A history of our own Northern Bard's whimsical ramblings.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven
In secret in Killarney’s green and pleasant lands did meet Sir Gundog and Lord Drummond of Northern Parts. They supped the black brew with whitest head and three cornered leaf neat blazoned on top by buxom wench Clodagh. O’er this meal in a mug did they ponder until they became fair vexed. “But which wondrous city can compare with Ireland’s fair Killarney and stately Welsh capital look you Cardiff boyo isn’t it” quoth Lord Drummond of Northern Parts, his earthy Gallic accent softened by the black and potent brew. "Where can we look on England’s rich sod to take our procession of the best and most virile of RTBI and NALC?"
Now Sir Gundog (a trifle peeved at his liege lord’s portrayal of him as England’s rich sod) did rant in the soft and gentle lilt of his Yorkshire brogue “Ey up now si’thee old luv – less o’ that! I’m reight stricken that thou cannot have spotted t’small but well shod village in’t midst of God’s own Yorkshire from where I’ve set out every bloody May at t’behest of thee and thy forebears!!” “Och nay” sayeth Lord Drummond of Northern Parts “I did na ken that Leeds hath grown in recent time into a true northern village”. “Too bloody right me old cocker!” uttereth Sir Gundog an’ I’m smartin that thou hast missed us off thy list for donkeys years! I’ll tell thee what..... get thysen and thy troop of belting lads and right comely lasses to Leeds in May next year and t’locals will put on a show that’ll leave thee gasping!”
Lord Drummond of Northern Parts leant forward to shake Sir Gundog warmly by the throat but, his gorge full of the black stuff fell from off his toadstool and lay thus prone for many a long hour. Sir Gundog, never one to let grass grow long under his mailed feet did up and gather to him a group of Yorkshire’s finest to help in his quest to bring all of RTBI and NALC to the dreaming spires of fair Leeds.
“Join Sir Gundog on the 8th – 11th May 2008 in Leeds for the time of your life” quoth Chaucer, his herald, “for when thou art arriveth thou wilst be sore loath to leave!”
Part the second tells of Sir Gundog’s return to Leeds and of a bust up with his bean counter Sir Ian of Hemsworth.
'Pon his return to Leeds Sir Gundog, a short runty sort of fellow, was beset about his ear'ole by his bean counter Sir Ian of Hemsworth. Sir Ian had made his fortune selling soot from his mill chimney to the southern fops who blackened their teeth and was as tight as the bottom of a duck.
"Thou chump!" sayeth Sir Ian (something of a fop himself). "What hast thou done? Thy blabbering gob hast once again brought sin and debauchery upon our previously quiet village."
"Nay, nay," sayeth Sir Gundog, "thou art barking up t’wrong tree Sir Ian. Yon soothsayer hast foreseen a right proper knees up in’t northern hills. A shindig of such proportions as would put t’fear of the Lord into lesser men and women". Sir Ian looked askance and askew at his former pal.
"Thou great gormless wassock," quoth he in gravelly tone. "That soothsayer is none other than Lady Michelle of Middle Parts, t’queen bee of NALC in witches guise. Thou hast been fair duped! Thy pitiful intellect failed to spot the shinanigins of Lord Drummond of Northern Parts and the wiles of Lady Michelle of Middle Parts. Thou art verily a dullard!"
Sir Gundog, alas too late, realised his folly. He had indeed been stitched up and that fair proper. He had been kippered and no amount of solace from the fair lady Audrey of Northern Parts could quiet his tearful blubbering. "I am a pillock!" quoth Sir Gundog. "Nay, nay, dear heart." quoth good lady Audrey. "He bloody is!" quoth Sir Ian of Hemsworth, "but the die is now cast" continued the fearful keeper of Sir Gundog’s purse. "If we’re doing the job, best do it right – call up them noisy warts whose job it is to venture forth across this unholy land, and send them off to tell the whole kingdom of this event, let the crowds flock to Leeds on the weekend of the 9th – 11th May and, who knows, we may yet turn a tidy profit!"
Sir Gundog, whose face had brightened at his bean counter’s early words, was dismayed at his lust for money and it was his turn to berate his knighted friend. "Sir Ian, you tight arsed bandit, desist! These folk from far and wide shall enjoy our fair city, equal to all in the land at a mere fraction of the prices found in more pompous gaffs." Sir Ian's face did blanche and a cold sweat broke forth upon his large brow, but Sir Gundog continued: "I have vouchsafed to my liege lord Drummond of Northern Parts and that winsome beauty Lady Michelle of Middle Parts that I will spare no expense in showing these offcum’duns the best of Leeds. Book the Town Hall, book the best hotels and build me a new conference hall at the Royal Armouries! We’ll show these buggers what a place is Leeds!"
