever web page as of today showed that in a poll of 23079 and counting the split of opinion was 59% to 41% of those who would put it on their toast. 

It could be the case that a bus load of Americans happened upon the Focus Group organisers as any true Marmite Officianado would send any clipboard carrying individual away with a flea in their ear for raising the very idea of the combination. 

I just hope that this ill thought out venture does not bring about a decline in overall Marmite consumption and cause Unilever to re-assess the viability of this bit of food history in the competitive and global foodstuff market. 

Pig Walking in Easy Steps

It just crossed my mind.

If I wanted to take a pig out for a walk could I just do it?

Well, clearly not according to the strict Rules and Regulations in force in the UK for keeping a pig, even a teeny, weeny pet in the form of a micro-pig. I have studied and summarised the guidelines issued by Government which state as follows;

You are considered to be a pig keeper if you keep a pig or ‘micropig’ as a pet.

You have to follow the same regulations as pig farmers. ‘Micropigs’ are pigs bred to be small so they can be more easily kept as pets.

You cannot keep a pet pig at your home until you get a county parish holding (CPH) number from the Rural Payments Agency (RPA). You must also tell the Animal and Plant Health Agency (APHA) that you’re keeping pigs, within 30 days of your first pet pig arriving on your land.

APHA will give you a herd mark. Herd marks are 1 or 2 letters followed by 4 digits, eg A1234 or XY9876.

You will need this to identify your pig or micropig if you move it from your holding (apart from for walks).

You need to get a licence from your APHA to walk your pig outside your home or premises.

APHA may not approve your walking route if it poses a health risk, for example if it passes close to a such establishments as a livestock market , pig farm or a fast food restaurant.

You must have your licence with you whenever you’re walking your pig, and you’ll need to renew it every year.

You must tag, tattoo or mark your pig with identification details if you plan to move it away from your home or premises (eg for a walk under licence or to a market, pig farm or abattoir).

You must also report and record any movement of your pig ( I have taken this to refer to travel history rather than toilet habits)

You don’t have to report and record the movement if you’re only taking it for a walk under the terms of your licence.(ah, yes it does)

You cannot feed pigs catering waste from any domestic or commercial kitchen, including kitchens that only cater for vegetarians. Catering waste includes used cooking oil.

You generally cannot feed pigs material of animal origin or products containing material of animal origin. The following exceptions apply. You can feed pigs, liquid milk or colostrum produced on the same holding the pigs are kept on , former foodstuffs that contain rennet, melted fat, milk or eggs, as long as these materials are not the main ingredient ,milk, milk products and white water (water used to clean dairy equipment) in some cases (find out when you can feed milk and milk products to farmed animals) fishmeal, di-or tri-calcium phosphate, or blood products in some cases (find out how fishmeal, di-or tri-calcium phosphate, or blood products have to be processed before they can be fed to farmed animals).

You can get pig food from a premises that handles material that cannot be fed to pigs, but only if both of the following apply: the premises has a procedure keep material that can be fed to pigs separate from material that cannot be fed to pigs

Contact the Animal and Plant Health Agency if you’re still unsure whether you can feed something to your pig,

Happy Pig Walking after all that!!

Homer Alone

He is a moralist, a sage, the thinking man's non thinking hero, extraordinary human, role model to those who should know better and he can also come up with some classic comedic lines. Here is a collection of what are arguably the best of Homer's gifts to the world...........................

Operator! Give me the number for 911!

Oh, so they have internet on computers now!

Bart, with $10,000, we'd be millionaires! We could buy all kinds of useful things like...love!

Just because I don't care doesn't mean I don't understand.

I'm normally not a praying man, but if you're up there, please save me Superman.

Son, if you really want something in this life, you have to work for it. Now quiet! They're about to announce the lottery numbers.

Well, it's 1 a.m. Better go home and spend some quality time with the kids.

Maybe, just once, someone will call me 'Sir' without adding, 'You're making a scene.'

Marge, don't discourage the boy! Weaseling out of things is important to learn. It's what separates us from the animals! Except the weasel.

Donuts. Is there anything they can't do?

You know, boys, a nuclear reactor is a lot like a woman. You just have to read the manual and press the right buttons.

