My pub pint’s at the mercy of this dithering rabble

WHO knows, might this be my last pint in the Old White Bear for many moons?

The answer is nobody knows, because this weak, bungling rabble that passes for a government can’t make up their mind.

In northern England, we’re being hung out to dry while the posh boys in Westminster dither over what to do next.

So I was out for one last’un (all right, three) and to collect my nostalgic pub mail, this time from Mrs Olwyn Pugh, brought up in my home town. “I was raised on Wakefield Road opposite the Catholic church where my mother had a small shop,” she writes.

“Like you, I left Normanton 62 years ago to move south.

“But I’ve moved back, and I was interested in your thoughts about Haw Hill Park? I went back there and it was nothing like in my youth.

“The bandstand is still there, but the summer house is not.

“The bowling green is intact, but the tennis courts were left to decay. “The duck pond was in a sorry state. “There is still a place for children to play but all the equipment has been replaced by safer ones.

“I have many happy memories of the park. I used to go down there after school to meet my first boyfriend, who was at the Grammar School.

“He lived in Leeds, and after we had our fun he went off to catch his train.” That’s enough detail, Olwyn!

And this, too: Mrs Pugh’s husband Barry used to muck about with my brother John in their youth.

I must ask him about this next time I’m in the Black Rock, Wakefield. Which may be a long while, but I can wait.