Sir Gundog’s chest was fair puffed with pride whilst Sir Ian prepared his wallet for a right proper battering.
Chaucer was called to create a strapline, "Leeds is great" he said.
Part the third tells how clerks and Proclaimers gathered to hear word of the decades finest event.
At noon on a hot and steamy August day (not uncommon in these parts) did Sir Gundog address the motley collection of misfits and vagabonds loosely described as his committee. He stood atop a lofty oaken box so that he appeared taller than Sir Ian of Hemsworth who simpered quietly like a whipped cur.
"Heralds go thou forth to all corners of this land, and indeed to the middle bits also, and tell all of the treats that await the visitor to my fief of Leeds". The heralds scratched their lice ridden hair at this as they could not between them think of a worthy spot of which to regale their listeners’ lugs.
Sir Gundog was getting nowhere. Up to the dais strode the fair and trustworthy Lady Kathy of Rochedale, a circler of high repute. "Listen ‘ere thou feckless ruffians", ("Lady Kathy hails from t’wrong side of t’Pennines" sniggered Sir Ian to Chaucer at his side "and is thus oft brusque with her language").
"I 'erd that" shouted Lady Kathy as Sir Ian cowered behind his friend Lord Backhouse, another shifty cove and fellow smallprinter. She continued thusly "Sir Gundog trusts thee all to go out and proclaim to all and sundry that a cracking time will soon be had in the township of Leeds. And get this you whimpersome ingrates, those that thee encountereth who hold the lofty title of area vice chairman, be they lords or be they ladies of such office may indeed venture to Leeds on October 27th for a day visiting the Town Hall, marvelling and indeed staying at the glorious four star hotels and eating in the War gallery of the Royal Armouries forsooth!! They mayest avail themselves of this most glorious opportunity and indeed bring along a surf or two of their acquaintance for the pauperly sum of merely £75.00 per head".
Sir Gundog was at this point livid with Lady Kathy of Rochedale for nicking his best lines and aimed a kick swiftly at the fair maids shins which he could just about reach from his box. The fair maid is no slouch however, nay indeed and lamped Sir Gundog a right cracker on the end of his snout. Sir Ian who had been sobbing at the thought of a cheap weekend for offcum’duns in October brightened visibly as the crimson tide besmeered Sir Gundogs chubby cheeks.
And so the stage was left to Chaucer to send off the Proclaimers to their task. "And thou must walk 500 miles" quoth he "and thou must walk 500 more, just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to tell Tablers and Circlers of Conference. Da da da da, da da da da, dadadadumdiddleaydadumdiddleaydadum"
In Part the fourth thou wilst hear of the Grand sporting Tourney in Edinburgh and the exploits of fearless Sir Gundog as he puts Lord Backhouse to the hazard!
Sir Gundog had led a small and largely undistinguished team to the far North of his beloved Albion. He had been challenged by the blue-painted, Australian-speaking, skirt wearing Jocks and had only passed their broken down wall after sobbing Sir Ian of Hemsworth had dug deep into his woman’s purse and withdrawn a few coloured beads. Sir Gundog atop his noble steed Dobbin was met at the Gates to fair Edinburgh by his liege Lord Drummond of Northern Parts.
Lord Drummond was resplendent in a thigh length kilt, hitched a little too high up for modesty!
"Welcome and well met" quoth Lord Drummond of Exposed Parts, "it’s rightly smashing to see thee". "Thanks a bunch me old Northern dandy, it’s right gradely to see thee an’ all!" answered smooth Sir Gundog. "I’ve brought a troop of sportsmen with me to enter thy sporting tourney, for September as all know is the time for a national sporting weekend and as always we shall muster mightily to take home the trophy and the hand of thy prize maiden".
Lord Drummond laughed heartily at this. "This bunch of witless nobodies? Thou hast not a hope in Hades! I’ll warrant this rabble are unfit to clean the spittle from my horse’s muzzle, let alone compete for the womanly prize!"
Lord Drummond of Northern Parts could have been no further from the truth. Lord Backhouse pulled mightily on the tug o’ war, simpering Sir Ian of Hemsworth turned out to be a wizard at the counting of the beans challenge and Lady Kathy of Rochedale, loosely disguised as a bareknuckle boxer won the competition with a fiery whack to Lord Drummonds chin. The castle was in uproar and Sir Gundog accepted the trophy in his usual graceless fashion.
"I telled thee we’d win" quoth he. "We’re the best of the best of the best".
"I think that did it" he said, wiping tomato juice and cabbage leaves from his fizzog. Sir Gundog and his troop left Edinburgh in fair haste back to Leeds where the lads and lasses were hard at work building Sir Gundog’s new conference Hall at the Royal Armouries and painting the town a right royal crimson to welcome the cream of RTBI and NALC.