Lisa, if you don't like your job you don't strike. You just go in every day and do it really half-assed. That's the American way.

When will I learn? The answer to life's problems aren't at the bottom of a bottle, they're on TV!

Son, when you participate in sporting events, it's not whether you win or lose: it's how drunk you get.

I'm going to the back seat of my car, with the woman I love, and I won't be back for ten minutes!

[Meeting Aliens] Please don't eat me! I have a wife and kids. Eat them!

What do we need a psychiatrist for? We know our kid is nuts.

Marriage is like a coffin and each kid is another nail.

Kids, you tried your best and you failed miserably. The lesson is, never try.

The only monster here is the gambling monster that has enslaved your mother! I call him Gamblor, and it's time to snatch your mother from his neon claws!

When I look at the smiles on all the children's faces, I just know they're about to jab me with something.

I'm having the best day of my life, and I owe it all to not going to Church!

Lisa, if the Bible has taught us nothing else, and it hasn't, it's that girls should stick to girls sports, such as hot oil wrestling and foxy boxing and such and such.

I'm not a bad guy! I work hard, and I love my kids. So why should I spend half my Sunday hearing about how I'm going to Hell?

Getting out of jury duty is easy. The trick is to say you're prejudiced against all races.

It's not easy to juggle a pregnant wife and a troubled child, but somehow I managed to fit in eight hours of TV a day.

Lisa, Vampires are make-believe, like elves, gremlins, and eskimos.

I want to share something with you: The three little sentences that will get you through life. Number 1: Cover for me. Number 2: Oh, good idea, Boss! Number 3: It was like that when I got here.

Oh, people can come up with statistics to prove anything, Kent. 14% of people know that.

Remember that postcard Grandpa sent us from Florida of that Alligator biting that woman's bottom? That's right, we all thought it was hilarious. But, it turns out we were wrong. That alligator was sexually harrassing that woman.

Old people don't need companionship. They need to be isolated and studied so it can be determined what nutrients they have that might be extracted for our personal use.

How is education supposed to make me feel smarter? Besides, every time I learn something new, it pushes some old stuff out of my brain. Remember when I took that home winemaking course, and I forgot how to drive?

Television! Teacher, mother, secret lover.

Homer no function beer well without.

I've always wondered if there was a god. And now I know there is -- and it's me.

Kill my boss? Do I dare live out the American dream?

If something goes wrong at the plant, blame the guy who can't speak English.

I'm never going to be disabled. I'm sick of being so healthy.

I like my beer cold, my TV loud and my homosexuals flaming.

Alcohol is a way of life, alcohol is my way of life, and I aim to keep it.

All my life I've had one dream, to achieve my many goals.

Dad, you've done a lot of great things, but you're a very old man, and old people are useless.

But Marge, what if we chose the wrong religion? Each week we just make God madder and madder.

I think Smithers picked me because of my motivational skills. Everyone says they have to work a lot harder when I'm around.

Dear Lord.. The gods have been good to me. For the first time in my life, everything is absolutely perfect just the way it is. So here's the deal: You freeze everything the way it is, and I won't ask for anything more. If that is OK, please give me absolutely no sign. OK, deal.

That's it! You people have stood in my way long enough. I'm going to clown college!

Beer: The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems.

If something's hard to do, then it's not worth doing

I'm in no condition to drive...wait! I shouldn't listen to myself, I'm drunk!

'To Start Press Any Key'. Where's the ANY key?

Scarum tactics for the Under 10's

I say that scaring your children on a fairly regular basis is character forming.

I do not mean meat cleaver through the door and a screwed up face amongst the splintered woodwork saying 'Daddy's Home', or anything that could actually place them in harms way but a periodic frightening to emphasise a point or ideally with some educational value.

That was my thinking behind the elaborate and actually quite spooky exercise that I thought would be both interesting and stimulating to my three young children during an autumnal week away in Northumberland.

