T’other day ah wer’ aat in t’ Yorkshire Dales ‘avin’ a chin wag wi me mate Big Ron, an’ generally puttin’ t’ world t’ right – when t’ subject o’ technology cum up. Appen ah mentioned ter ‘im ‘ow aal t’ little lasses queuing at t’ school bus stop stand theyer next t’ each other an’ text rather than simply open theyer gobs an’ say summat! “Bleedin’ barmy!” ah says.
“Aye” replies Big Ron, “An it in’t just t’ small uns neither. Last week ah wer’ up in t’ high pasture doin’ what us ‘ill farmers do like, wen suddenly aat o’ a claad o’ dust, cum this ‘ere brand-new BMW X5 barin’ daan on me like a greyhound on a hare. At t’ last second, it did a hand brake turn an’ stopped reight next to me. Ah tell yer, ah nearly cacked me sen, ‘it wer’ that close!”
“Wot appened?” ah asked ‘im.
“Well,” say Big Ron, “T’ driver, wer’ a posh lookin’ yewth in an Armani suit, Gucci shoes, Ray Ban sunglasses an’ Yves Saint Laurent tie. Appen ‘e thought ‘e looked reight dapper! Ah thought ‘e looked a bit o’ a tit. Onny road, ‘e leaned aat t’ window an’ says ter me in perfect Queens English: "I say my good man, you look like a betting sort - if I can tell you exactly how many cattle you have in your heard, will you give me one?”
“Well f’a second ooer three, ah wer’ a bit gobsmacked. But tha knows, ah do like a flutter on t’ osses, so aater givin’ it a bit o’ thought, ah said "OK, aye".”
“Well, t’ posh little sod parked ‘is car, whipped aat ‘is iPad2 an’ connected it ter ‘is iPhone 4S, then ‘e surfed t’ tinterweb thingie f’ a NASA web page wayer ‘e called up a GPS satellite navigation system, scanned t’ area, an’ then oppened up a database an’ an Excel spreadsheet wi’ complex formulas. Ah only know this coz t’ cocky little bugger kept up a runnin’ commentary o' wot ‘e wer’ doin’ like. ‘e then sent aat an email an’ atter a few seconds got a response. Finally, ‘e prints aat a 130-page report on this tiny HP Nano printer, turns ter me an’ says, "You have exactly 1586 beasts in this heard."”
“"Kinell", ah said genuinely flummoxed. "Appen tha’s reet! So as a bet is a bet, tha best pic a cow then." So tryin’ ard not t’ get ‘is suit dirty, t’ yewth selected one o’ mi animals an’ spent abaat ‘alf an hour tryin’ ter bundle it inter t’ back o’ ‘is car.”
“Nooo” ah says to Big Ron. “Wot ‘appened next?”
“Well ‘e wer’ just abaat ter get into ‘is vehicle his sen, when ah says: "’ang on yewth, fair’s fair. If ah tell can thee exactly wot tha does f’ a livin’, will tha gi me back mi animal?"”
“"OK, as you say, fair's fair, why not." ‘e answered.”
“"Appen tha’s a government consultant." ah says.”
“"That's correct." says ‘e, "but how did you guess that?"”
“"No guessing required." ah says. "Tha's clearly a soft southern jesse. Tha turned up ‘ere although n’body called thee. Tha wants ter get paid f’ summat ah already knew, in answer ter a question ah never bloody asked! Tha believes wot tha reads in reports rather than sees with yorn own eyes, an' tha's got absolutely no respect f' t' countryside!"
"Mooare importantly tha clearly knows nowt abaat us Yorkshire folk, nor farmin’neither. This, ‘ere’s a flock o’sheep - now give me back mi dog!"”
No comments:
Post a Comment