Chaucer settled back to his meanderings and dashed off a quick poem to add to his latest work, a Knights tale. It went thus
There was a young fellow called Lancelot,
Whom his neighbours all looked on askance a lot.
Whenever he'd pass
A presentable lass
The front of his pants would advance a lot.
Part the fifth tells of the preview weekend and Sir Gundogs lamentable manners.
Sir Gundog woke in the dog’s bed... again!! Good Lady Audrey had cleared up the mess of his arrival at Gundog Manor after a particularly unhappy cabbie had sworn loudly at her for her husband’s loutish behaviour. Sir Gundog had returned from the day showing honoured lords and ladies around his beloved Leeds. They had all imbibed copious quantities of the local ale brewed on site by the masterful Lord Tetley and his bit of Viking Fluff, Lady Carlsberg and Sir Gundog’s head it did sore ache.
Sir Gundog was, in truth, still lamenting the departure of his erstwhile friend Lord Dite of Cardiff look you boyo, gone to fight mightily in the Crusades and had supped voraciously with Lord Dite’s replacement, Baronet Sharp of Vacated Parts. “Woe is me my luv” quoth Sir Gundog, pausing to once again barf on Nessie, his faithful hound. “Hush my pet” said good Lady Audrey to the dog, pausing only to boot Sir Gundog in his ample belly.
On entering the parlour Lady Audrey beheld a most pitiful sight. Lady Michelle of Middle Parts and Lady Kathy of Rochedale were sleeping noisily on a chaise longue, their dribbling heads lolling over individually placed buckets. Lord Backhouse lay asleep before the fire cuddling his favourite Tamworth porker and Sir Ian of Hemsworth sobbed gently, his tears all but exhausted as he contemplated the profit that could have been made had full price been charged. Lord Drummond of Northern Parts was opening yet another bottle of whisky and seemed totally unaffected.
The room stank of stale ale and second hand curry, a recent introduction from one of Sir Gundogs foraging trips. Lady Audrey bellowed at the unruly group “get out of my house thou malingering wasters”, only Lord Drummond of Northern Parts moved, offering Lady Audrey a small nip to keep out the cold. “No thank you” responded Lady Audrey, leaving the room with Sir Ian of Hemsworth’s ear in her right hand, the rest of Sir Ian dragging noisily over the stone flagged floor.
Sitting the notorious spendthrift in the drawing room, Lady Audrey demanded of him the story of the previous day and night. “It began so slowly” sayeth Sir Ian. "Guests from all o’er Britain and Ireland did gather in the bar at The Queens Hotel for a ceremonial snorter before we all set out and did visit the splendour of Leeds Town Hall. Lunch was provided by His Worship the Lord Mayor of Leeds and of course a couple of flagons did accompany it. Our visitors, many I must say with peculiar accents and odd style in clothes, were shown the Royal Arcades and hotels of our fine city before assembling again in fine evening wear for a few more libations at the Queens."
"The evening do though Lady Audrey was a sight to behold. Dinner in The War Gallery at The Royal Armouries, surrounded by battle hardened generals atop their mighty steeds, Cromwell and his pikemen at the ready to quell any uprising, and a number of the local well rounded wenches serving the odd decanter of imported juice. Later a stupendous live band, one which is already booked for next May’s big bash did play until the blood flowed from the ears of the peasantry. My Lady it was simply stunning and a true foretaste of the delights which will come the way of these Tablers and Circlers when next they visit Leeds in May".
Lady Audrey had calmed a little by now and with maternal tenderness dried the tears which had begun again to flow unchecked down the cheeks of Sir Ian of Hemsworth. “Then why Sir Ian doth thou blub so unremittingly? Thy waistcoat is soaked with thy salty emanations”. The bean counter rose to his feet in passionate distress “it is merely this my Lady” he cried “Thy husband has laid on a do far too good for these men and women of Great Britain and Ireland, he hath shown no mercy when it cometh to emptying my silk lined purse and I fear that his impecunity will lead to thou and thine own being cast out onto t’street right quick”.
Lady Audrey’s face whitened and then darkened to a thunderous red. She marched into the parlour where Sir Gundog was at last beginning to rise from the dog’s bed, booted him again before running from the house, seeking solace at the nearby home of Chaucer in whose manly arms she had been known to take comfort before. “Ee bloody ‘ell lass” quoth the country’s finest bard, “rest here a while and I’ll look after thee in real Yorkshire style”. Thus saying he went to the kitchen, pulled a couple of flagons of Tetleys and, moments later with beer dripping from his hair, watched in bewilderment as Lady Audrey stormed back to Gundog Manor muttering darkly of the feckless Northern male.
Chapter the sixth tells of Sir Gundog’s acquaintance with Guy Fawkes and Sir Gundogs prayers of thanks for a dodgy Bradford Balti.
Sir Gundog did pride himself on the choice of his friends.