The village scene of Bamburgh, in particular the stone built houses and a red phone box are regularly featured as the theme for jigsaw puzzles and 'guess where?'quizzes. The typical range of merchandise and souvenirs from the gifte shoppes ,either toffee, fudge, boiled sweets or just tea towels and framed art prints bear the same images. Within perhaps half a mile there is however an unprecedented choice of heritage and historic associations that could easily fill a wholesalers warehouse on a Newcastle Trading Estate with bric a brac and something to proudly place on a display shelf or eventually relegate to the back of a kitchen drawer.

Just up the road lived Grace Darling who, with her father, crewed and rowed out one stormy night to rescue desperate souls whose ship was foundering on the treacherous rocky outcrops of the Farne Islands.

However, the most dominant and magnificent landmark between the village and the sea is Bamburgh Castle.

In technical and architectural terminology it is blooming massive.

The silhouette is easily recognised from some bit-parts and atmospheric scenes in high budget movies, I seem to remember it behind Charlton Heston and Elizabeth Taylor in the epic movie "El Cid" and more recently one of the Transformers releases.

It has also featured as a backdrop for various pop videos most notably one with a very windswept Brian Ferry.

The Castle rivals the best in England in terms of size and historic significance being located very much on the front line against attack and invasion from the north and the sea. First mention in archives of a fortification on the volcanic mound are from 547 AD and the list of occupiers, usurpers, besiegers and chancers includes early Britons, Anglo Saxons, Vikings, Normans, Tudors and a few noblemen, marauding Scots, powerful clergy and for much of the last century rebuilt and made commercially viable with the industrial based fortunes originating from a family dynasty in the Victorian period.

Our weeks stay was in an old coach house, set back behind the biscuit tin photo-montage of the through road, just past the chocolatiers, gourmet sausage makers and copper kettle signed tea shop. A low squat building in warm local stone which provided plenty of space for 2 grown ups and three active children.

The east facing frontage and the bedrooms in which the children were to sleep looked directly towards and with uninterrupted views of the Castle.

In the gloomy dusk light, about 4.30pm in autumn, the floodlights on the sidelines of the football pitch at the only level part of the village below the sheer outcrop were fired into action. Although some half a mile from our accommodation the white misty light was all intruding and cast shadows deep into our holiday house.

My conspiracy, innocently devised for entertainment and educational content for the children,had been planned some weeks before whilst I was sat in my office at work.

I am fascinated by things historical but my family, generally are less so. My constant regurgitation of facts, mostly true but with a scattering of urban myths, at every opportunity of a trip or day out may have resulted in their frequent glazed. "give it a rest Dad" expressions.

Over the time before the vacation I fabricated on the oldest office paper stocks a series of letters which would purport to have been written by three ghostly children who resided in some limbo-type existence up the Castle. These referred to my own children and  in real-time the correspondence mentioned their clothes, mannerisms and day to day activities as though being closely watched from one of the barred and arrow slit apertures high up in the west wall of the castle.

For the sake of authenticity I pre-soaked the paper in a weak solution of office tea and when dry, warped and a bit brittle carefully invented characters, emotions and aspirations for the three incumbents and wrote such in my best ink fountain pen with further smudges to add flavour.

Of course,there was no logic, sense or actual possibility in what I was fabricating but to me it seemed a bit of harmless, and yes, education based fun. My office were instructed to post out one of the sequenced letters every day for the week.

The home town of Hull postmark would not be noticed if I intercepted the mail on the doormat before taking it to my children.

The ruse was very effective, not so much in its learning value but ensuring that my children were, for much of the stay, petrified of showing themselves in the windows at the front of the house or indeed anywhere in the village which could be overlooked by the fictionalised, and frightening vapour based castle occupants.

It took some explaining and incentivised reassurance to retrieve the situation and the confidence of  the children, suffice to say that the trading figures for the village gift shops all showed a very unseasonal profit for an autumn week.

                                    All photos taken today on a short break to Northumberland

North Ferriby United RIP

Everyone who follows a specific football team, even the most fanatical and obsessive of fans, will admit to having a second favourite that they like to keep an eye on when the results come out.

It could be because of a family connection, a place where you use to live or just out of a strong sense of supporting an underdog.

In my case that second stringer has changed a few times.

The first team that I  supported as a child was, of course, one of the big six in the English League. I knew at that early age that it  was important even in the Junior School Playground to belong to one of the Peer Groups based on footie.

