Tales from the Lonely Tavern - Edition Four By King Rat - Professional Yorkshireman

Editorial

How do kinsman and other lesser bein's (am only jestin' ya). August 1st on Sabbath was national Yorkshire day, by glad to say that thee rejoiced without limitations. In one day thee crossed the boundaries of North, West and Eastern Yorkshire, walked the moors, a pint a' Theakstons and consumed a well cooked piece a' rump. Now that's patriotism at its finest, none a' this foreign bashin' mindless bigotry, just a man, his beer and the simple love of his land. Altogether now… Where has tha' been since I saw thee, I saw thee On Ilkla moor ba'tat

Ye olde pub chat

Beer garden, repeat after me "Beer", "Garden", champion! Never has horticulture seemed so appealin'. Leafy glades and hand pulled ale, benches and in some cases, tiny chipmunks scurryin' ahead. It was what thee calls the booze base, the first pub on an evening's sesh. The meetin' place in which tha meets tuthers, then others, and then hunt is afoot.

Whether it was this heady combination of sun and mead which spurned ar thinkin' caps to plateaus anew, chatter hurriedly turned to the sublime.

One of ar members (identity not revealed for obvious reasons) was in restless mood. Unhappy with the state of things that were, are, and bound to arise, he felt longin' to change his lot. Now nay offence to the ambitious heel-biter for cravin' fame, riches and wicked wantin's, but subjectin' thou's self to highly dangerous amounts of nuclear waste in attempt of becomin' a super hero is not the answer.

I advised my friend for the sake of his own interests and rightly so, that the only super-hero he would become under long exposure of the baneful effects of radioactive gamma rays, would be leukaemia-man. Crime fightin' has never been so wheezy.

To be plainly bluff as tax and cockney gangsters, thee was lucky to be out drinkin' that night at all. Only spare moments beforehand thee stumbled (accidentally) upon ar lasses female friend in shower. A most pleasant event, for the girl in question's not lackin, if thou knows what thee means. But with all honesty a can say not one 'o' five senses experienced anything - gospel - I bet she's eyein' this right now, Oh shi…

Crap Jest of t'week

How many Cracktown fans does it take to change a light bulb? WHAT FANS!!! (That joke will be funny only to people who have actually seen a Cracktown gig, or in this case not.)

Common-sense from the common man

With the vast array of problems in today's livin' its easy to ponder sometimes why people go doo-lally get me the tight white jacket flip-side up. If thou pay attention to news on box, paper or wireless for more than a passin' moment these days, it's bound to turn thou mucked up and gibberin'. Even so, most of us just dust down and pull thouselves together. What we would consider the ruff and struggle of modern life, tuthers are prone to that nasty little word of the English language - therapy.

Sit on a couch, pay giant amounts 'o' money for people to listen to tha and pretend to care. Why don't they just get married? "Please, please tell me why I'm a useless human being and what this has do with the girth of me Jack Sugden", self absorbent tripe it's what thee ridicules it. Overpaid cretins who don't know they exist unless someone qualified tells em they do.

Imagine listenin' to some lily-livered screwball (most likely from the Cheshire region) pourin' their woeful problems onto thee's shoulders, got enough of me own misery for that. Most of my muckers wunt dare darken the door of a psychological surgery for fear of been put down. What thou is tryin' to say amongst this illiterate dribble is there's no point in worryin', as we say up north, grin n bear it.

Ale of ye week

Belhavens fruit Beer (%) - Belhavens The closest you'll get or want to get to Vegetarianism. That leaves a bad taste in the mouth, not the beer, Vegetarianism. Nown again it's a nice change to have somethin' a bit different, a tipple than expands thou's own taste buds to the limits of drinkin's pleasure. Aye, there are somethin's in this cosmos of ours that shouldn't be tampered with - cloning, opal fruits and bizarre packages left in financial districts, but if ale can have a twist put upon it for a happy end then why not. Not that thee be sayin' lets rape and pillage the sacred ales by addin' hint of lemon, and a sprinkle of cocktail umbrellas, far from it thee dares to make straight. Just we could all do with a change, and what better to broaden horizons with a quenching beer.

From first sip to journey down oesophagus this ale keeps a level fruity taste. So it lacks the fulfilment of the classics, but it makes up for its weaknesses with invigoration, the sports drink of the pub environment, red bull, don't make me laugh.

Coming up in Edition five - the last edition.

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