The thin line between success and failure...

                                                 

It’s Saturday, and it’s 33 degrees. All the miscreants and reprobates who are domiciled up Scropton Street back snicket are awakening. The paddling pools have appeared from absolutely nowhere. Every front garden has one that is 80% duct tape and 20% hope. There are at least six kids in it, one lolloping Lurcher, and Uncle Derek cooling his cans of Carlsberg in the same water. The shirtless tattooed blokes have emerged like they’re migrating for summer. Pale as a packet of Richmond sausages by 12 noon, then resembling a lobster thermidor by teatime, still insisting, “I don’t burn, me.” The ambience outside is a fascinating mix of Factor 30, Lynx Africa, Hollands meat-and-potato pies, coupled with the rancid pong of No 32’s wheelie bin that’s been percolating nicely in the heat since a week last Monday. Non-Stick Nora has purchased a 15-quid fan from B&M and is acting like she’s installed full air conditioning in her hovel. Meanwhile, Barmy Alberts nan is sat in the conservatory wearing a buttoned-up cardigan and opining: “It’s not that warm.” The local Facebook group is in meltdown. Half the posts are “Is this your dog?” The other half are people moaning about kids playing outside. “Can they stop screaming?” Karen, it’s the first sunny weekend we’ve had in about eight months. They’re feral now. Accept it. Meanwhile, Tommy Grabknuckle is washing his Skoda with Fairy Liquid while blasting Max Bygraves’ 12inch Megamix cassette tape on his ghetto-blaster loud enough for three adjacent postcodes to sing along to. By early eventide, there’ll be at least two blokes arguing over whose turn it is to visit the corner shop to buy more ale, someone's kid will have lost his front teeth, and the air ambulance will probably be landing because Big and Daft Dave thought it’d be a good idea to do a backflip off the shed roof into two feet of water. Such is life.

                         

 

Fascinating Fact: In football, there's a thin line between success and failure. It’s called Hadrian's Wall.

Further Fascinating Fact: Many moons ago, Little Richard once helped me with the gardening. He lopped all the rhubarb; he lopped bamboo.

TV Top Tips: Watching a fabulous show on Netflix called “The Snotty Conk.” It’s streaming now!
                                  

Young Woody Eckerslyke asked Barmy Albert if he could help re-turf an entire field so he can stage a civil war re-enactment over the Bank Holiday weekend. Albert said: “Sod that for a game of soldiers!”


The missus will NEVER have to worry about me being unfaithful. She’d have to arrange it, forward plan it and then remind me of what time I’m supposed to be there. Then she’d have to tell me what to wear and yell at me while I’m getting ready and tell me that I’m going to be late.

Renowned master of bunkum and baloney, Chester Draws was in his local pub, The Pitt Bull and Stanley Knife, trying to chat up his ex-wife in a futile effort to rekindle their failed relationship. However, she wasn’t having any of his pleading, because she realised that he was only after his money back! Divorce is like algebra. You look at the X and think Y?



Thought for Thursday: A baby’s laughter is one of the most wonderful sounds that you will ever hear. Unless it is 3 am, you are home alone, and you don’t have a baby…

                                                  

Phew! What a scorcher!

                                  

Great news for Scotland fans! If you purchased your Scotland shirt during the World Cup, you should still be eligible for the 14-day returns guarantee. 

Barmy Albert phoned young Willy Eckerslyke yesterday and sez: "I've just had a massive argument and a fight with Non-Stick Nora. Have you got a spare bed for a few weeks, until I can find a flat?" "I'm afraid not," Willy replied, "but I've got a sofa, if that's of any help." "Spot on!" he said. "You're an absolute superstar. I'll send her round in a bit."

After all the roasting-hot weather last week, I've been convinced that I require some manner of cation. However, I need to ascertain if it's a vacation, staycation, medication or maybe intoxication. I apologise for the alliteration.