In the 1970's my first choice team won just about everything going domestically and in Europe and although glorious and affirming I must admit that the success was, well, just a little bit boring.

So I chose a smaller, lower league team and their ups and downs, trials and tribulations in any one season gave that essential edginess and unpredictability to sustain interest across the whole season from August to the following May.

As I moved around the country with my family I maintained allegiance to the same top team but latched onto a local team as well which led me to adopt the likes of Ipswich Town, Scunthorpe United and latterly, North Ferriby United.

North Ferriby who?

Yes, they are a non-league team from a well to do commuter village to the west of Hull. Home games are on a compact ground bounded by a railway line, sewage works and private housing. In many respects they are no different to hundreds of part-time, amateur and casual weekend teams across the UK and indeed on a wider global catchment.

North Ferriby United ,however, more than most epitomise the spirit and endeavour of grass roots football. They overachieved massively for their lowly status with an honours list including League Titles as they climbed up the hierarchy of the game and peaking in the 2014-2015 season with a Wembley victory in the FA Trophy Competition. They were on the fringes of the Football League in 2016 but then everything seemed to go wrong, on and off the pitch

As of yesterday, 15th March 2019 they ceased to exist, mid campaign, under a Winding Up Order.

Many teams of infinitely more funding and resources have teetered on the edge of Insolvency.

That precarious financial position can be down to a number of contributing factors borne out of unrealistic expectations, vanity,  poor ownership and management.

I do not intend to get into the nitty-gritty of the events and personalities as these are documented well enough in the North Ferriby United Fanzine Twitter Feed.

As well as following their results, typically on a Saturday afternoon, I did attend a handful of games although these were mainly the pre-season Billy Bly Trophy match where North Ferriby United took on Hull City.

At one such match I was privileged to be seated in the Executive Box as one of my friends, a resident of the village was the match ball sponsor. The VIP area was not much more than a breeze-block bus shelter and accessible only by walking with a sideways stance around the narrow clearance to the pitch- side. Granted, it faced north and so there was no squinting into the sun on what was usually a balmy summer evening. I sat next to Howard Wilkinson, former Leeds United Manager and at that time, I think, in charge of the England Under 21's as he watched his son play.

Today's match in the Evo Stik Premier Division North, the eight tier of the hierarchy of English Football, against Bamber Bridge in Lancashire is postponed because of the off pitch issues.

No Official comment has been made but the fate of North Ferriby United should send a shiver through the whole of the professional and amateur game.

Arctic Role

I have just bumped into the former Priest at the Church where I used to regularly attend. 

He is quite a bit more frail than I remember but not unexpected given that he has battled and won through against throat cancer in recent years. 

In spite of his stiffened limbs giving rise to a slowness he has not lost that steely eyed determination that led him, nearly 30 years ago, to participate in a perilous maritime adventure in Arctic waters that so inspired screen writers, producers and directors that it was brought to the big movie screen with a stellar cast of British Actors and was received with critical acclaim. 

The big adventure that played out in 1991 centred on the quest of a pleasure boat operator, Jack Lammiman,  based in the old whaling port of Whitby, himself a native of God’s Own Country, Yorkshire, to celebrate two of his heroes, also sons of Whitby, and their achievements in the 18^th and 19^th Centuries. 

They were father and son, both called William Scoresby who had sailed in the same waters and beyond in pursuit of whales and for the sheer adventure of being explorers at a time when there were still unknown territories to be discovered and with the enticing prospect of claiming to be the first human to see or experience something in those places. 

The Scoresby legacy also included the invention of the "Crow’s Nest" lookout by William Senior and the development of a compass that could be used in the emerging technology of the Victorian Era of iron hulled ships by William Junior. 

What better tribute to the Scoresby Dynasty, in the mind of Lammiman, than to assemble a fleet of Whitby based boats and sail to a former whaling base in the Arctic Ocean and leave a commemorative plaque. 

It was an ambitious idea given that the base, Jan Mayen island lies 370 miles north east of Iceland and at two thirds of the distance between Greenland and Norway. 

The intention of a flotilla did not materialise and Lammiman, or Captain Jack, realised that he would have to go it alone. 

