Nutters

I'm often ask who my favourite Morris Dancers are. 
Without hesitation, I always plump for the Britannia Coconut Dancers of Bacup who will be thrilling crowds with their charismatic cloggy kerfuffles this Easter Saturday in Bacup of all places. A bit less well behaved than their white-flannelled hanky-waving cousins, this merry band of pom-pom toting troubadours will tickle your funny bone without a doubt.
I will, of course, be in attendance once again.
http://www.coconutters.co.uk/

Knitted yellow shorts

Don't ask me why, but a lot of the things I do in my 
life are because they amuse me, and sometimes as a very 
valuable by-product along the way, someone else is amused 
as well. I'm writing my friend Brian's life story at 
the moment. Well, my interpretation of it anyway. 
Only chapter 1 so far...
http://knittedyellowshorts.blogspot.co.uk/

Dear Sir Paul

Sometimes you've just got to let people know that 
you are not happy.

Food glorious food

My mate Tom Parker Bowles said that my Game Pie was the best that he had ever tasted. Now that's an endorsement, coming from a man who probably dines on game pie more often than your average pie-scoffer, him being practically royal and all that.

I was lucky enough to be selected to take part in ITV's Food Glorious Food which will begin screening at the end of February. Hosted by Carol Vorderman and judged by Parker Bowles and Lloyd Grossman among others, filming took place at the Harrogate Flower Show at the end of last summer. It promises to be a cross between Antiques Roadshow and The Great British Bake Off and is backed by Simon Cowell. Luckily the high-waistbanded one failed to make an appearance during proceedings. They've also produced a top quality cookbook to accompany the series and they've managed to shoehorn a few pictures of me in there as well as my recipe.

The most amazing milk-lady in the west

Our glamorous milk-lady, Bev is an amazing woman. Up to and including delivering your daily pint within hours, yes, hours of delivering her own baby daughter a few years back. She’s a really inspiring and energetic character and I love the stories she comes out with.

She recounted an amusing tale to me the other day.

She was snuggled up in front of a roaring fire one night during the recent bad weather of foot-deep snow, in her beautiful farmhouse nestled below Pendle Hill. But poor Bev was faced with a dilemma. Should she pour herself a large glass of medicinal whisky before she ventured out into the elements to feed her hungry flock of sheep? Or would it be foolhardy to risk such a warming luxury before undertaking such a rugged task? In the dark? In deep snow?

Of course, our sensible Bev took the only course of action that was the logical solution to this conundrum and poured herself a titanic tot of the amber nectar before embarking on her hazardous
mission.

‘but they know y’know, them sheep...’ Bev continued, ‘...they know when you’ve ‘ad a few — and they take advantage like...’

‘What do you mean?’ I said.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I had the sack of food on me shoulder and I walked through the field towards the flock. As I approached them, they spotted me and started running towards me. The first couple that arrived started jumpin’up before I could get the sack off me shoulders and another couple were wrigglin’ around me legs. Honestly, they could sense I was a bit squiffy. Anyway, they managed to knock me over and started tramplin’ on me legs and chest to get at the sack. By this time there were about 25 sheep in a frenzy around and on top of me and there was food and straw and sheep-poo everywhere, and I were covered from head to toe in it.’

Happily Bev managed to escape the woolly-backed bandits and high-tailed it safely back to the comfort of the roaring log fire. She deserved another drink after her ordeal in the field.

The next morning, very early and while on her milkround Bev heard on the radio, her favourite
insomniac DJ ask for listeners to ring in if they had experienced the consequences of a bad decision made while faced with a difficult dilemma.

And so on air, to her fellow early-hour risers, Bev began
‘...last night I made the wrong decision about whether I should ‘ave a drink of whisky before I fed the sheep, or after, well...’ she continued...

Quiet please

Sandwiched between Emporio Armani and a titty-bar on Manchester's Deansgate, you'll find the most beautiful and atmospheric building in the city — The John Rylands Library. It really is something. When you've had your fill of ogling scantily clad Eastern European jailbait and you can't quite decide between the monogrammed velvet pumps and the 'discreetly' branded statement handbag, pop in to this red sandstone cathedral of books and check out the buttresses on this. The building itself is accessed through a bright white, modern architectural foyer. Go up some stairs, across a glass bridge and then you will find yourself rather incongruously in an ancient gothic world of dimly lit caverns and exquisitely carved pillars and vaults.
So why the picture of A Clockwork Orange? Well, as an added bonus, on the top floor you'll find a fascinating exhibition of artifacts about Anthony Burgess and his controversial novel and its journey onto the silver screen. There are marked up film scripts, stills from the movie and letters between Burgess and the director Stanley Kubrick (a hero of mine).

Mole removal

Perambulating along the tranquil banks of the Hodder in Lancashire I came across a sight I'd never seen before. A mole graveyard. Except of course the velvet gentlemen in question are not buried here at all. Burying them would seem a little pointless or at least ironic, given their peculiar lifestyle. No these little fellas are impaled on barbed wire for all to see, perhaps to serve as a warning to other burrowing critters that the grim reaper is plying his trade in these here parts.
Bedraggled and eyes pecked-out by birds, these once myopic beauties have been pegged out by the mole catcher. Possibly to demonstrate to the landowner that the task has been completed but also to serve as a sort of macabre abacus to calculate the fee payable. Country folk, ehhh? Very traditional and a touch old fashioned — I love it. Not a Mole Slaughter Calculator App in sight. 
And in these parts, they even have their own Lancashire name for a mole — a mowdy.