Upon entering 10 Downing Street, Andy Burnham discovered a letter from Sir Kier Starmer. A short cover note informed him: "Welcome to your new job. Please find herewith three envelopes. Open and use when the going gets tough". So, all is well for the first few weeks, and then Andy finds himself facing increasing criticism and pressure, so he opens the first envelope and reads: "1) Blame the previous government". He makes some speeches in parliament and for the press, and the criticism and pressure subsided for a brief spell. However, nothing lasts forever, and poor Andy discovers his approval rating is beginning to suffer. So, he opens the second envelope and reads: "2) Blame the media". With a few suitable speeches, he manages to convince his detractors that he is the victim of a concerted campaign by the media in the pocket of his enemies, and once again, all is well for a while. Unfortunately, things get worse once again, and Andy Burnham finally turns to the third envelope. Taking a deep breath to avoid a panic attack, he opens it, unfolds the paper inside and reads: "3) Prepare three envelopes."
                                        

Barmy Albert's boss asked him, “Why do you come out in a terrible rash when I give you your wage packet? Albert thought for a moment and replied, “It’s because I’m allergic to peanuts!” Non-Stick Nora knew of his nut allergy and used to play Russian Roulette with him, using a bag of Revels…



It’s a sad depiction of society today, when you hide under the bed naked to surprise your wife, then remember you don’t have a wife, and now you’re banned from IKEA.



I woke up this morning with a face full of yellow rice. I must have nodded off as soon as my head hit the Pilau…



Octogenarian Tommy Grabknuckle was sitting at the bar of his local pub, The Pitt Bull and Stanleyknife with a saturnine grimace and looking quite forlorn. "Wassup Tommy?" asks Dastardly Derek, the landlord. Tommy tells him, "I got the words 'Jacuzzi' and 'Yakuza' mixed up." "So?" asks the bartender. And Tommy replied: "Now I'm in hot water with the Japanese Mafia."



Renowned master of bunkum and baloney, Chester Draws is playing golf by himself on a quiet Sunday morning. He comes to a par three over the water and takes out an old scuffed-up ball to hit. As he addresses the ball, he hears a heavenly voice: "Put down a new ball." He looks around, then goes to his bag and unwraps a brand-new Titleist Pro V and tees it up. He hears the majestic voice again: "Take a practice swing." So, he steps back and takes his practice swing. He hears the voice again: "Put down an old ball."
                                         

Do any of my readers know how I can get rid of eight full-grown lions? I think I misunderstood the meaning of ‘Pride Month’.



After an awful argument with the mother-in-law, I told her that there’s a special place in Hell reserved especially for her. Without any hesitation, she gave me an evil smile and sez: “Yes. It’s called a throne!”

                         

 

The Last Farewell...

Yesterday, we bid farewell to an old and valued friend, Dave Robin (aka MacDonald).









We first met in the halcyon mid 1970's, when gigs were aplenty and so were many other temptations of showbiz, which we took full advantage of regularly.

Post gig, we would assemble, along with all the other acts, in The Long Bar on Oxford Street, Manchester, together with most of the exotic dancers from the Bertie Topham stable at The 21 Club, where I was Emcee and Dave performed his sixties extravaganza. After staggering out of the Long Bar, we'd invariably visit Charlie Chans restaurant in Chinatown for Goldie Hawns in Men of Harlech (Prawns in garlic- Teppanyaki style) and further liquid refreshment. In those dark days, the restaurants weren't licensed to serve alcohol after 2am, so wine would be dispensed in a teapot, under the guise of Chinese tea!




He worked at the Golden Garter 1969/72 With the G set trio, and also compered the venue.

Dave also played with The Ivy League for a spell.

He also attended Salford College of Music.



He was an avid comic writer and composed several humorous stories for Stockport-based publications and The Stage Newspaper. Dave always maintained that he bought a second-hand guitar off Adam Ant. It was £50, but Adam told Dave that for an extra £10 he would throw in a Stand and Deliver.

 

We saw each other most weeks and failing that, we'd exchange phone calls containing hilarious banter that was entirely nonsensical and worthy of Edward Lear's rhetoric.




In 1980, I was the best man at his wedding, and the Manchester club circuit was still mega-busy, with doubles at weekends and lots of midweek gigs too.










Rest in peace, dear friend. It was a privilege to know you. Life will be infinitely poorer for your passing.