His old 65 foot long Danish Fishing boat was good for inshore excursions with holidaymakers and keen anglers but would have to be officially approved by the Maritime Authorities for anything more ambitious on the open sea. 

It was not good news after an inspection by the local Ministry of Transport Inspector who ruled that a lengthy list of defects would have to be rectified to an approved standard even for Jack to go out of the shelter of the River Esk Estuary and Harbour wall. 

It was a matter of safety violations relating to life jackets, fire precautions and general equipment. 

Further complications arose with the plan to take along my former Priest in a sort of official clergy role and others including three senior citizens and a retired traffic policeman. 

The technical difficulty of such a planned expedition elevated the boat to an altogether different status with Regulations demanding, instead, qualified  crew members. 

The pressure and expense of complying with the legal requirements was too much for Jack. 

However, rather than just give up everything it was early one July morning in 1991 that the boat and makeshift compliment slipped away from Whitby and headed North up the coast for the four week trip which on the outward leg was via The Shetland  and Faroe Islands.  

A summer time-frame was essential as this would hopefully avoid the worst of the icy sea conditions around Jan Mayen Island. 

My old Vicar has always been a people person but it seems that the older passenger-deckhands, some of whom actually paid Jack a daily rate for the privilege, did not take to each other and there was much grumbling and back-biting by all accounts. 

The duped Maritime Authorities were on the case and the boat was monitored by a Fisheries Protection Aircraft but Jack was a cunning adversary to the extent of altering the appearance of the boat, taking avoiding action when the radar showed a potentially hostile party and taking on supplies from the shore at night. 

Green stripes on the hull of the boat were in the style of a certain well known Eco-Group to add to the confusion over identity and the whole of the superstructure also had a part-paint job during the trip. 

A Diplomatic Incident was brewing over the plans to make a landing on the island to assemble a sort of cairn on which to mount the commemorative plaque. 

A telephone call by one of Jack’s acquaintances to the Norwegian Embassy in London from her Whitby Caravan Park resulted in permission to do so. 

It was my former Priest and a 69 year old collaborator who took the small dinghy with its outboard motor on the next perilous stage. The little engine developed a fault, actual landfall was difficult and there were fears of attack from Polar Bears on what was for much of the year an uninhabited island. 

After fulfilling the purpose of the expedition the return to the boat presented further life threatening dangers as the engine failed and an offshore wind caused them to drift off course for any rendezvous and in freezing fog as well. 

My friend was suffering from a broken rib as well as palpitations from being a heavy smoker in the very cold temperatures and feared for his safety before eventually being thrown a line by Jack and hauled aboard. 

The flight from the Authorities began to catch up with the intrepid adventurers. 

At first there was an issue of having no money to pay for refuelling in Iceland until one of the by now exhausted passenger-deckhands gave over his emergency funds. 

There was something of a heroes welcome on the return to the Whitby Quayside with the exception of the Ministry Inspector whose subsequent report led to a Court Case and imposition of a fine. 

Jack was of course a bit short of money and in lieu spent four days in prison for non-payment. 

What must have been, for much of the time, an exhilarating but also terrifying experience did get the Movie makeover in 1999 with Bob Hoskins in the role of Captain Jack in a comedy genre film of the same name. 

My former Priest was unhappy about the interpretation and representation of the events and personalities for the sake of commercialism. 

This is summed up in the opening titles to the Movie where it is acknowledged that it is based very loosely on a true story. 

Only those who were there know what really happened. 

Happy Birthday to World Wide Web aka The Internet.

Hard to believe that when first speculated upon some 30 years ago it was described as "vague but exciting".

In the same way we were wooed by politicians and those entrepreneurs ahead of the game about the Super Information Highway and how it would allow us to do so much more in so much less time.

Wait a minute though.

I seem to remember being told in my schooldays, a quarter of a century further back in time, that we were being educated in order to work smarter and we would have so much free and leisure time because of technological advances in just about every aspect of our mortal lives. That and the prospect or rather what I took to be a promise of a paperless office.

These visions of my future were seductive and very encouraging because I had seen what the hard slog of work had done to my parents and grandparents to their health, happiness and overall quality of life.

We were told that we would be the first generation to actually see the things dreamt up in science fiction as real things.

