Nowt better for nattering classes than pub return

I ONCE took a notably taciturn Scots journalist to a pub in Haworth, West Yorkshire.

He was used to my frank way of speaking in Fleet Street boozers, where we both drank during the week.

On this occasion, he listened to locals giving each other some verbal stick and then pronounced: ”I thought it was just you – but you’re all the same!”

Well, yes, that’s the elusive charm of Tyke talk. It’s not actually insult for insult,

KEEP CALM.. WE CAN BEAT THIS

though it may sound like that to strangers. The pubs will be full of it today, or the tables outside them, at any rate.

The nattering classes are back where we like to be, licensed premises.

I’m a fan of the written word, an incontinent scribbler, but I get a lot of my material from conversation, listening to people and giving my two ha’porth.

The smartphone – overused by dumb people – has done its best to kill off the art of conversation, but it isn’t dead. It has merely taken refuge in the pub.

There you will find people actually speaking to each other, face to face, not texting or faffing about on so-called social media. Some still do that, even in the public bar. They better beware what Peter the carpenter calls my death stare. Conversation is what I look forward to this afternoon, hopefully in the sunshine, under the shadow of Earl Crag. Well, nearly. It’s visible if you stand in the car park.

Naturally, there will be a full report in this diary. Full and frank, indeed. Should there be any slight lapses of memory, one of the others will fill me in.

And if not, Adam the landlord (and postmaster for this column) will come to my rescue. Cheers!