SOMETIMES, in the interest of Beggarsdale unity, the Innkeeper (or, more likely, his lady wife) has to take decisions which are contrary to their financial interests. This week saw such an example.

Since the arrival of our newest offcumdens, Dr Spot and his boiler-suited consort Des, the Beggars' Arms has been doing a fine trade from the Southern Six. For, despite hailing from Essex, the newcomers do have a taste for draught ale and have taken an instant liking to Ram's Blood (ABV 5.5%). What's more, they have linked up with the Teachers Tess and Tim and, even more unlikely, the Quiet Couple from Coney Cottage.

And although Tess has firmly resisted moves to get her off Chardonnay spritzers and on to Ram's Blood (the only time she tried she fell over a dry-stone wall on the way home) they have, or had, kept the Beggars' till ringing merrily.

Until this week, that is. When the phone call came...

My regular reader (thanks again, Mrs C) will know that for some weeks now, we have been trying to discover who is a) trying to have the church clock silenced at night and b) has objected to plans to turn the old quarry into a trout fishery.

Eventually, we had to resort to blackmail and/or bribery by threatening to cut off Council Kev's supply of cheap veg from Ben the Bucket's allotment and spring lamb from Owd Tom's freezer.

This week, the Beggars' phone rang. And the regular sessions of the Southern Six came to an abrupt end.

"Sorry, sir, but I'm afraid your custom in now longer welcome in this establishment," said the Innkeeper, somewhat pompously, as Dr Spot and Des arrived Monday evening.

"Whatever for?" sniggered the Doc, whose PHD is in spot welding, obviously thinking that it was some sort of coarse rustic joke. "Because it has come to our notice that you are already trying to alter the centuries old ways of this community."

"Yer what?" said the Spot, breaking into the estuarial English, like what many of them speak down in Clacton-on-Sea when they forget they are trying to be posh.

"Yes, sir, we believe it is you who is trying to stop our village clock and if I continue to serve you, my other customers are threatening to walk out."

"Yer what?" said Spot but got no further because pushing through the door behind him came Tim and Tess. The Inn Keeper raised both hands palm first.

"And this applies to you, too, Tess," he said, a little less sure than before. "You are barred, too, I'm afraid - and the couple from Coney Cottage."

Tess's face went pale with rage. She drew herself to her full height, folded her arms across her chest, and put on her Joyce Grenfell voice: "On what grounds: this is a breach of my civil rights and I shall sue if necessary."

"Sorry, Tess, but I don't have to give reasons for barring undesirables. And you have become undesirable because we now know you are the one objecting to the new quarry plan."

There's an opportunity here for the dale's many hard-up lawyers to relieve Tess of her cash before telling her she hasn't got a case. Unless, of course, this village finds ways of sorting out its own problems. As ever!

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