Hot Flushes.

Andrea has lived in our village for a while now. She`s one of our many local do-gooders and specialises in collecting the Christian Aid envelopes. Anyway, I had to endure twenty minutes of tedious doorstep drivel when charitable Andrea decided to describe to me in quite unecessary detail all about her recent bilateral oophorectomy (I think in veterinary parlance the old girl had recently been spayed.) Which immediately begs the question; how can Mecannylad tell whether my Cocker Spaniel is having a hot flush or not ?!

Remembering Dr Harold Shipman.

Mecannylad never minds going to see my GP; he`s actually a canny old stick if the truth were known. The thing I don’t care too much for however are doctor`s waiting rooms. They give me the willies for some reason. I remember the last time I was there things were running a tad late as usual. The place was full to overflowing with old purple rinsed ladies in see-through rain capes and polythene rain hoods.

I thought ….. Harold Shipman would have passed out with joy here !

Happy to be an old Crack-head.

You`ll never get a word in edgeways.You`ve just got to let Hilda rattle on about her numerous ailments; after all, she`s getting on a bit. Anyway, sharing them with all and sundry seems to be therapy in itself for the dear old bat. Discussung the medication for her arthritis is Hilda`s piece de resistance. She delights in telling the world that she is on double strength Esterene.

`It’s the trade name for crack cocaine you know!` says Hilda proudly`

Dib-dib, dob-dob.

There`s hell to play amongst our Senior Ladies Flower Arranging Group (average age 72) who meet in the village hall every Wednesday. Following an absurd risk assessment visit from some crazy Council Health and Safety guru they have all been instructed to wear canvas gloves whilst using secateurs and handling wire … or the group will be closed down. Cheezuz, heavy handed or what?

And even more ridiculous – hold your breath - the old dears are having to undergo a Criminal Records Bureau check just because their flower arranging class is on the same evening as the Boy Scouts … and the village hall only has one lavatory?!

Nymphomaniac or OCD ?

I`ve got to be careful here. You must understand that this is only hearsay …. but rumour has it that a certain respected lady in our S32 postcode area was well known as the Hope Valley nymphomaniac in her younger days.(apparently)

This same laissex faire lady who is now so OCD she uses an egg timer on her tea bags.There`s something not right here, I can`t believe it, Mecannylad needs to get to the bottom of it all.

Made in Japan.

Eyam born and bred,grand old Frederick is in his nineties. He apparently had his knackers messed about with in a Japanese POW camp (by the Japanese I suppose !) and consequently even now won`t let anything into his house that has been manufactured in Japan. Mecannylad quite understands the sensitivities involved here … but it`s a bit of a bugger I suppose when it comes to choosing reliable electrical items these days.

Fred`s Bush TV and Pifco radio are always going on the blink.

The trouble with prunes.

Mecannylad isn`t normally lucky when it comes to raffles, but surprise surprise the other day I received a call to say that there was a prize for me to collect down at the village hall. Lo and behold I had won an ornate hand woven wicker basket filled with home produce, the likes of crystallised ginger and pickled beetroot and that sort of stuff. Oh,and prunes soaked in sherry sauce which I subsequently blame for giving me the shits incidentally!

Nice as it was,the damned prize was hardly worth getting the runs over …. but could it be a sign that my luck was changing ?

Not on your Nelly. Mecannylad was informed on collecting the hamper that the basket was only for display purposes and could I please return it when I had emptied it!

Furry knickers and dodgy ovaries.

What a glorious day it is here in the Peak District. It`s too hot to go out and Mecannylad is quite happy to sit in the shade of my overdraft reminiscing about the good old days … when Raquel Welch wore furry knickers, dinosaurs roamed the back steets of Byker and my canny granny had my nine aunts and uncles on only half an ovary.

Those were the days. Sixty six years on and still Mecannylad hasn`t sussed how to cross the magical line and gain access to power, privilege and wealth.

Another G&T pet …. when you have a minute.

Curly Wurlys and snooker balls.

I want to know why it takes two people to empty the Christian Aid charity box on the counter in our local Tea Rooms.They come once a month without fail. One fella is as bald as a coot, always in immaculate white chinos, navy double breasted blazer with brass anchor buttons, red open neck shirt, puffed up royal blue spotted cravat ….. I would say a cross between Captain Nemo, Coco the Clown and a snooker ball. The other bloke ? Well, how can I put it? …. he`s simply the spitting dab of Terry Scott in those Curly Wurly adverts from years ago. In more than one sense they are two funny buggers if you ask me.

I`ve told the manageress to take down their credentials next time. But I know she won`t.

Radishes & Acupuncture.

