Driving In My Car

In a dispassionate act, aimed at easing potential transportation issues for my fragrant chum Sarah’s two young grandkids (Rory & Gracie), yesterday I included Ossett’s finest onto my car insurance cover. The rationale behind the indemnity modification (well, apart from me being an inherently kind fella), was a conclusion my four door vehicle would provide…

Life Without The Scamps

Despite being very happy with life in the Wakefield apartment whose occupancy I’ve just undertaken, my brio levels are somewhat impaired by tenancy edicts barring me from looking after canine buddies Deano and Zella. Consequently the furry duo, who’ve lived with me for a couple months at my late mother’s home, have returned to reside…

Yorkshire Day

1st August 2022 – Whether they’re spending the next few hours bah t’at or wi’ t’at, I’d like to wish my fellow Tykes a Happy Yorkshire Day. For the uninitiated who’re confused about this tattery of which I speak, they’re references to lyrics within the unofficial Yorkshire folk anthem On Ilkley Moor Bah T’at. It’s…

There’s No ‘T’ In Bradford

As a consequence of her broad West Yorkshire dialect, my fragrant buddy Sarah has an endearing habit of pronouncing the city of Bradford’s moniker as Bratford. A minor quirk which, although captivating, makes me occasionally remind her “Similar to there’s no ‘I’ in team, there’s no ‘t’ in Bradford.” Upon receipt of GJ Strachan’s mischievous…

Symptoms

“I felt like I’d been dragged five miles along cobbled stones by a shire horse named Gloria, who, upon arriving at Wakefield cathedral’s vast wooden doors, sat on my chest as it shared a Costa latte and a natter with her equine buddy Maisy.” This inaugural paragraph of this narrative my response to a friend…

Wine, Winning & Song

As a stickler for adhering to old wife’s advocacies, GJ Strachan faced an (admittedly small) conundrum yesterday afternoon. This infinitesimal poser manifesting during discussions with a friend about 1970’s UK punk band The Sex Pistols. The episode playing out when I was questioned about the title of their only studio recorded album. Although acutely aware…

Little Dog On The Prairie

Substitute Laura Ingalls skipping through a wheat field with the short legs of a Lhasa apso endeavouring to navigate a way through overgrown park grass, and yesterday’s dog walk provided scenes not unlike the iconic starting credits of Little House on the Prairie. The sheer joy on Deano’s face certainly compared with the young girl’s…

The S**t Shop

Individuals who know me will vouch, when it comes to what makes me laugh, I’m sporadically liable to regress back into childhood behaviour. Episodes where I’m prone to belly laugh over the most randomly innocuous or absurd whimsical events. An example of this during my fledgling years played out as a ten year old. An…

His Bite’s Worse Than His Bark!

At around midday yesterday yours truly walked a tentative, yet still curious, canine into an Ossett dog grooming salon. Bereft of his coat trimming for several weeks, along with being visually hampered by unkempt facial hair, he looked like a neglected waif and stray. Incidentally, the neglected waif and stray was the dog, not me….