                        

Straight Up Hormuz....

                                                     

Surreal Scenario: I’m still trying to comprehend the fact that in Makerfield, the Labour MP stood down to run a Labour candidate to remove the Labour Prime Minister. Moreover, folk still voted for Labour! Are we in a parallel universe?

There is something quite quirky and idiosyncratic about a middle-class British couple going for an afternoon sail and almost starting a war with Russia. It's very much like an Ealing comedy.

I ordered a deck of cards from Amazon, but they didn’t arrive, so I called Customer Services, and they told me that they’re dealing with it!

Non-Stick Nora has reached the unfortunate conclusion that her body is no longer a temple. It’s now more of a bouncy castle, which means anyone can have a go as long as they’ve got a quid and remove their shoes first. Yesterday, she told Barmy Albert that he’s not the most idiotic person in all the world, but he’d better hope the most idiotic person doesn’t die.”

Last week, Non-stick Nora’s dog died. In a futile effort to cheer her up, Barmy Albert bought her an identical one. Nora was livid and incandescent with rage! She screamed at Albert: “What the hell am I going to do with two dead dogs!”

Fascinating Fact: Whenever I point the remote control directly at the telly, nothing happens. However, if I accidentally drop it between the sofa cushions, it switches from Netflix to Amazon Prime, opens six different apps, changes the subtitles to Japanese, and mysteriously starts playing Christmas carols!

Three conspiracy theorists walk into the Pitt Bull and Stanley Knife pub and each orders a tankard of Farquharson's Auld and Filthy Ale. Now you can’t tell me that’s a coincidence! They were swiftly followed by a pessimist and an optimist. The pessimist declared: “Things can’t get any worse!” The optimist replied: “Oh yes, they can!” They were both right, and the pair of them went home sober…

Octogenarian Tommy Grabknuckle arrived home and was greeted by his wife, Elsie, who shouted: “What's going on? You have four penguins in the back seat of the car!” Tommy sez: “I know! When I stopped at the traffic lights in Stalybridge, they all jumped into the back seat, and now I don’t know what to do with them!” Elsie pondered this unusual situation and concluded: “You’ll have to take them to Chester Zoo.” Tommy thought it was an excellent idea and set off towards Chester. Later that day, Tommy returned with the same four penguins, only now, they’ve all got buckets and spades. Elsie asked: “I thought I told you to take them to the zoo?” Tommy answered: “I did. We had a fantastic time, so now we’re going to Blackpool beach!”
                                       

Young Woody Eckerslyke had a job interview and got into the lift at Scropton Street Skyscraper and went up to the 15th floor. As he was getting out, the lift operator said: “Have a good day, son.” Woody replied: “Don’t call me son. You are not my father.” The lift attendant says: “No. But I brought you up, didn’t I?” After his interview, Woody got back in the lift, and the same attendant was there. They descended in an awkward silence. Upon reaching the ground floor, the attendant confessed: “I’m sorry.” Woody answered: “Because you thought you were my dad?” The attendant shook his head and replied: “No, son. It’s because I let you down…” This joke is wrong on so many levels.

We all make terrible mistakes as we weave a weary course through life’s rich tapestry. Last night, I slept with my best friend's wife, and now I feel terrible. She must have given me a cold or summat.

                                             

  


                                                 

Life is a rollercoaster!

                                             

Non-Stick Nora was shopping up Scropton Street Precinct and spotted octogenarian Elsie Grabknuckle visibly upset and weeping outside the haberdashery, so she approached her to see what the matter was. Nora says: “Are you alright, Elsie. You look a tad crestfallen?” She sobbed and replied: “No, my best friend Cynthia passed away yesterday while we were at the MECCA Bingo Hall.”  Nora opined: “I’m so sorry to hear that you must have been close? Elsie replied tearfully, “Yes, we were very close. She needed number 37, and I was sweating on number 82 for the full house!”



Many moons ago, I recollect chatting to a lovely young lady in a hotel bar, and we became quite friendly. I asked her back to my room for an evening of unbridled passion, and I drank vintage Champagne out of her shoes. I was paralytic drunk for the next two days. She was wearing wellies.