Mecannylad always keeps an eye open for interesting guest speakers booked to appear at our local village hall.`Looking after your Radishes` and `Acupuncture and Pelvic Pain` is a tremendous double header booked for next Monday evening......Pity I`ll miss it. Pheew!

Sausage Alert.

An alert has gone out around the village today as our butcher tries to trace a batch of dodgy sausages he made the other day.They could be a health risk if eaten says the notice he has reluctantly had to put up in his shop window.

If eaten eh? ……. as opposed to shoving them up your arse I suppose. What the hell does he think we do with bloody sausages ?

Dessous de Table

Welcome to Eyam, where neither kumquats in the greengrocers nor gay couples in the high street are quite in vogue yet. But we can boast a new assistant Curate who enjoys a tipple or two ! Mind you when he comes into the village pub he is at pains to take his dog collar off and stuff it in his inside pocket. He says he doesn`t feel so bad when he listens to all the dessous la table being negotiated by the local spivs in the bar!

Cronyism, Chichi and piss elegant.

I have heard on the grapevine that our village pub is considering ripping out the atmosphere and trebling the prices in an effort to make the place more chichi and piss elegant for the in-crowd.

The likes of Lord and Lady Ruff-Diamond, Dr Windy Spasm and Sir Billy Bile-Duct and his cronies will be ever so pleased.

Chocolate heaven.

Got to tell you. The other day Mecannylass spectacularly miscalculated the mood of a long standing local tradition here in our lovely conservative little village when she donated a (shhhh!) 9 inch chocolate novelty penis (tut, tut) as a prize for the church raffle. God only knows where she got it from in the first place …. but to openly donate it to the church !!! What a little bugger … she must have taken leave of her senses. Anyway, straight up; who should win it but our dear old spinster neighbour Hilda ! You couldn`t make it up.

Hilda later let on that she`d taken the edible dick home and really enjoyed it !

Blame it on the Sat-Nav.

Just as I am the first to admit that Mecannylass is at one with Mother Nature she surely has to acknowledge that she is at sixes and sevens with technology. Recently we were trying to drive from home to Manchester airport using the sat nav app on her phone … and ended up in a field … in Altringham. Funny though, Mecannylass paid the self same field a second visit when we were returning home from Manchester airport several days later !

Then she had the bloody cheek to say it was my fault for holding the damn phone the wrong way round !!!

Casanova`s piles.

Mecannylad can`t help but compare Eyam to Peyton Place. Nowadays  Casanova`s piles make him walk like a prosthetic gorilla … but what the hell, the old stick still obviously has a twinkle in his eye. Without so much as a twitch of a net curtain this particular villager – I shouldn`t name names should I really ?! - has been banging the dinner gong with one particular neighbour for a good few years now whilst still living over the road with his mother. All three of them are bloody well heeled pensioners these days !!!!

Dinner is served m`lud.

Being one myself Mecannylad is fascinated by fat gits.

Sometimes all my heart yearns for is a bit of variegated drivel … and I got it by the bucket load this morning. I was stopped in the street by this chatty Scots tourist. Apart from the accent Jock`s nationality was obvious really; ginger hair, short legs, long body, and he was so portly you would have thought he had had a space hopper for breakfast. Anyway, it turned out he was a retired archeologist of all things who had dug up a lot of old Iraq in his time. Christ knows what he wanted in Eyam. He was looking for the public toilet.

Just thought you might be interested !!

Blue tits and a damp chamois leather.

Mecannylass always feels uncomfortable when the window cleaner is due. She was still in the bedroom yesterday examining her fine body for emerging imperfections when he appeared outside the window with his damp chamois leather. She quickly moved along to the bathroom …. and there he bloody well was again. Mecannylass was being stalked; she couldn`t have a shave in peace. Then he knocked at the front door.

“Have you had your putty checked lately madam ? … I think the blue tits are at it”

Honestly,she`s a gibbering wreck.

Who`s that in the twattish Panama hat ?

Mecannylad loves small talk … its big talk like politics and religion that bores me. And another thing … I cherish ineptitude; flaws are what make a person.

I don`t think I have ever mentioned this Turps Nudger with the black labrador from the other side of our village. I suppose its not his fault that the poor bugger looks more like Lurch from the Addams Family …. despite this he is hell bent on modelling himself on that bloke from daytime TV`s Bargain Hunt programme. You know the one I mean … spectacles on a fancy coloured rope thing, twattish panama hat, Rupert the Bear waistcoat, Hopalong Cassidy pocket watch. Our particular plonker reeks of public school and Brut (and I bet his father drove a Riley Elf and wore leather driving gloves.) He tells me – surprise surprise – that he`s `into antiques.`

In other words the tosser runs a f ****** second-hand shop.

Smoke Alarm advice for the deaf.

That`s the subject of the talk being given by this month`s guest speaker at the Peak District Octogenarian Luncheon Club.