Sir Ian of Hemsworth for example, admittedly usually last to the bar and with more excuses for withholding funds than a Tabler explaining to his wife why he was home late yet again. Lord Drummond of Northern Parts as another, notoriously first to the bar and last to leave and with an unfathomable gallic twang. And of course who could forget Lady Michelle of Middle Parts, niece to the Sheriff of Nottingham but without his more tender side.
These though were relatively harmless oiks when compared to another erstwhile companion of our challenged in almost everyway Lord Gundog. I speaketh of none other than Guy Fawkes, a local roister doister with a veritable penchant for loud and oft times spectacular merrymaking. Shortly after the Preview weekend of which I thee regaled in October, Sir Gundog partook of a large amount of ale and meade in the snug of the Puffed up Pustule, a hostelry of low repute in central Leeds.
"Them Southerners in their fancy Parliament need a rocket up their arse" sayeth Sir Gundog. "Sir Ian of Hemsworth is like a lap dog to the Chancellor o’t exchequer and will verily spend my last groat to brown-nose the chancellors ample buttockery". Sir Guy, a dark and brooding cur was quick with his agreement and further added "thine idea to insert a rocket to that very Parliament hath merit Sir Gundog. On the morrow Thou and I shall sally forth to that Capital of foul weaseldom and Parliament will come a proper cropper". Shortly therefter Sir Gundog and Sir Guy did take carriage to a curried pie shop in Lower Bradford by the name of Miggins and Patel and did trench like pigs at a trough until before long Sir Gundog did find himself once again face down in the dog’s basket.On the morrow, the very 5th of November did Sir Guy Fawkes call at Gundog Manor to be told by the by now foul tempered Lady Audrey of Northern Parts that Sir Gundog could not come out to play and that Sir Guy should get up to mischief on his own. Indeed in a clever play on words it could be said that rather than a proper cropper, Sir Gundog was perforce destined for a proper crapper!! Sir Guy was not seen in those parts e’re again and it was indeed some days and a good deal of grovelling later before Sir Gundog was allowed out to play with his chums.
The first to visit was Chaucer who pointed out to Sir Gundog that May was not long distant and that bookings were indeed flooding in. "Thou hast best get thy skates on," sayeth the bard, "thou hast promised the folk of RTBI and NALC a right Royal do from the 8th to 11th of May and thou durst not cocketh it up". Lord Backhouse wheezed in just then and declaimed "thou should observe the website at www.leeds2008.co.uk" and promptly collapsed over the prone figure of his Tamworth Porker, Cyril.
"What the chuff is that all about?" questioneth Sir Gundog. "No idea" sayeth the bard and before Lady Audrey could them stop they had run off hand in hand down the putrid streets for a sup of ale and a venison balti. Happy days.
Chapter the seventh tells of dark times at Yule and a visit by Baronet Sharp of Vacated Parts whose exploits amaze even the Bishop of Bath and Wells.
A joyous time had been had by all. The tables had literally groaned under the weight of food and Sir Gundog, Sir Ian of Hemsworth, Lord Backhouse, Lord Drummond of Northern Parts, Lady Kathy of Rochedale, Lady Michelle of Middle Parts and the Bard Chaucer sat around a roaring fire in the main hall of Gundog Manor.
Lady Audrey of Northern Parts (a comely and buxom wench) poured port before snuggling up to her husband Sir Gundog and the whole group dozed, their peaceful reverie only interrupted by the grunts from Lord Backhouse’s favourite porker, Cyril. A soft and fearful knock resounded from the carved oak doors and a serf entered timidly and with a brow fair furrowéd.
"Sir Gundog," quoth he, adopting a stance which indicated his expectance of a cuff to the head. "Thou hast a guest, nay, even on this Yule Day". "Who cans’t this be?" queried the knight, rearranging his pink garter. "Speak up fellow, for all are welcome on this Yuletide feastday." Turning to Chaucer, he murmured behind his hand "except that most brazen oik Sharpe, Baronet of Vacated Parts and his doppelganger Sir Pritchard, Chancellor of the Exchequer."
Giggling Sir Gundog turned to see before him, their faces dark as thunder and the veins on their necks fit fair to burst, the afore mentioned Baronet and The Chancellor of the King’s exchequer. "Oh bollocks!", said a paling Sir Gundog, wringing his hands and dismissing the serf with a contemptuous slap, "I am undone".
Thou, dear reader will recall that Sir Gundog is a pitiful runty fellow, who wouldst, if born of the proletariat, have been the malodorous wretch whose job it was to sweep the streets of the foulness of surface drainage. The smell emanating from Sir Gundog was reminiscent of such a pleb, his bowels having been rightly loosened by the awesome spectacle before him. For Baronet Sharpe was a formidable man, bull necked, shoulders like a cart horse and muscles in places where Sir Gundog had no places. His presence silenced even the doughty Lord Backhouse who in his home city of Leeds was well known as a front row forward of some repute.