                                          

It’s 2:00 am, and Barmy Albert is stopped by the traffic police driving a golf buggy and buzzing down the hard shoulder of M67. Albert is wearing a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and flip-flops.

The efficient policeman walks up and asks, "Alright, buddy, where are you heading in a golf buggy at this ungodly hour?” With a forlorn frown, Albert looks him in the eye and explains: "Officer, I am currently en route to a mandatory, high-intensity seminar on chronic alcohol abuse, the respiratory dangers of chain-smoking cigars, and the psychological toll of staying out late at the clubhouse." The copper looks around the empty motorway and asks: "Seriously? Who the hell is giving a lecture on that at two in the morning in this neck of the woods?" Barmy Albert sighs and replies: "That would be my wife!”



Fascinating Fact: AI won’t replace people. Folks who understand how to use AI will replace people, until AI replaces them too. Furthermore, AI will never replace natural stupidity.



I came home from my local pub, The Pitt Bull and Stanley Knife, and my wife sat me down for a serious discussion about our marriage. She gazed at me with much disdain and opined: “We’re at a crossroads in our relationship.” She continued: “One road will lead to hard work and total commitment, whereas the other is a dead end.” I replied: “That’s not a crossroads. That is a T-Junction.” That’s when the fight started!



I remember reading a paragraph in the Tameside Reporter a few years ago. It was a wonderful use of the word 'suspected'. It read: "A man was arrested on Market Street, Stalybridge, yesterday. He was suspected of robbing a launderette on Market Street. He was wearing 13 jumpers, some of which were still damp.”
                                   

Fascinating Fact: I can't get 10CC’s hit song "I'm Not in Love" out of my head! It's probably just a silly phase I'm going through. Moreover, I tried Gary Barlow’s new wine range last night and got really drunk. Can’t remember much of the evening, but just want to say that whatever I said, whatever I did, I didn't mean it.



Top Tip: You should always agree to a quick half-hour beer with friends, because that impromptu hour and three-quarters could turn out to be the best five hours of your entire life!



It’s difficult to believe that exactly twenty-five years ago today, will mark the day that I asked my girlfriend, soulmate and the love of my life to marry me. It’s even harder for me to believe that all three said no…

                                

The Kerfuffle Down Scropton Street Abbatoir...

                                     

The cost-of-living crisis is real! British people don’t actually recover financially anymore. Your income goes into the bank and immediately gets divvied up like a drug cartel payout. Mortgage takes half. Council tax, electricity, gas and water take the rest. Then Tesco somehow charges you eighty-eight quid for what appears to be a leg of mince, a jar of pickled herrings, a lump of scrag end and untold emotional damage. By the third week of the month, you’re sauntering around Lidl whispering: “Do I really need Fairy Liquid or should I start using paper plates and plastic cutlery? Nothing humbles you quicker than after one ‘quick trip’ to B & M. You walk in for four AA batteries and come out £46 poorer, carrying a bamboo bath tray, 14 snacks you’ve never heard of, a lava lamp, patio citronella candles (despite not owning a patio) and a Japanese ornamental Aspidistra shaped like a rugby ball. I also bought some essential oils. I’m wondering how I got through life before I started using them if they're so essential. Isn’t life grand when you’re barmy!

Busy week last week! Ever since joining the Glen Campbell fan club, I keep getting cards and letters from people I don’t even know. Moreover, I had to see my accountant yesterday. His office is on the 7th floor. I asked the receptionist if there was a lift, and she said, “We call it an elevator where I come from.” I reckon we were just raised differently.

Barmy Albert’s mum always told him to be a gentleman and give up his seat on the bus to a blind man. Yesterday, he lost his job as a bus driver.

Many moons ago, when I had my own flat, I remember taking this young lady back one night. Fast forward to the following month, as another girl and I lay on the bed, a mysterious voice announced: “She’s a stone lighter than the last one you brought home!” The girl asked me, “Who the flaming hell was that?” I replied: “It’s the memory foam mattress!” Curses! Foiled again!

