PARWICH.ORG

Hello Possums,

Weedkiller Weekly’s Drama Productions proudly present:

‘The Parchers‘
an everyday tale of Derbyshire village folk.

Farmer’s wife, Betty, is busy baking scones, when her best friend Ann pops in:

”Hello Ann, how are you this fine morning?”
”I’m a lot better now that the water supply has been restored Betty. It’s been a right inconvenience, I can tell you.“
”I’m sure it has Anne, but we should spare a thought for those poor women in Africa, who have to trek for miles in the blazing sun to reach the nearest well.”
”Why on earth don’t they move closer to well then, Betty?”
”Good point Ann.“
”They’re having an Ann Summers party at the village hall tonight, if you fancy going Betty.“
”I don’t think so Ann; I’ve enough Tupperware to sink a ship.“
”No, no, Betty. It’s intimate accessories and provocative lingerie, guaranteed to tease and titillate your old man and awaken the slumbering beast within.”
”I think I’ll let sleeping dogs lie, if it’s all the same to you Ann.”
”I must tell you Betty, I had a right old laugh this morning: Old Dick Bradshaw was in Peach’s Butchers in the High Street, crowing about it being his birthday an all. Mr Peach asked him how old he was, and Dick said he’d give him three guesses. “Lets see now, Dick. I reckon you’re 70. Nope, 72? Nope 73?” “Nope, I’m 80 years old Mr Peach.” Well everyone in the shop sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and the Butcher gave him a nice pork pie. When I left the shop, Dick was scoffing his pie, then Fanny Whitfield came along: “I hear it’s your birthday Dick, how old are you then?” “Have a guess, Fanny, why don’t you?” Well Betty, believe it or not, she thrust her hand right down the front of his trousers and had a right good old firtle around. “You’re 80 years old, Dick.” Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. He was absolutely flabbergasted: “Ow the eck did you figure that out, Fanny?” “I was stood behind you in the queue at the Butcher’s, that’s how.“.”

Enter The Vicar:

”Good Morning, Vicar.”
”Good Morning, Mrs Parcher.”
”Goodness me! Vicar you look fair worn out; you’d better sit down.”
”Yes, I am rather. I have been helping two nice chappies load up the lead from the church roof onto their wagon. They very kindly offered to take it away for some restoration work gratis.“
“Well, if that doesn’t restore one’s faith in human nature, I don’t know what does, Vicar. Nice cup of tea?”
”Oooh rather, thank you.”

Enter Betty’s husband, Fred:

”Mornin, Ann. Mornin, Vicar. I thought I’d take those two old barren cows t’knacker man later on, Betty.“
”Why don’t you take that old nag, while your’e at it.“
“I would do, but your mother is doin the Church flowers.”
”You cheeky monkey, Fred.“
”You putting anything in the Agricultural Show this year, Fred?”
”I don’t know, Ann. That bloody Bill Wilton sweeps the board every year with his mammoth veg.”
“What do you reckon his secret is then Fred?”
”Folks say he uses concentrated lion manure.“
”Where on earth would he get his hands that stuff?”
”Amazon, I think.”
”I didn’t think they had lions in the Amazon, Fred.“
”Me neither, Ann.“

Meanwhile pub regular, Albert Wrigley, is at the bar of The Spotted Cow in the Village:

”Mornin Albert, usual is it?”
”Yes please Trevor. Half of best, and I’ll have on of them cheese cobs.“
”There you go, Albert.“
”By eck, Trevor. I know you’re strugglin, but there int enough cheese on this cob to set a mouse trap.”
“To be honest Albert, I’m having a job staying open. I can’t compete with all this cheap supermarket booze. I’m at my wits end.”
“That’s shocking Trevor. In that case I’d better ave another half; keep you afloat, eh! Jokin apart, it would be a disaster if the Old Cow closed. We’d ave nowhere to go. Don’t bear thinkin bout.”
”Your’e shopping bag looks very heavy, Albert.”
”Bloody well is, Iv’e got 24 cans of Super Viking lager from Bargain Bottles, four for a pound; can’t beat that can you? Anyrode, I’ll wander across,and ave a chat with Wilf.”

“Art all reet, Wilf?”
“Arrrrrrrrrr.”
”Grand mornin.”
“Arrrrrrrrrr.“
“Lambs is fetchin a good price, I see.”
“Arrrrrrrrrr.“
“Loike a pork scratchin, Wilf?”
“Arrrrrrrrrr.“
“Missus all reet, Wilf?”
“Arrrrrrrrrr.“
“You avin another half, Wilf?”
”Arrrrrrrrrr.”
“By eck there some pheasants knockin about, Wilf.”
“Arrrrrrrrrr.“
”Bet you’ve poached one or two, eh, Wilf?”
“Arrrrrrrrrr.”
“Old Jack Russel still goin strong, I see, Wilf.“
“Arrrrrrrrrr.“
”Right, I must be getting off home, Wilf. Nice avin a chat wit you.”
“Arrrrrrrrrrrr.”
“Most loikely see you tomorrow, Wilf.”
”Arrrrrrrrrr.”

Dum Di Dum Di Dum Di Dum, Dum Di Diddle De Dee, Dum Di Di Dum Di Diddle De Dee, Dum Di Diddle De Dum.

BOI FER NOO, Paul B.