The Chancellor too was a mighty specimen, his red case clutched in one mailed fist showed signs of recent use as a dribble of dark blood spilled from its sharpened corner. Sir Ian of Hemsworth approached fawning and bowing to Sir Pritchard. "Sir Chancellor," sobbed the whinging keeper of Sir Gundog’s purse "how may thy vassal serve thee in thy most fortuitous and welcome visit to our lowly city?"
"Tha can start by standing up thou fawning soft Jessie", sayeth Sir Gundog who found himself for the first time taller than his usually lofty bursar. "Thy chin scrapeth so low that thou hast gouged a fair groove in my shagpile and I likest not thy grovelling before this office boy."
Sir Ian rose to his feet still with a stoop encompassing bow that demeaned his already pitiful deportment. Baronet Sharpe raised his head to speak, bringing a low fart of fear from Sir Ian and a shrivelling look of disdain from Sir Gundog. "I have come north to check on thy progress toward the AGM and festivities to be held in Leeds on May 8th to 11th next year", sayeth Baronet Sharpe, "and I’ve brought the Chancellor to check on the cooking of thy books. If I likest not what I find then thou all shall pay with thy lives. This is the order of our master, Prince Handley of Birmingham".
A shudder went round the room at the mention of Prince Handley, a notorious swordsman with a penchant for deep fried sweetbreads – usually gleaned from knights of the realm who failed to toe the party line. Sir Gundog gulped but sallied forth as he knew he was on solid ground. Pray sit down nobles all and I’ll regale thee with an insight into the bash we’ve arranged. The nobles went to sit.
"Not you, Sir Ian", quoth Sir Gundog, "thy miserable abasements have led me to see thee lower than a cur and thou shalt thus take thy place in the dog’s bed". Sir Gundog began "There is to be a dinner on the evening of the 8th for those international visitors who have been invited by Lord Drummond of Northern Parts and Lady Michelle of Middle Parts" (Lord Drummond would have responded at this point had he not been asleep hugging his favourite Laphroaig). "This dinner will be in the palatial Town Hall of Leeds and shall be preceded by a mayoral drinks reception. After the guests have all troughed gleefully there will be wassailing and merriment back at the Conference Hotel, Ye Queens, until morning is nigh. The Ball to be hosted by Lady Michelle and Lord Drummond will be in the huge Saville Hall, named after local hospital porter, Sir James and much feasting and libation will no doubt occur."
"The business of the AGMs will take centre stage on the Saturday after which there’ll be a right proper knees up with candy for the eye of fair ladies and handsome gents of NALC and RTBI. The evening willst be whiled away with much laughter and frivolity and a real northern party will be had by all. On Sunday the 11th we’ll get rid of the bloody lot of ’em and this city can return to it’s normal druffen self, as cans’t yours truly. If that’s not good enough for you southern types then hang me now and save me from these misbegotten ingrates that surroundeth me."
Baronet Sharpe of Vacated Parts smiled at Sir Gundogs boyish enthusiasm……and size and gave the thumbs up. "Just checking, my old thistle", sayeth he, "thou hast passed thy test, conference will be in Leeds in May and I dare say it’ll be a corker!"
"Is’t thy job done then?", asked Sir Gundog, "and if it is, willst thou bugger off back to thy glen for Chaucer is about to declaim his Christmas message".
Chaucer thus summoned rose to his feet as Baronet Sharpe and Sir Pritchard departed the room, “Have you heard the one about Sir Gundog and his Yuletide log?” he asked but that is another story and besides, the snoring of Lord Backhouse and Cyril had now lulled all there into peaceful slumber.
Chapter the eighth tells of the drawing nigh of the date for cheap bookings which can of course be made at www.leeds2008.co.uk.
Sir Ian of Hemsworth was again agitated. Sir Gundog was frantically sending pigeons and proclaimers hither and thither trying to get lords and ladies from RTBI and NALC to sign in for Conference before the date at which his niggardly bean counter could hoik up the price. Sir Ian cringed at every booking that came in, his face showing the strains placed upon it by the friendship of Sir Gundog.
"Thou art a ruinous ne’er-do-well, Sir Gundog" quoth Sir Ian. "Thy profligacy wilt surely bring this noble enterprise crashing to it’s knees!", he said with his nose held superiorly in the air.
"Thou talkest tripe!", replied Sir Gundog. "Thy penny pinching efforts to delay the punters from joining the happy throng who wilt soon come to our fair city do maketh me gip". Sir Ian had announced only the previous week that at the end of January he would abandon his early booking discount of £20.00 from the cost of a conference pass and that from the first day of February a pass would be £95.00. How Sir Gundog had lain into the cringing sop.
