The Curmudgeon

We found out a couple of weeks ago that Dr Spot, who got his PhD in spot welding from the University of Clacton, and Des are the people behind the move to have the chimes of the church clock silenced during the night.

We also suspect that they are in league with the Teachers Tim and Tess in objecting to planning proposals to turn the old quarry into a trout fishery. As a result, both couples have been banned from the Beggars' Arms, the (slow) beating heart of Beggarsdale.

Since then, they have taken to drinking in the newly-tarted up Crooked Inn over the tops in Crookedale and, according to our mole Council Kev, were still going ahead with their campaign to choke the chimes.

Last weekend, however, news came our way of an unsightly scene in mid-evening outside The Crook, as we Beggarsdalians know it.

Apparently, whoever was supposed to drive had forgotten his/her duty and all four had consumed enough to get breathalysed. And although, when it comes to burglary or other crimes, our local police are based on the moon, they always seem to be on hand when a traffic crime is being committed.

So, after some bitter words, they agreed to walk home, a good three miles over Tup Fell. As they reached the summit, an icy northerly wind began to blow sleet into their faces. When they eventually dragged themselves onto The Lane, they were wet, cold and not on speaking terms.

Those of us still in The Beggars', toasting by the apple log blaze in the inglenook, watched this icy quartet drag itself down the lane and assumed we had won.

"Thar'll be onta council tomorra, beggin' 'em to drop t' case," forecast Owd Tom with a knowing grin.

He was wrong. Council Kev rang to say that they were still going ahead. And the teachers were still agin the fishery plan. So this has been a busy time for scheming and plotting and, incredibly, I began to feel almost sorry for the southerners.

Des, who looks more like Des O'Connor than Shakespeare's heroine (but not quite so handsome) was quite surprised when she was refused admission to the Women's Institute.

Neither attends church, of course, but they heard in the post office as they collected their Guardian that the Rev Rupe had given a fierce sermon last Sunday, arguing that good neighbourliness was better than cleanliness when it comes to being second to Godliness - and exhorting locals and newcomers alike to see the other's point of view.

But the final straw came when the Doc sadly declined to take them onto his patients' list because, as he said, he was already well over the number he could handle easily - and he was thinking of retiring anyway.

"You'll have to try that big practice in Mar'ton," he consoled. "They did make a house call to Beggarsdale once, I recall. Sadly, if I remember correctly, the lady was dead before they arrived."

That afternoon, the Beggars' phone rang and Council Kev gave the good news. So the Clacton couple are back supping Rams' Blood, much to the Innkeeper's delight. But we still haven't heard from Tess...

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.