So what has the internet done for us?

It has produced, for one thing, a window for the extremes of human behaviour. There are heartwarming and tear invoking stories to be found but at the same time there is the outpouring of depravity and perversion to those actively looking for it or stumbling upon it with innocence and the inevitable aftermath of distress and shock. I will not even start on the subject of "Fake News".

The internet is approachable to the majority but also capable of excluding or alienating the few.

There is an immediacy in providing access to breaking news but leaving no time to stand back and carefully consider the wider picture and the representations by all parties involved.

It is both amazing and frightening how a story can evolve via the internet. I am not too sure that we are mature enough to differentiate between propaganda, mischief and the truth when delivered to our PC's, laptops, mobile media or perhaps one day in a direct feed to our brains.

True, the internet has opened up the world and gives the impression that we are working towards a global community but it also serves as a window and then an open door on fundamentalism, extremism, terrorism and to highlight the great inequalities and injustices that we as a Civilisation, by now, would have hoped to eradicate.

The internet has brought families together whether separated by a street, an ocean, a religious divide or a longstanding misunderstanding.

We are all traceable as we leave a digital equivalent of a fingerprint in the system. This opens up a whole tranche of conspiracy theories about big brother surveillance, identity theft, misrepresentation and misdirection.

The internet is, on the whole, a good thing, an everyday assistance, it provides a route to information at the downward stroke of a key, it solves problems, and keeps us in touch with each other.

That does not mean that we have to like it or trust it.

Happy Birthday anyhows.

Memories of the Minty Mountain

Apart from the obvious printed "Best Before" date on the wrapper you can never be too sure how old a bar of Kendal Mint Cake really is.

It is perhaps one of the most stable and dependable products on the planet in that it's characteristics are such that it does not freeze nor at the other end of the thermometer does it melt. Interestingly its invention in or around 1869 was down to a batch of, as the legend says, glacier mints being boiled for too long and with the resultant tasty residue only being discovered the next morning of the production run. The combination of the overcooked caked texture, the minty flavour and the fact that all of this took place in a Bakehouse in Kendal made it pretty easy to give it a name. That was fortunate given that the person who stumbled on the famous mix had the surname Wiper which does not have the same sort of aura and commercial viability (unless selling things to clean a windscreen)

The properties of being able to cope with extremes put this unique confectionery offering on the shopping list for those planning an expedition whether deep in the desert, jungle, up a mountain or at the far ends of the Earth.

Of course the composition of sugar, glucose and peppermint oil make for an ideal source of energy for the most demanding of situations and with endorsements from Adventurers of the calibre of Shackleton, Hillary and Tensing, Boorman and McGregor you can appreciate the demand for those seeking to emulate those who strived in difficult terrains and climates in those halcyon days of exploration and human endeavour.

My Father was in the category of Kendal Mint Cake Officianado.

There was always a bar of the stuff in the glove compartment of the family car even though none of us knew how long it had been there. It remained pristine in its wrapper for, I would say, more than two decades and not only that but it was transferred between a few successive family cars along with the more usual contents of the glove box. 

We were in awe and respect of such a pedigree item and its historical back-story . Even though we, as children, may have been very, very sweet toothed on a particularly long car journey or just bored if it was a bit of a tedious trip we knew that a nibble or even a sniff of the ration bar was out of the question. My Father must have been very close to breaking that Kendal Mint Cake bar out as survival rations as he would avail us of many stories of difficult motoring conditions including snow drifts and fallen trees but they were not, in his opinion, sufficiently extreme or perilous for all that to justify such a thing.

I did have a bit of a personal craving to taste the famous Kendal Mint Cake and my long time membership of the Scouting Movement did give me access to the source of the delicacy on the occasions that our Troop had a summer camp in the English Lake District . That was however only if our tented camp was within a bus ride of the town of Kendal.

In those days the genuine product was not as widely distributed and sold as it is now and so it was the case that an actual mini-expedition was necessary to get some.

I can truthfully say that, to me,  the taste was not the main attraction. In fact it is quite hard to eat too much of it even when struggling along on a countryside ramble or under the exertion of defying gravity on a mountain hike. Too much sugar doesn't half make your teeth ache. The glucose element is not really that noticeable as it takes some time to get into your system. Strong peppermint can make your nasal passages painfully open to freshened air.