"Thou cringing sop," sayeth he loudly and with much vehemence. "Thou wouldst rob thine own bretheren to line thine own silk purse. Thou art verily a brigand and a lowlife, I hast no time for thee".
"Thou art wrong, Sir Gundog" replied haughty Sir Ian of Hemsworth. "I work to the orders of none other than Prince Handley of Birmingham who hath decreed that those Tablers and Circlers who do not take up the most gracious offer of discount must pay the full whack. The decision is not mine and thy foul besmirchings cut me to the very quick". Their argument had ended badly with runty Sir Gundog biting his lofty former pal on the knee and Sir Ian bringing down the full force of his ladies’ purse upon Sir Gundogs thinning pate. Lord Backhouse entered the room as the bleeding pair sat backs to each other at either side of the main hall of Gundog Manor.
"Bookings for’t shindig are flooding in", sayeth the masterful pig keeper. "Sir Drummond of Northern Parts and the beautiful Lady Taylor of Middle Parts are well pleased with the efforts of the committee Sir Gundog."
"Fancy a bacon sandwich?", enquired spiteful Sir Ian to Lord Backhouse. Lord Backhouse drew a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed his already reddened eyes. "Nay, nay and thrice nay", declaimed the sobbing Lord. "Thou may be aware that some foul and dastardly cur hath stolen my favourite Tamworth porker Cyril and I have put about warrants of a reward of fifteen groats for his safe return".
Sir Ian sniggered in the corner and Sir Gundog looked upon his friend with a growing sense of suspicion and unease. When Lord Backhouse had taken his leave, having first completed his own booking form to annoy Sir Ian further, Sir Gundog confronted his old chum right straightforwardly. "Is’t that Cyril in thy bacon sandwich Sir Ian?". "Aye" replied Sir Ian, "lean, juicy and with just a thin spreading of ketchup".
"Thou art without doubt the stingiest, tightest and most loathsome creature in Yorkshire’s fine county. Thou hast robbed from our friend Lord Backhouse his much beloved Cyril and hath turned him into bacon, sausages, chops and scrag end of neck, all to feed thine own slobbering gob. Thou art a brigand Sir".
At that moment Lady Kathy of Rochedale and Chaucer stepped into the room from the kitchen of Gundog Manor. On the trolley before them was a hot assortment of the finest porcine products and Sir Gundog’s mouth did dribble as it was oft prone to do. Thirty minutes later when the tray was emptied Chaucer was called upon to toast the departed. "The toast I give you is to Cyril, a fine and beautiful Tamworth porker in life. A fantastic bacon butty in death!". Always to the point, that Chaucer.
Chapter the ninth tells of Valentine’s day and the fulfilling of Lady Audrey’s needs…….. but by whom?
Lord Backhouse had the smile of a jester on his broad face as he promenaded through Leeds centre with his new friend Hector, a fine Wessex Saddleback of his acquaintance. Lord Backhouse was on his way to visit Sir Gundog who had, only that afternoon, been confirméd as the new village idiot. Gundog Manor looked a picture and the dandy Chaucer sat on the lawn strumming his lute and singing songs of love to Lady Audrey who trailed one gossamer sleeved arm in the goldfish pond.
Sir Gundog was in a strop and was busy writing a letter to Prince Handley of Birmingham. "I have never been so insulted," he began. "Oh yes you have," said Sir Ian, who lounged indolently in the chair of the great hall. "I remember when you were called a diminutive lap dog to that slip of a girl (meaning Queen Bess) and they call you much worse than that down at the Puffed up Pustule."
"Yes, yes," said Sir Gundog, "but I mean this village idiot thing. It’s downright disrespectful and Leeds isn’t a village anyway! I’m writing to the Prince Handley to ask his advice for I hold him in the highest esteem".
A serf was summoned and boarded the first cart for Marchesi House, now part owned incidentally by Lady Michelle of Middle Parts and her drunken uncle Lord Keith-Howard, Abbott of Newton. Meanwhile Chaucer had moved closer to Lady Audrey, even close enough to see the tattoo on the swell of her left breast which sayeth "Sic hoc adfixum in obice legere potes, et liberaliter educatus et nimis propinquus ades" which roughly translates as "If you can read this booby sticker, you are both very well educated, and much too close".
Sir Gundog therefore approached just as Chaucer was gazing intently at Lady Audreys lady lumps and, being in no mood to accept the pleadings of his mealy mouthed bard, did fetch him a fearful clout to the rear of his head with a handy lump of 3 x 2. Shouting triumphantly "Vescere bracis meis" (eat my shorts) he plucked the fair maid Audrey from the lawn and dragged her into the boudoir where he found her to have warmed to his masterful display in dealing with Chaucer. Chaucer spent the rest of the afternoon face down on the grass and awoke only in time to see Lady Kathy of Rochedale walking elegantly up the path to Gundog Manor.
