TH’OWD POL ON THE CUT
I was walkin’ down th’cut th’other day. Just lettin’ th’ole dog stretch hur legs like. Ah sid this bloke a fishin’. Day tek much notice, till he looks up as we’m gewin past.
‘Bleedin’ Hell!’ he sez, ‘Long toime no see. How’m yow?’
I sortta squints at him a bit. E’d ‘alf turned toward may. Auldish bloke, probably ‘bout my age come ter think on it, a bit long in the tooth like. Big bushay beard, gewin gray moostly.
‘Well sod may,’ ar sez, fingering me chin an’ noddin’ at ‘is. ‘Our long yer ‘ad that thing?’
‘Must bay thirty odd ear now, just gews t’show ow toime flies!’ I think ee were smilin’ but it were a bit ‘ard t’tell threw all them whiskas.
‘Funnay,’ ee sez, ‘I were only thinkin’ about th’old daize th’other wick. Done yow remember that time…’
‘Dough even saiy it,’ ar sez, ‘Ar knows exactly wot yow’m a gewin ter saiy!’
‘Eh!’ he sez, ‘Eh! Them wos the daize though wor they?’
‘Wor ‘arf!‘ I told ‘im.
‘Sew, ours yer missus?’ he asks.
‘Well ‘ers still a naggin mae, sew ‘er cor bay tew bad,’ I tells ‘im, ‘Un ows yourn?’
‘Why done yer think I comes a fishin?’ Ah loffed at that. I think ee grinned at mae threw the bristles loike.
An then we sortta stood thee’re f’ra bit kinda awkward loike, onds in pockits, ‘cos we’em blokes an we dough mek small talk, speciully when it bay even football season.
‘So, wher’m yow off ter then?’ he finally gestured along the cut.
‘Ah, noweir special,’ I tells ‘im. Just g’in th’old ‘un a walk.’
He scratches me dog under the chin, she wags her tail, happy like. ‘Well, gud ter seeze yer me auld pol. S’ope it b’ay ser lung next toime.’
‘Too trew.’ I tells him, setting off up th’cut.
He turns back t’is rod ‘un line, ‘Bye Stevie,’ he calls cross ‘is shoulder.
Giz me a bit of a dilemma, that. Do I gew back and tell ‘im ee’s got me name wrong or dough aye bother.
In th’end I decides not tew an’ walks on - seems best realay ‘cos I bay gorra soddin’ clew who ee is!
I was walkin’ down th’cut th’other day. Just lettin’ th’ole dog stretch hur legs like. Ah sid this bloke a fishin’. Day tek much notice, till he looks up as we’m gewin past.
‘Bleedin’ Hell!’ he sez, ‘Long toime no see. How’m yow?’
I sortta squints at him a bit. E’d ‘alf turned toward may. Auldish bloke, probably ‘bout my age come ter think on it, a bit long in the tooth like. Big bushay beard, gewin gray moostly.
‘Well sod may,’ ar sez, fingering me chin an’ noddin’ at ‘is. ‘Our long yer ‘ad that thing?’
‘Must bay thirty odd ear now, just gews t’show ow toime flies!’ I think ee were smilin’ but it were a bit ‘ard t’tell threw all them whiskas.
‘Funnay,’ ee sez, ‘I were only thinkin’ about th’old daize th’other wick. Done yow remember that time…’
‘Dough even saiy it,’ ar sez, ‘Ar knows exactly wot yow’m a gewin ter saiy!’
‘Eh!’ he sez, ‘Eh! Them wos the daize though wor they?’
‘Wor ‘arf!‘ I told ‘im.
‘Sew, ours yer missus?’ he asks.
‘Well ‘ers still a naggin mae, sew ‘er cor bay tew bad,’ I tells ‘im, ‘Un ows yourn?’
‘Why done yer think I comes a fishin?’ Ah loffed at that. I think ee grinned at mae threw the bristles loike.
An then we sortta stood thee’re f’ra bit kinda awkward loike, onds in pockits, ‘cos we’em blokes an we dough mek small talk, speciully when it bay even football season.
‘So, wher’m yow off ter then?’ he finally gestured along the cut.
‘Ah, noweir special,’ I tells ‘im. Just g’in th’old ‘un a walk.’
He scratches me dog under the chin, she wags her tail, happy like. ‘Well, gud ter seeze yer me auld pol. S’ope it b’ay ser lung next toime.’
‘Too trew.’ I tells him, setting off up th’cut.
He turns back t’is rod ‘un line, ‘Bye Stevie,’ he calls cross ‘is shoulder.
Giz me a bit of a dilemma, that. Do I gew back and tell ‘im ee’s got me name wrong or dough aye bother.
In th’end I decides not tew an’ walks on - seems best realay ‘cos I bay gorra soddin’ clew who ee is!