Good luck mate.

`They asked me how I knew ... I of course replied, something here inside cannot be denied …`

(Sometimes I am so easily amused it is frightening!)

The oldest petrol-head in the village.

Mecannylad thinks it really is time old Hilda packed in driving. Lately it has been known for passing tourists to stop and stare in disbelief at our dear own 88 year old petrol-head bouncing from kerb to kerb doing a ten point turn in her battered canary yellow Lada Riva. Even the onset of macular degeneration doesn`t stop her from getting behind the wheel …. she never looked where she went anyway!

Taking the p***.

Mecannylass is a sucker for reading newspaper horoscopes. Goodness knows why she wants to believe in such tosh. Anyway, in yesterday`s stars it was decreed that someone close to Mecannylass would be embroiled in a `waterborne adventure`

Little did I know later on that day, whilst Mecannylad was taking a toilet break at a motorway service area, a lense from my glasses would pop out and fall directly into the men`s urinal…… Does that count as a waterborne adventure I wonder ? … or am I just taking the p*** ??

Get your hijabs out for the lads.

What`s all this silly hoo-hah that’s prompting a possible ban on the wearing of hijabs in public? Come to your senses, please. Have you seen the standard of nubility roaming the streets of Chesterfield lately? If it were up to Mecannylad I would be postively insisting that the local Vestal Virgins – Muslim or not – make the most of their hijabs thankyou.

Teatime with the Transylvanians.

Surely taking tea in the imposing Chatsworth House Tearooms here in the heart of the Peak District should be nothing other than a nice little quintessentially English experience. Sadly the fact of the matter is that these days you are as likely to be served by a surly, burly, shifty and threateningly silent Transylvanian waiter than a chirpy and chippa English rose of a waitress.

 

Thinking about it though; I suppose the gulf between this new breed of eager migrant worker and us workshy Brits will always remain unpalatably feudal and vast …. so why should Mecannylad be surprised at one or two sullen Vlad the Impaler lookalikes popping up where you least expect them to.

Duran bloody Duran.

Mecannylad is looking forward to the London Olympics. What a wonderful opportunity for us Brits to showcase ourselves as a truly worldclass country who are not only proud of a multi talented heritage but also completely at home in the 21st century.

So why then is this bunch of zero talented tossers topping the bill at the Big Pre-Olympic Gig in Hyde Park? Cheezuz ,man ….. couldn`t we do better than that ?

The best shag in England.

Mecannylad was in mixed company in the village pub the other night. I didn`t know where to put my face when the conversation got round to nicknames. Infact I felt decidedly uneasy when a few of the older regulars openly started to refer to the landlord`s wife as ….. Old Shag Wilson`s youngest daughter.

OK …… hands up …….. so Mecannylad wasn`t to know that her grandfather`s firm were famously the biggest and the best snuff suppliers throughout England in the 50`s and 60`s !

Get well soon.

Perhaps it`s a Geordie thing. Mecannylass is a sucker for poring over greetings cards in great detail before ever buying one. The verse inside is particularly important; it has to convey exactly the right message. She was looking for a get well card for a friend the other day. A card with the words along the lines of: `Get well soon. I had what you had …. but only worse.`

Fancy cakes and surgical trusses.

Mecannylad is off to Venice to serenade Mecannylass for a couple of days.The website blurb describes our hotel as being situated in the heart of a vibrant shopping parade where you can buy anything from fancy cakes to surgical trusses….. They must have known we were coming !

Tsunami coffee trifle.

Hilda, our enigmatic village elder, has been rather quiet of late. Mecannylad puts it down to the awful weather - I don`t think we need worry too much though. By all accounts she was in the Post Office queue only yesterday telling anyone who cared to listen about the torrents of flood water cascading down her driveway from the adjacent waterlogged fields.

`Just like that dreadful tiramisu that hit Thailand a few years back.`Hilda bemoaned.

We know what you mean Hilda.

What a relief.

Mecannylad couldn`t resist a quiet chuckle when I read about the silly rat-arsed foreign diplomat who was tasered by Special Branch the other day. Apparently they had caught him peeing against the wall of Tony Blair`s £5m Central London townhouse at three o’clock in the morning. Naughty boy.

Rather an over reaction I thought ….. the poor bloody diplomat was only doing what Blair had done to the rest of us for 13 long years !!

Pre-loved ladies.

The testosterone fuelled chat in the pub has it that you would have one hell of a search on your hands if your intention was to track down a sweet and innocent young local lady these days...... and is it really worth it?

But on the otherhand there seems to be a sort of Bermuda Triangle of preloved, low mileage country lasses between Bradwell to the north ; Tideswell to the west and Stoney Middleton to the east.

Now don`t all rush at once.