The object of his affection having been taken from him in brutal fashion, Chaucer now turned his eye to the Lady Kathy who now he saw was a ravishing beauty whose only drawback was her Lancastrian origin. "Lady Kathy" quoth the bard still trying to push down the lump on the back of his head caused by his liege lords timber, "thy beauty astounds me, thy perfect shape is as ambrosia to mine ravenous eyes, thy stately gait entrances me with its swaying perfection and I faint fair away with the flawlessness of thine complexion".
"Bog off you slimy git!" said the lady, swinging her o’erstuffed handbag overarm to impact mightily upon that same lump caused by Sir Gundog. Poor Chaucer. He bit the ground again and Lady Kathy continued into the Manor where she addressed Sir Gundog.
"Sir Gundog, I hath gradely and welcome tidings from Lord Backhouse whom I hath just seen with Hector in the Puffed up Pustule. Numbers for thy Conference in Leeds on May 9th to 11th are rollicking along and even the tight and fair niggardly Sir Ian of Hemsworth hath a look of ecstasy on his face".
Sir Gundog’s expression had not changed, a look of cow eyed glory, of conquest and of desire fulfilled. Lady Audrey meandered into the hall at that moment, her own features radiating a glow which explained all to the Lady Kathy. The good Lady Kathy left the building stepping over Chaucer who lay prone and sparko on the path.
Spring is in the air, Valentines day is near over and May is only a few brief months away, she mused. All is well in the city of Leeds and Sir Gundog, his overactive loins fair sated, can now concentrate on the matter in hand (poor choice of words!), namely the conference and his valued team who had, as he had ravaged, been busy in the town and now did sing to their hearts content of the readiness of their fair city to welcome their friends of RTBI and NALC in May. Chaucer groggily awoke and uttereth "Non sum pisces" before slumping down having had a really bad day.
Chapter the tenth tells of The Ides of March and a dark cloud over Gundog Manor.
Sir Gundog was vexed. His serf, sent to visit Prince Handley of Birmingham, had failed to return and Sir Gundog chafed at the jesters stick (complete with bladder of Cyril), which he was forced to carry in his new position of Village idiot. "Bloody 'ell Aud," quoth the worried Knight, "Conference is but a couple of months away and unless the Prince Handley can help me from this predicament I’ll perforce welcome the cream of RTBI and NALC to our fair city in this jesters garb and holding up this stick of the departed Cyril’s inards whilst sporting this outrageous jangly hat". "Pish and tosh my Lord," sayeth the fair Lady Audrey, "thy downtrodden state is a trifling piffle and in no way undermines thy statuesque frame".
At this point Sir Ian of Hemsworth who had sat most quiet in the corner counting beans sprayed mulled wine all over his shiny piles….
"Statuesque?" questioned he. "Chaucer has oft remarked that thou art a runty fellow, thou willst be prey to his comic tongue when he thus spies thee in multi colouréd garb and brandishing Lord Backhouse’s former porker on a stick! His sweetbreads will be laughed off!"
Sir Gundog hung his head in misery as he realised that whilst his friend was a little blunt in his condemnation, he spoke verily of Chaucer’s likely outpourings. The sun it did set as suns will with no sign of the errant serf and no relaxation for the noble Knight. Chaucer strode into the hall in the flickering lamplight, proclaimed mightily that Sir Gundog should "Beware the Ides of March which are now upon us!" and collapsed with a bad case of drink and plagiarism.
The morrow dawned in misty miserableness for Sir Gundog who skipped into his own hall in his now usual manner as befitted a village idiot. "Bollocks," quoth he. "I am doomed to spend eternity in this poncy costume, where is that blithering serf?" Just then and with a remarkable gift for timing the errant serf returned, led on a chain by the jolly Prince of Birmingham. "Sir Gundog!", bellowed the Prince, "thy serf hath entertained me royally with glowing description of thy colourful problem and I was unable to contain my delight at thy current woe. I therefore ventured North to thy city of Leeds to see for myself and to laugh in side splitting mirth."
Sir Gundog looked crestfallen and spoke with an outflung lower lip and a quiver in his weak and girly voice. "But my Lord," gibbered he, "hast thou not found a way for thy loyal servant to get out of his predicament and that right rapid? Hast thou not employed the workings of thy renowned grey matter to drag thy Knightly favourite out of this stinking dungheap in which he findeth himself? Say it ain’t so Prince, say that thou hast indeed exercised thy mind to redeem my current slovenly state."
"Calm thyself, numpty!", quoth the purple one. "Thy worries are at an end. The solution is fair simple, thicket, thou must only proclaim that thou art not in fact an idiot and, since thou art a knight of honour thy people must thus accept thy word. As I did say, simple!!"
