Of course, we had it tough

August 13, 2010

tags: cr, Currencies Direct, Living In France, Lords Taverners, Moving To France

The quietest day I have had in weeks is, as I write, about to get noisy. The good menfolk of Yorkshire were up at the crack of sparrows fart, diligently going about their working day “lickin roads clean wit tongue” or whatever they do as Monty Python would have it, whilst the woman of the house is scrubbing the front step, then scrubbing the washing on a stone, before leaving it on the washing line to get wetter with every passing shower.

Thus I am alone in the house and without the incessant chirupping of that nice lady decorator, who has an uncanny ability to stop my train of thought or interrupt me at a vital moment…hang on that’s the phone.

Yes, it was her, just to see how I was getting on. Now, what was I saying? After a quiet day working – which at my intensity, is about a weeks worth for anybody else, I was ready to try to find a pint of amber nectar in the form of Timothy Taylors Landlord, probably at the Bracken Fox, luckily one of the only 2 pubs in Yorkshire, which I admit I was very lucky to discover.

However after I had battled through the elements, I found that they serve only something called Leeds Best. Now I invite you to spend a few seconds considering that incongruous title, Leeds Best. If you follow football then it does not bode well. I risk life and limb with a timid request, do they perchance they have Fullers London Pride on draft?, the best beer in the world? but I suspect not, I reckon those sensible folk that run Fullers would never let any of their real products north of about Coventry. The reply is predictably frosty, a little like the weather was last night I should think..

So Leeds Best it was, something of a contradiction in terms methinks, but thirst is an easily gratified animal and I confess that with my thirst it was, after all, well, beer.

I considered a walk yesterday afternoon, between Wednesdays and Thursdays work schedule, but as usual the heavens opened and rain cascaded in sheets, this time accompanied by thunder, lightning and wind, the latter helped by some of my own production, possibly caused by the last vestiges of what I suspect was tripe laden pasta I was fed last night, departing my system.

So, with my weeks work finished a little earlier than I had expected, I contemplate one more full day in Yorkshire. So far the fake moustache and my genial attitude has allowed me to remain incognito, but I am aware that at any moment my harsh, but fair, comments about Yorkshire may be revealed.

The weather forecasters have finally forsaken their chirpy up beat predictions, and have reverted to form, so I suspect that cricket tomorrow will be fitful at best, and more likely the result may end up being decided in the bar.

breast bat

My picture today is of a bat called a Bosom Bat, being used by either an Australian or a Yorkshireman on Wednesday, how classy!

I discover that on Wednesday when I helped guide the Lords Taverners cricket team to a famous victory over our Australian counterparts, that we actually had a former England cricketer in our ranks in the form of Richard Blakey. Curiously for a wicket keeper, he wanted to bowl off breaks, which he did, badly and at considerable expense to the team. Dick, as he was known, certainly by me, during his spell of bowling, is a charming Yorkshire character nonetheless.

Also appearing for us was, one Chris Chittel, another charming old thespian who had a glint in his eye, taking time off from his role as Eric Pollard in Emmerdale Farm, apparently an everyday tale of Yorkshire folk.

Home on Saturday to dry out and warm up!

Chris France

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