Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

  Codewords. You might have seen these puzzles in the newspaper. You might be a fan. A crossword grid … but no clues. All the white squares are numbered. Each of the numbers, 1 to 26, stands for one of the letters in the alphabet. Your task is to discover each letter, And complete each word on the grid.   I’m sitting in my favourite seat, slipper-boots on, pen poised, Night Tracks on the radio, Mostly music I’ve never heard before, nothing too frantic or noisy. A peeled and sliced apple ready to eat. First step. The setter provides two letters to start you off. Tonight, it’s I and H and there are a few of each. I fill these letters in on the grid, double-checking I haven’t missed any.   Then the scrutiny begins. Where are the doubles? Where might the E’s be? There’s usually a lot of them. (But then there might also be a lot of S’s!) I search the grid for a frequently occurring number, And spot an eight-letter word with the second, ...

  It’s term time again, when disgruntled teachers and students are glaring at each other across the classroom, parents breath a sigh of relief and retired teachers raise a large glass of wine to celebrate. But not everything is doom and gloom. I chanced to look at some snippets I still keep from those halcyon days, so here they are for your amusement. Business students often get the wrong idea about the world of work. One young person informed me that ‘small businesses cannot have special offers to attack customers’. Quite fortunate if you regularly support your local shop. The Office Shops and Retail Premises Act apparently states that ‘Sedentary workers must be suitable in design’, though also specifies that ‘Clothing should not be worn during working hours.’ So if you’re a budding naturist, and are suitable in design, you’ll be in with a chance of a job. Spelling errors accounted for many a laugh in the staff room, even before we ‘helled a reunion party...

  Jen is a lion tamer, Or to be more accurate, she used to be. Or to be even more accurate she was a lion whisperer. No need for compulsion with Jen. She’d talk them into doing the necessary, Like roar, or jump onto a lion-stand (or whatever they’re called). The circusgoers loved it and called out for more. Jen did it for years, until one of the lions whispered back And told her they weren’t right keen on this performing lark and how about getting back to their homeland? She packed it all in the next day and went on safari with the lions, Back to their homeland.   Reg is a scrap merchant, Or to be more accurate, he’s now a materials recycler. No greenwashing for him, He does it all by the green book. His yard is too big to be called a yard. He calls it his operational zone. Likes his words, does Reg. Big heaps of ferrous metal And one of them magnet things, To attract the genuine article. Lots of non-ferrous as well, An equal oppor...

I had this girlfriend once, called Sally; she wanted to go to the theatre. It was to see a sort of Romeo and Juliette thing but with a happy ending, she said. La Nonnay Sanglantay, it was called. Translates apparently as Bloody Nun, and it was – bloody nunsense. There’s these star crossed lovers, Rudolpho (not Romeo) and Agnes. The families are at loggerheads, so to keep the peace, she’s being forced to marry Rudolpho’s older brother. She runs away by disguising herself as the ghost of the nun that’s supposed to haunt the castle. Rudi trots along to the rendezvous they’d arranged earlier, sees the ghost, thinks it’s Agnes, and marries it, witnessed, as he would be, by all his ancestors - who are also ghosts. Then he finds out it’s not Agnes. You’d have thought he’d have checked what was under the veil, wouldn’t you? Anyway, the ghost won’t let him go unless he kills the man who murdered her – I hope you’re following this, ‘cos I couldn’t until Sally explained it at the inte...

  “For Sale: baby bootees, never worn” Attributed to Ernest Hemingway, this ‘short story’ in six words always brings a sigh of sadness as we think of the poor parents who have lost a baby. But is this actually what it’s all about? Since the story is so vague, there are lots of other interpretations. Imagine two sets of grandparents, each determined to outdo the other. Each buy baby bootees. One chooses blue, the other chooses pink. Baby finally arrives and is … well, you can see what might happen. ‘ No, Douglas, we must be first with the bootees.’ ‘ But why pink ones, Mary? What if it’s –’ ‘ Our Sally is craving sweet things all the time and she’s carrying high. It will be a girl.’ ‘ Tom’s mother thinks –’ ‘ She has no idea what she’s talking about. She only has one child. I have had three! We will have a grandaughter, there’s no doubt about that.’ And so the bootees have to go, before Sally, Tom – and worst of all, his parents – find out the...

The joke goes something like:   Q) What is so great about Sweden? A) I don’t know but the flag is a big plus.   Gerrit? At first I laughed but then I realised that the same could be applied to the England flag. That’s a big red plus. Doing a modicum of research then revealed that the flags of Denmark, Switzerland, Norway, Finland and Greece all feature a plus mark too. And thereby the novelty of the joke fades. Assessing these flags though, there are a few that wouldn’t technically fit the joke. Switzerland’s flag is a small plus. Greece’s flag is a small plus hemmed in by five blue lines or four white lines depending on which colour you think most dominates the space. They wouldn’t fit as replacements for Sweden in the joke. Denmark, Finland and Norway are all big pluses in the same way as Sweden but, let’s be honest here, are these actually plus signs? I would argue that they are crucifixes that have fallen to the left. The vertical line is not dead centre of...

  At this stage ouroboros is practically a diamond-backed living tyre. The eternal snake is tireless in its rotation, rolling down the black road of existence.             Surely somewhere down the dusty trail, Ouroboros would have spotted a more delectable snack than its scaly tail. Imagine if it had changed course and shape for a mouse. Of course this would have to be metaphorical too, an analogous mouse that pokes its head in on all that has ever been and ever will be, in search of some crumbs. Karma crumbs, probably.             Ouroboros would spot the little chancer, extend its fangs and lash out with some existential venom. That poor mouse might be in the throws of perpetual agony, at least until the eternal snake decides to swallow the hapless interloper. Who knows what the digestion would be like, never-ending and bilious with angst?     ...

‘Tis a lonely Amazon Wagoneer Who stoppeth for the first tyme And he thinks unto hisself “the first of four score and nine” Sun was warm and day was clear, Leather and brass were shone. Waggoneer took a last look round, Took his seat, egg’d his shire on. With map read and route set, And shire leading up front, The first stop, up a long steep hill, Made the animal snort and grunt. On they went thru town and village, Each parcel safely delivered Into hands or to a safe place; There was even one for a wizard. Ev’ry road Wagoneer travelled ‘Til he was smote with sleep So he sat him down upon a stone And Eftsoones made not a peep. So Wagoneer’s shire stood guard In case varmints got too near To all the booty in his wagon, ‘Til he woke for a cup of beer. With beer drunk and cheese ate, Feeling rested and ready to go, The Amazon Wagoneer Checked the remaining cargo. Off they set, Amazoneer and shire With the last one score and three, When round a bend a highway man Shouted, “I be going to rob...

         This isn’t quite the way it seems It’s not that I’m too fat But sometimes life is just too much When you live with a supercilious cat! She made it look so easy, you see As she gracefully rippled through Then, nose in the air, she turned to stare As if to say “Now you” If she hadn’t looked at me just so I might have been more thick-skinned But that final flick of her high class tail And caution was thrown to the wind My horoscope said to stay indoors “Have a rest, take a quick cat nap” If I’d only listened and stayed by the fire, I wouldn‘t be in such a flap. Though I’ve struggled and squirmed, and scrabbled a bit In a way that was quite ‘infra dig’ Now I can see, there’s too much of me. In fact, I admit, I’m too big. Just wait till I learn to unlock the door I shall saunter abroad with a sneer But until I discover a way to retract, I’m afraid I shall stay right here.