| Posted: 01 November 2010 at 3:12pm | IP Logged
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“Gather round gang, we’ve got a booking for the last date of this year’s tour.”
“Where to Peter, is it Kirren Island?” said Ian enquiringly.
“No.”
“Is it Billycock Moor?” asked Robert.
“No.”
“Peter, why doesn’t anyone ever re-book us?”
“I don’t know John; I reckon it’s just another mystery.”
All of a sudden a dog jumps at the four friends, barking loudly. “Woof, Woof!”
“Oh Timmy quiet down you daft dog.”
“Robert throw Timmy a stick that will get rid of him” said Peter authoritatively.
“Couldn’t we give Timmy away to some local farmer?”
“But if we did, we would no longer be the Famous Five.”
“Oh Peter, I’d not thought of that.”
“But we could be the Famous Four,” added John cunningly.
“Right come on, we need to pack our camping gear because we’re going up north to Yorkshire.”
“Who decided we should go traipsing so far up the country?” said Ian argumentatively.
“I did,” said Peter. “I’m the chief of the Famous Five, because in a nutshell I’m the oldest and the cleverest.”
“S’pose you’re half right then.”
Then they all set too gathering together their equipment before the start of their next semi-musical adventure.
Robert stopped and had a worried frown, “Peter, what’s it like in Yorkshire?”
“Glad you asked. I got a book from the school library called the Strange Tribes of the British Isles. I checked in it and it says that beyond Yorkshire it gets quite odd, they start calling you pet and why’I this and why’I that and then even further north, well it really is strange. Daggers in socks, deep fried confectionery, their pop drinks made with iron, tartan travel rugs wrapped round their waist, and you definitely need a translator and I could go on for ages. Well anyway to cut a long story short a man from Italy came over and he’d had quite enough of their bad behaviour so he built a big wall to keep them out, his name was Adrian.”
“Doesn’t sound very Italian to me being called Adrian?” Queried John.
“I suppose John you reckon your smarter than a book from the school library now! I can tell you it’s called Adrian’s Wall. But don’t worry we are only going as far as Yorkshire.”
“It looks awfully high up on the map Peter.”
“Yes and my geography knowledge makes me think that they are high up from sea level.”
“They’ll grow different crops then.”
“Of course, Yorkshire tea.”
The Famous Five mulled on that that insight for a moment.
“Right five, has anyone any musical tips for this final gang show?”
“Yes,” replied Ian. “At school Mrs Droneydrawers told us the difference between a normal drummer and an electronic drum kit.”
“Which is?”
“On an electronic drum kit you only have to punch in the instructions once.”
“Woof, woof!”
“It’s Timmy again, get down you mad mutt. Look at his tongue hanging out and he does slaver so.”
“Throw him another stick,” said Robert.
“Timmy now has two sticks he will make an even bigger jolly racket.”
As the dog ran off they turned again to Peter.
“But what are the Yorkie people like Peter?”
“Ah I’ve checked. They are a timid, shy lot and they apparently have no strong opinions on anything. So when we start playing we’ll have to try hard to break down their fabled layers of reserve. Hopefully they’ll be able to manage to sing-along with our trademark Oh, Oh, Oh. And as well it states that they live in a time-warp, so expect them to be theeing and thouing.”
“Peter, are you sure we should be going up to such a place, and I bet its cold on the bleak moors of Yorkshire?” Raised Ian somewhat apprehensively.
“Not bar tat. Translation my famous friend, on Ilkley Moor bar tat, means on Ilkely Moor without a hat. So we will each go with a tat,” replied Peter in a leaderly fashion.
“Tat, that sounds like our normal stage wear,” said John.
“Ah but did I say they were very generous folk, they are always the first to put their hand in their pockets.”
“Yeah and that’s where it stays. My uncle reckoned a definition of a Yorkshire man is a Scotsman stripped of his generosity.”
“So we’ll be taking all our in-built 1950’s normal prejudices and stereotypes with us?”
“Of course that’s why we always get the dirty tinker, foreigner, Gypsy, circus worker, strange looking person who must be a thief etc into trouble with the police,” noted Peter smugly.
“Why are we still doing these gang shows and why aren’t there any girls in our Famous Five,” asked Robert worriedly.
“I know, I know,” said John excitedly. “My mother said girls have more sense and we’re all suffering from arrested development.”
“If there is any arresting to do John, then I’ll get straight onto our local PC Nickalot at the police station,” harrumphed Peter.
“So why do we still do it, is it the magic of the music?”
“No.”
“Is it the inspiration we bring into people’s lives?”
“No.”
“Is it the wonderful people we meet on our travels?”
“No.”
“Is it all the fun and games, the banter and feeling like we’ve never grown up?”
“No.”
“Why then?”
“The free food of course. Easy as ABC, the Alice Bacon Centre. Dear Alice will laying on the bacon butties, it’s the bacon centre of Yorkshire! Lashings of tasty porkie-pork. Remember the creator of all things, yes dear revered Enid. Now if you spell her name backwards, what do you get, DINE of course. Gobbling grub is my friends, our raison d’être.”
“There are raisins?”
“No, but eggs.”
“Yes, heavenly eggs!”
“Yorkshire here we come!” chorused our five friends.
Edited by rod williamson - 01 November 2010 at 3:48pm
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After The Fire Forums : ATF Gigs
Topic: Five go to Yorkshire
