Trouble with going t’werk

If you have been reading this column recently you will know that Peachy Butterfield and I are currently engaged in a series of north versus south banter blogs for yachting website Onboard Online. Whilst thinking about themes to develop in the coming weeks, I saw on Facebook something about twerking. Now I am of an age where I may be slow to pick up on current slang for sexual acts or even sexually alluring movements, but after a little internet research, I believe that twerking involves moving ones hips around, whilst squatting to hip hop or bounce music. It seems it is an amalgam of the twist and the jerk. If I have been tardy in finding out about its true meaning, think of those poor saps up north, well the few of them that have jobs, because if you insert an apostrophe in the right place it becomes t’werk, a phrase often used by chaps from Yorkshire when they are about to leave the house to take part in some useful labour, like down the mines or scaling fish, or cutting peat. I can feel the next banter blog writing itself.

Talking about righting ones self (ouch) yesterday was a day for quite contemplation of the benefits of having an account with Currencies Direct and recovery. I was not in the best of states after a fabulous luncheon at mine the day before, which culminated in some dancing, maybe even twerking, and although I have only a hazy recollection of events, the pictures on my phone tell the story. I do however recall James “Desperate Dan” the Landlord returning to collect his errant partner, the sensational and Mighty Omega, some half an hour after he thought she had followed him home. Amongst the items left behind were some keys, an iPad mini, cigarettes, flowers (although they may have been a gift), a lighter, a mobile phone and some more keys. There were only 6 people at lunch for Christ’s sake! I may have to open a lost property office.

Cricket practice at Arundel Indoor Cricket School

So a quiet return to gradual sobriety and a 5:2 diet day was punctuated by cricket practice with the Sussex Seniors in the morning. I was accompanied by Colin the Pirate, who had expressed the desire to attend cricket nets and bowl once again after some 20 years without a ball in his hand, well at least a cricket ball. He was a revelation. Eventually he managed get some deliveries to get to the end of the 22 yard (about 20 metres to you metric types) double sized net (about 6 metres wide -as shown in my picture above) without hitting the side netting. About an hour in to the session he told me he did not think the pitch was taking spin, but as I had not seen him pitch one by that time (apart from the one that bounced 6 times and then ran along the floor, before again hitting the side netting) I was unable to comment. I did think afterwards that he was trying to tweak (or twerk?) his deliveries. Now that should get the limericists juices up and running for today.

Having successfully negotiated the cricket practice with my new bat made for (newly retired from the international scene) cricketing legend Kevin Pietersen, although not without another reverse against Lloyd, the worst dressed cricketer I have even encountered, who bowled me with one that bounced twice – so in my book it does not count – I settled into a mercifully quiet evening to catch up on the TV overloading the Sky box hard drive, but by 9.30 I could stand no more of the banal offerings of modern TV and headed for my pit to write this lovely prose for you, my dear reader.

Chris France