'Twas 1997, Harmie (Drury) and Flinty (Greeno) were now living ensemble in Field Avenue, Canterbury along with their friend Hoggard (Welsh/Vince) and enemy Mullally (Will). One November Saturday afternoon, Harmie had been out shopping in Canters High Street (for Ringo Starr related relics) with "that girlfriend" (Burke). They had had an unproductive, but enjoyable day's shopping in the Ringo Starr capital of the south east d'Angleterre. On returning home to Field Avenue, they were greeted by Hoggard:
"Hello friends, I trust you enjoyed your Ringo Starr related shopping spree in East Kent's premier cathedral city?"
"Indeed we did Hoggie. I hoped you had a good afternoon listening to Starkey on your 1964 Music Centre whilst perusing your pornographic literature, merely for artistic purposes, of course! Where's the much hated northern one, Mullally and where's our good friend Flinty?"
"Well Harmie, Flinty is in Ashford at a Jazz exhibition with that teacher woman and Mullally is busy this afternoon. He has gone to UKC library to do some Saturday afternoon study, he is then going to play Roller Hockey with some foreigners: what a nob!"
So, our two friends enjoyed an afternoon of Brian Lara on the Megadrive, darts on the stairs and snooker on the children's sized snooker table in the "lounge of many bottles", whilst listening to the football coverage on Radio 5. That girlfriend watched attentively without participating (girls were banned from such strenuous activities).
At 5.15pm, there was a bang and crash as Mullally returned. The front door was slammed and there was a clatter of plates, crockery and cutler as he entered the kitchen. The three real people currently in the house went to see what the northern monkey was doing. They entered the kitchen:
"Eh, alright, I've just been up tut library at UKC, you know, wanking over't books and then I was at tut Sports Centre playing some Roller Hockey with foreigners, you know" exclaimed Mullally, as if these actions were something of which he should be proud. He continued:
"Eh, what was tut football scores? How did Town get on?"
Harmie replied in an inquisitorial style: "We don't know or care how town got on, Mullally, speaking of which, where's your Grimsby tea towel? Also, did you see the big football news?"
"No, wot newz?" The northern one asked; Hoggard was only too happy to answer:
"There was a tragedy at Stamford Bridge involving Graeme Le Saux. He went in for a headed challenge, went A over T and landed on his head. He was motionless on the pitch for some time thereafter..."
"Eh, is 'e 'urt?" Asked Mullally in a typically stupid style. This time, Harmie reverts:
"Le Saux went over on his head and broke his neck, his head came right off: He's dead!"
"Oh fooking 'ell, this is a tragedy, I'm well gutted about this, you know" the northern one ranted. He went on to reminisce about the French-named former Chelsea and England ace. He then phoned his friend, probably another northerner or maybe a foreigner:
"Eh, did you 'ear about Greame Le Saux? He's dead, a tragic accident, you know..."
"What d'ya mean he's not... Those scruffy coonts must 'ave been winding me up, you know."
Of course we were winding him up: this is a tale that is evidence of the fact that all Northerns are as thick as pig shit. Thank you for listening readers...
