The Boit Shop

Tha's, sick of em bloody southerners blagging on boit just how bleak t's, up North.

Nah they',ve nah idea what us locals as te put up wi , Far too many of em Snotty folk is 'Downsizin, from t' smoke, from their overpriced two up two darn terrace houses 'townhouses, they call em , bought up all the ole houses, round ere , they 'ave, and wi cash to spare as well , It do'nt seem rite te me, there's not many cottages left for our offspring to buy even if they could afford em.

Still if thee carn't, beat em join em, we , sold a couple of cottages , to a couple from' t South. Islington or summat they called it, never 'erd of place meself , seem like a nice couple though, got a couple of bairns , he's working away so they must need brass , brought there Mam and Dad wi em as well, so they must be alrite.

Still got builders in they have, knocking place te bits , local lads , paid by the hour, spinning it out for all they can carn't, blame em wi money they pay round 'ere.

It's, like this morning , I was helpin me mate Madge out at her dads shoe shop "Goody Two Shoes ", when one of em walks in , wanting to know where the boits she ordered were, leeked at me rite funny she did, just cos I remembered her name, and even before I looked in the little red exercise book where we write everything darn.

As if, thee wern't, remember her, sticks out like a sore thumb she does, laking round t' village, wi her green wellies and her pair of black labs, or riding her posh bike round wi its daft basket on t` front, Darn daft she leeks, packin it away tn`t boot of her range rover, just plain daft!!