There is actually more kudos in just leaving the bar in its wrapper in and in keeping it for years and years in a safe but easily reached place.

As my Father would say it is best to have some Kendal Mint Cake stashed away- just in case.

Other brands and flavours are available,

English Lesson 5

Thanks to a gent called Kevin Hale the clever wordplay of some of the best Comedians and Raconteurs has been saved for countless generations to enjoy or express confusion over.

These are yet more contortions and distortions of the English Language as part of a regular feature of the BBC Radio Show "I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue" over the last two or more decades.

I am up to English Lesson 5 with the letter "E".

I thought this might be fairly lean pickings at first but the various contributors have not slacked at all in producing some real gems.

Egret- an apology sent by computer

Executive- Professional Hangman

Ergo- She went

Elemental- a Spanish Village idiot

Enrage- getting into an argument over poulty

Ee-by-gum. The taking of a recreational drug orally in Yorkshire

E-Commerce- Business in Yorkshire

Engineer- someone pointing at the back of a VW Beetle

Escoffiere- an internet cafe

Escapee- there's always one that gets off your fork

Elevenses- Welsh Family with dual Spanish Nationality

Endorse- last in the Grand National

Explain- Concorde

Evanescent- a fancy aftershave for Welsh Men

Ersatz- Liverpool Milliners

Exclaim- alimony

Extemporary- permanent

Equip- a clever comment on the internet

Economist- thin and weak fog

Extort- a graduate from college

Egocentric- the Yolk

Elegy- an adverse reaction to poetry

Esplanade- an attempt to explain something when drunk

Ethics- an English County just East of London

Expense- old coinage

Expensive- no longer thoughtful

Expert- a big saggy

Excaliber- former drinker of a type of alcohol free beer

E-mail. What a Yorkshireman says when he gets a postal delivery

Enquire- raucous singing by a group of women celebrating an approaching wedding

Erratic- a virtual attic

Exceed- a plant

Engender- determining the sex of chickens

Excrement- a drop in salary

Emotions- a virtual poo

Earwig- barely a toupee

Euro- the order given to slaves on an ancient galley ship

Eavesdrop- the gutters have just fallen off the house

Ecstasy- former member of the East German Secret Police

Elbow- famous Spanish archer

Elude- naughtiness on a computer

Encumber- the last cucumber

Epic- choosing a computer

Erection- is the Chinese people were given the vote

Excite- now a housing estate

Expect- now wearing contact lenses

Extent- the aftermath of a hurricane through a camp site

Laxative and Poetic Licence

Following on from yesterdays musings on Pontefract Cakes here is a wonderful and evocative poem written around 1954 by the great John Betjeman on the very same subject of licorice and the town of Pontefract, West Yorkshire.

His emphasis is more on the lusty and sensual aspects of the plant than the laxative one.

Not Betjeman or even in Pontefract

The Licorice Fields at Pontefract 

by John Betjeman

In the licorice fields at Pontefract

My love and I did meet

And many a burdened licorice bush

Was blooming round our feet;

Red hair she had and golden skin,

Her sulky lips were shaped for sin,

Her sturdy legs were flannel-slack'd

The strongest legs in Pontefract.

The light and dangling licorice flowers

Gave off the sweetest smells;

From various black Victorian towers

The Sunday evening bells

Came pealing over dales and hills

And tanneries and silent mills

And lowly streets where country stops

And little shuttered corner shops.

      She cast her blazing eyes on me   
                           

And plucked a licorice leaf;

I was her captive slave and she

My red-haired robber chief.

Oh love! for love I could not speak,

It left me winded, wilting, weak,

And held in brown arms strong and bare

And wound with flaming ropes of hair.

I have taken the liberty and apologise for adding what would be a suitable final stanza of my own.

Eh up, young Man, she said to me

As I languished in her ardour

You've trod all over all me lovely plants

And just made my honest labour harder

Get out this field as quick as tha' can

For goodness and pity's sake

What's next, tha' knows, you'll have your hands

All over me Pontefract Cakes.