                            

Non-Stick Nora attended an auction where she spotted an exotic parrot. She really wanted this magnificent bird, so she got caught up in the bidding. Unfortunately, she kept getting outbid, and the price kept rising, leaving her more tenacious with each bid. Finally, after bidding much more than she had intended, she won the auction. The parrot was hers! As she was paying for the parrot, she told the auctioneer, “I sincerely hope that this parrot isn’t defective. I’d hate to fork out so much money, only to get home and discover that he can’t talk!” “Of course he can talk,” replied the auctioneer. “Who do you think kept outbidding you?”

Yesterday, a strange woman (She had a face like a Chihuahua, chewing a wasp) approached me near the Scropton Street Abbatoir, and declared that she knew me from the Vegetarian group. I’d swear that I’d never seen Herbivore….

Barmy Albert was struggling with his accounts, where he had to separate the VAT from the gross amount. He called Non-Stick Nora and sez to her: “You’re good at maths, so maybe you could help me with this. If I were to give you £300 minus 20%, how much would you take off?” Nora replied: “Everything but my earrings!” Is she a temptress or a Jezebel?

The missus asked me to take her to see Pirates of the Caribbean. However, dropping her off on the Somalian coastline wasn’t quite what she expected. That’s when the fight started!

                                     

The Senseless Scropton Street Stand-off Scenario!

                                                  

Breaking News: Police in Dover have seized 5,000 litres of petrol concealed in a shipment of cocaine!

I’ve got two top-of-the-range EV’s. A Jag and a Porsche. I can’t see what people’s problems are. They look fantastic. The performance is great. Hardly any maintenance. The only small criticism is that if I really push them into a corner, they can fly off the track and get stuck under the settee.

My dad got fired from the M & M factory for throwing away all the W's. He lost many a good job through the sack. He used to work for a company that manufactured toilet rolls and light bulbs. Well, I think he did, because that’s all he ever brought home…

A woman called Tameside Hospital and asked: "I want to know if the patient Elsie Grabknuckle in Ward 7 is getting any better?" The Receptionist replied: "She is doing very well. She had her first solid meal today, her blood pressure is fine and if she continues improving, she might even be sent home in a couple of days!" The woman sez: "Thank God! That's wonderful news!" The Receptionist answered; “I take it you are a family member or a close friend!" Woman sez: "No. I’m Elsie Grabknuckle. No one tells me anything in here!”

                                       

I’ve purchased a new pair of gloves; however, they're both 'lefts,' which, on the one hand, is great, but on the other, it's just not right. I got them from the second-hand shop. Even the local prosthetics outlet has changed hands.

It’s that rough up Scropton Street, where Barmy Albert lives, you have to bring the doorstep in at night! Yesterday, a teenage thug threw a brick through his kitchenette window, and it hit Non-Sick Nora on the head, knocking her out cold. Albert ran outside and chased the spotty, precocious youth. then dragged him back to the house and pointed to the unconscious Nora in a heap on the floor. He grabbed a bread knife and shouted: “It's time to face the consequences of your unruly actions".. Quaking in his trainers, the yoof replied: "What are you going to do?" ”Me?" Albert replied, handing him the knife. "I'm not going to do anything. YOU'RE going to finish making my corned beef butty!"

I told the missus: “In all the twenty years we’ve been together, the only thing you’ve done is correct and contradict everything I’ve ever said!” She looked at me with much disdain and replied: “Twenty-one years!” That’s when the fight started!

Octogenarian Cissie Slopbucket was sitting at her husband's funeral when young Woody Eckerslyke leaned over to her and asked: “Mind if I say a word?” Cissie was pleased with his request, and told him to go ahead. Young Woody clears his throat and says: “Plethora.” And sits back down. Cissie looked at him and sez: “Thank you. That means a lot…”

                               

While I was parked at my local pub The Pitt Bull and Stanley Knife, I left my car unattended with my accordion on view on the front passenger seat. Upon my return, some scallywag had broken into my car and left another accordion!

An East Midlands Euro Millions winner is to buy Derby County Football Club. His wife told this newspaper: “God knows what he would have done if he’d got four numbers!!