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

Editorial

For whom the bell tolls I hear thee cry, lest he who be spoutin', find himself half the man well past when he have best departed. 'Tis the last from that windswept tavern, that lonely bastion of common sense and earthy folk. As thou reckons it's been an experience shovellin' the mass of thou's Northern wisdom on to anyone who pays the time to listen or care. So will thee not join us for final delve into tomb of antique but relevant knowledge; the gabblins of the professional Yorkshireman.

Ye olde pub chat

As me 'n brother made way to ye olde town for weekend spree, we circumnavigated giant telly yon Victoria square. Now thee been told that giant telly cost a pretty packet and sum of English pounds. On slight sight of surrounding acres there was but one weather-beaten tramp makin' idle use of pricey attraction. Now as in these troubled days where war and famine hang heavy in the air like the avengin' angel of death, where parts of the globe teeter on the brink of absolute poverty and disease.

A snapshot of an average Western town shows a nameless, homeless man with his own 15ft by 20ft plasma screen TV. And that ladies and gentleman is why the world is buggered up to Bognor.

Yester week ended up to no good and the rest. Like an alcoholic on shore leave, the bar was mine and mine alone. Not without company though. Me 'n Lee Cassanova (the writer's writer) were joined in merriment by a somewhat friendly Latvian sailor. Much to say that stereotypes proved chiselled in stone as indeed this Eastern European seaman got us absolutely Wat-Tylered.

Somethin' did occur to thee amongst the irregular spouts of unrememberables, that even though this Latvian sailor spoke no English and we nether the Latvian lingo we were able to exchange each cultures terms of abuse. So there we have it the global language of insult. If ever a tight spot befall me down Latvian way, thee may not find the Discotheque but tha least thee twill be able to tell someone to sling their hook in a gratifyingly offensive manner.

Crap Jest of t'week

The fact that this column has been allowed to last even this long is the biggest joke of all.

Common-sense from the common man

Napoleon, hell bent on destruction leads the evil armies of France in the invasion of mainland Europe, in a battle that could change the history of the modern world, one man stands between him and victory, … the DUKE. Raised in the hard streets of New York, him and his band of plucky Americans must avoid their …WATERLOO…in cinemas near you!" Slightly elaborated thee agree, but thou get me meanings. Hollywood has mutated from Silver screen entertainer to official historian for every unthinking deadbeat from Chicago to the Congo.

Was History not interestin' enough, did the renaissance not include as many gangsta rappers as would be seen marketable, is the fall of the roman empire quite a nice bedtime fable but lacks the humorous edge of Eddie Murphy. And do not get thee goin' on war films, Bloody Hell!

Thou might be forgiven for thinkin' it was them rapscallion upstarts from across pond who stood up to Hitler's hordes. Let's just leave out the minor truth that us snooty nosed, port quaffing, nancy boys shut out Herman Goerring and his flyin' thugs well before Captain America straddled the waves. Not to mention the Ruskies, who meat grinded their men into fine dust on the Eastern front, who by all accounts could ave won war with one armed tied behind back and the other fingerin' capitalism.

Apologies t'the board, tha be rantin' bit too much, thee thinks, but tis matter that will not cease to infuriate thy savage man-breast.

Avin' sent the studio cheeses a letter of wise disagreement, they giveth back in earnest that though my opinion as an obscure English tosser was valued, 'twas of no use to them and would be processed fully in the lawsuits in-tray. By-eck, tis least of ar worries, for in spiteful retaliation they've released a whole vast of movies with Yankee actors playin' Yankeee heroes. The God Bless America series they've called it.

-Keanu Reeves overthrows the Communist government in the Bullshuvit revolution -Julia Roberts discovers Australia in Captain Cookie: the sassy female with an attitude years -Kevin Spacey defeats the Zulu's at New Rorkes drift -Donald Sutherland invents the wheel -And why the hell does every disaster movie have to include NEW YORK!

Ale of ye week

There will be no ale of the week in this final foray. In fact there will be many real ales to be had. Tha be off to t'pearly gates of the city hall t'night, were men (and women) will submit without abandon on the altar of fermented vegetables. Aye, ye twigged on, it's the 2004 real ale festival of Kingston upon Hull.

A 50ft bar with some of the greatest ales in all of county and beyond. Praise be given, for in that holy nectar of mans retreat twill we struggle to go on.

In a society which depraves itself on material gain, where GAP and Gucci, orange skin, bleached blonde hair, Burberry caps, celebrity worship, cheap goods, manufactured lagers, reckless violence, prejudice, suspicion, mass media, footballers, global warming, plastic surgery, terrorists, Linda Barker, religion, corporate megalomaniacs, cancer, over-crowding, GM crops, chat room paedophiles, apathy, ponchos, speeding tickets, the dead risin' from their graves to exact a terrible revenge, seem intent on ruinin' everythin' for rest of us.

On a planet such as that, tis easy to succumb to madness, so I say to thee, come in, drink up and fight the good fight.

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