Rob in the ‘Hood: ‘If you haven’t been to Manchester, you haven’t lived’
And if you haven't tasted Bury Black Puddings, you definitely haven't lived!
Greetings friends. It’s exactly mid-winter at the time of writing. The weather is nigh on perfect, the sardine run is back and dare I mention it in this opening paragraph, the City Blues are back on our screens.
Despite the naysayers, life is beautiful, especially when you are having fun. That is if you think tree felling, posing as a lumber-jack is fun. As quickly as you cut down some ‘giant redwood’ it seems to grow twice as fast. The price you pay for living in a tropical paradise, I guess. On with the show.
ALSO READ: Rob in the ‘Hood: End of the world is nigh, but not this week
Yes, we are living in trying times, but there are still more positives than negatives. Friends, near and far, in many parts of the world, are making the best of it. We are all in the same isolation bubble, but we are all in contact with each other, mostly by WhatsApp, Facebook and Twitter.
It amazes me how quickly funny stories do the rounds on topics close to our hearts and minds. Of course, there are the non PC subjects for discussion, some too near the bone, but worth a giggle, some quite hilarious.
Just this week, the CO received an e-mail from some long-forgotten ‘friend’ living in Portugal. Somehow, this far-distant friend knew us very well, warmly greeting us with ‘Hello, My Dearest Beloved One’. It seems our friend, now widowed, aged 67, has cancer, and wants the CO to manage her fortune on her behalf.
The fortune is only US$ 8 500 000 0000, or, if you are greedy, SA R130 000 000 000, give or take a couple of bob. Not finished yet.
In addition to the hard cash, our Lady from Lisbon wanted us to manage and donate her luxury cars, landed properties and chain of fast food restaurants to charity organisations, orphanages, widowers, and other people in need.
Knowing that the CO and I are good people whom she could trust, the good woman earnestly asked us to honour her requests.
The CO and I were truly ‘umbled, of course.We agreed in principle – after all, what are friends for? We had no doubts that the plea was genuine and happily replied that, yes, we would be honoured and happy to assist.
Also, we politely requested her banking details, so as to have her fortune transferred to our about-to-be-opened bank accounts in Switzerland and other far-off places. So far, no reply, but we promise, all of you living down here, to keep you all in the picture. And, I promise, promise, to think about each and everyone of you on the plane out of RSA.
Maybe, our good friend had read about us in the Herald a few months back, when fellow scribe, Leila Edwards, frantically contacted me from Richards Bay, being stranded there, her bank card having been swallowed up by the ATM. In the meantime, I shall continue my ‘teach yourself Portuguese in two days’ language course.
Being a Northerner from not-so-jolly old England these days, some habits die hard, if ever.
I recently mentioned those delightful delicacies from Yorkshire, fondly known as Pontefract cakes, which, I swear, ward off evil spirits and this Covid-19 thing.
Besides tripe and onions (I actually met a couple, not Brits, who loved tripe: I thought I only wrote ‘tripe’!) another Northern England delicacy is world-famous Bury Black Pudding, its original name, I kid you not.
My family ties are still strong with Bury, just a few miles north of the Garden City of Manchester, and home town of the late great Victoria Wood – we go in for culture in a big way in Bury.
And home town, too, for Bury Black Puddings, introduced to this world by the famous Albert Matthews in 1865. Surprisingly, you can still buy black puddings here. Go into any family butcher down here, and, voila!, the pudding of your choice is on sale.
I asked our family butcher here in downtown Shelly, for half a kilo of Bury Black Puddings, please. “Sorry, Rob, we cannot sell you black puddings. They are persona non grata these days.” I twigged on.
“Have you got any red herrings, then?” My butcher boy friend also twigged on: “Of course, Rob, just taken delivery of some of the finest, all the way from Bury-on-Sea.” (Nudge, nudge, wink, wink!)
In the good, ol’ days, we had a couple of local catch-phrases: ‘If you haven’t been to Manchester, you haven’t lived!’ and ‘If you haven’t tasted Bury Black Puddings, you definitely haven’t lived!’
There’s another: ‘There’s one born every minute’. As mentioned above, life as we know it is back. I mean ‘the love of my life’, Manchester City, came back in real life, with the return of English football on television.Normal service has been resumed.
It was a dog of a night in rainy Manchester. My, how it bucketed down. The Blues defeated the former mighty Arsenal and it all ended happily ever after.
Even the CO was happy for me, although she (tried to) put a damper on things declaring that ‘I am not going to watch each and every game of football on television’.
She does have a way with words.See you, Rob.
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