My day out in the grumpiest town in Britain

When you are out for a walk in the english countryside, it is easy to lose your way. So I was grateful to catch sight of a town, and strode towards it with a spring in my step.

Where was I? In the distance, I spotted a sign. As I got closer I saw it read: ‘ UMBRAGe.’ Beneath it was another sign: ‘ UMBRAGe TWInneD WITh PIQUe.’

It sounded an interesting sort of place, so I decided to take a look around. I soon arrived at another sign. It said: ‘ UMBRAGe WeLCOMeS SAFe DRIVeRS.’ A few yards on, there was another, this one in bolder lettering: ‘CAn’T YOU BLOODY ReAD?’

I took the guidebook out of my rucksack and looked up Umbrage. The entry was relatively short and, it must be said, largely unenthusiastic.

‘ Umbrage is probably best known f or its annual Bearing The Grudge competition, in which townsfolk compete against each other to see who can bear the ancient grudge — a stuffed prickly doll of singularly unappetising appearance — for longest.

‘In the squat, unattractive main square stands the church of St huff the Martyr. here, legend has it, the put-upon St huff made a f amous sermon i n which he complained of neglect. “If no one can be bothered to do it for me, then I’ll just have to do for myself,” he groaned, before leaping on to a pile of sticks and setting fire to it.

‘In the 20th century, the town of Umbrage has been credited with the invention of the radio phone-in.

‘This occurred when up to a dozen angry residents all rang their local station, Radio Umbrage, demanding to be put through to a disc jockey who had made a casual reference to the women of Umbrage being even fatter than the men, and the children being uglier than both.

‘This historic moment is commemorated by a statue in the thoroughfare of 12 angry citizens shouting into telephones while shaking their fists.

‘When the statue was erected in 1998 i t caused considerable controversy, with 55 per cent of the townsfolk saying they were sick to the back teeth and 45 per cent arguing this was an unpardonable slur on those who had been experiencing very real problems with their back teeth.’

A few minutes later, I arrived in the main square of Umbrage. As it was lunchtime, I called in on the pub, The Jolly Cross Drover. A welcoming sign at its entrance read: ‘no muddy boots. no overalls. no T-shirts. no dogs. no cats. no children. no foreigners. And keep the bloody noise down, I can’t hear myself think.’

It seemed like a pleasant sort of place, so I entered beneath a sign on a low wooden beam that said: ‘Grouse or Grouse.’

As I entered, everyone in the bar stopped talking and looked round at me. ‘Good afternoon!’ I said.

‘ What’s i t to you?’ said the bartender. Gruffly, he asked me what I wanted to drink. ‘Bitter,’ I said. ‘So would you be if you were me,’ he replied. ‘Are you serving lunch?’ I asked. he looked at his watch. ‘now he asks!’ he sighed. ‘ We stop serving lunch at 12.30pm. It’s the cook. Says he needs his effin’ lunch.’

On the TV behind the bar, a repeat of the previous night’s eastenders was playing. ‘ So what’s got into him, then?’ one character was saying to another, as a door slammed.

A fourth character said: ‘ now you’ve gone and done i t ! ’ And a fifth said: ‘Shut it!’

I felt like a bit of p peace and quiet, so I took my pint i nto t he pub’s c courtyard. I had b been there only a f ew minutes before I heard the j i ngle - j angle of M Morris Men a approaching.

I t turned out that the Umbrage Morris Men perform their own distinctive dance. The first man whirls a stick, hitting the man next to him in the face. The man next to him shouts ‘Watch it!’ and hits him back, twice as hard.

The two then perform a jig and a twirl before hitting the next- i n- l i ne, who promptly falls flat on his face, and blames it on a fourth man, who beats himself up, using two sticks in quick succession.

I made my excuses. ‘Typical!’ said the senior Morris Man. But I wanted to explore the town.

Luckily, the Umbrage Tourist Information Centre was next door. ‘Whether you want to explore the surrounding countryside, nurse a grievance or lodge a complaint, historic Umbrage is the place for YOU!’ ran the slogan across the desk.

The tourist officer looked up. ‘Can I help you?’ she sighed. ‘Yes, please,’ I replied. ‘ no need t o be l i ke t hat!’ she snapped.

A security guard appeared and scowled at me before asking her: ‘Is this man giving you trouble?’

By then, I was thinking it might be easiest to explore Umbrage by myself, so I set off for the bridle path, where the townsfolk traditionally come to bridle. On Thursday, I will tell you about Umbrage University, and much, much else.