Sir Gundog could not believe that he had been so stupid. Sir Ian of Hemsworth could though, and again burst into a paroxysm of laughter, his piles again bearing the brunt.
And so, his honour restored Sir Gundog began the final phase of his city’s preparations for the event of the year, National Conference 2008, and to celebrate (and to get even with his fawning bean counter) did announce to all who would listen that the cheap conference pass would be available up until the first of March forsooth!
The city was in the grip of conference fever, joyously anticipating this wonderful event. Lord Drummond of Northern Parts and the Midland’s own Lady Michelle issued a welcoming message via the medieval website of www.Leeds2008.co.uk that those wishing to book should do so now and stop their farting about for the time drawest nigh when all should meet up to discuss, debate and imbibe in the name of those two glorious organisations, NALC and RTBI.
Chaucer finally wakened from his libational slumber could merely mumble "the beer up ‘ere’s bloody cheap" before stumbling off to the Puffed up Pustule with Lord Drummond of Northern Parts to begin another quaffing.
Part the eleventh tells of last minute preparations for the big weekend and at last shows Sir Gundog for what he really is.
Lord Drummond of Northern Parts and Lady Michelle of Middle Parts were knackered and did sit together in the Hall of Gundog Manor resting their aching dogs and drinking yet another triple sambuca and paraffin.
"It’s been a hell of a year," said Lord Drummond, his gentle Scottish brogue beginning to crack after yet another speech to the unwashed. "Indeed it has, my Lord," agreed Lady Michelle, her long blond tresses o’erflowing the curvy dress frontage alluringly. "I’m fair jiggered and looking forward with great gusto for that day in Leeds when I can at last pass on the mantle of NALC to some other babe."
Lord Backhouse, upon hearing the word 'babe' and thinking of porkers again, trotted in with Hector his favourite Wessex Saddleback in close tow. "Ey up and sithee thou two, what’s all this slobbing around and talking of pigs when thou knowest that I am most sensitive to a comely swine."
At that moment in danced Sir Gundog. "Ah, a comely swine!", muttered Lady Michelle. "What Ho!, me old beauties," proclaimed Sir Gundog, a foppish hat draped over one eye, "things are going reight gradely at conference HQ, numbers are up, the hotels are all waiting and Tetleys have brewed an extra ship load of ale to quench the heaving masses when thou two have exercised thine gobs all day at the AGMs. The sun shines and the Yorkshire welcome is laid on thick and proper for t’lads and lasses of RTBI and NALC."
Sir Ian of Hemsworth minced in, his hands caressing one another, their scent of filthy lucre mingling with his Old Spice, bought for half price in Leeds market. "We’re on target for a massive profit," he cried in bean counter ecstasy. "Handley, Prince of Birmingham will wear new ermine robes this year and the most flashy of German carriages will be purchased for National Exec use out of the proceeds. I have done well and I know that Lord Drummond and Lady Michelle shall reward my niggardly penny pinching with elevation to the Lords as I’ve long hankered after."
He looked hopefully at the reclining duo. Into his vision rose Sir Gundog, a look of fearsome fire burning his rugged features. Pulling himself up to his full five foot two he rounded on his tight fisted and misguided friend.
"Thou speaketh of profit, thou speaketh of ermine and German carriages, thou speaketh of reward!" His voice was rising and Lord Backhouse covered the ears of Hector to save the sensitive boar from the onslaught which all knew was on its way. "There will be no profit, there will be no gratuities, nor blandishments heaped on the National Exec. This conference is for the common folk, those for whom a wash is an unlooked for luxury, those for whom food must come second to the glory of a proper pint, those for whom sack cloth and rope belt are more easily fit than ermine and a foppish hat. Thou wilt leave my hall this instant and thou shalt proceed forthwith and without dilly dally to the conference venue and the hotels and thou wilt insist that the managers spend all thine ill begotten profits, garnered from the common lads and earthy lasses of our organisations, on the enjoyment of our folk at Conference 2008. Thou must right quick sack Peters and Lee with whom thou had contracted to sing on all evenings, and employ the best musicians around these parts, thou shalt put away any thought of dishing up boiled turnip for tea and instead provide decent grub, to the liking of Sir Gordon of Ramsey, thou shalt reduce thy beer prices so that all can have a right good sup and thou shalt swap the hovels set aside at thy farm as lodgings for the best that Leeds town centre has to offer and at low prices too. All this thou shalt do this very day to give the guests a proper Yorkshire value for money weekend and bugger the thought of profit for Handley, Prince of Birmingham. For thou art a tight fisted effeminate jessy, thine silk purse runneth over for the minute yet by the end of this day it hadst best be down to its last groat after a clear out of funds or so help me I’ll…...."
Lord Backhouse slowly backed away fearing that Sir Gundog was about to bust. Lord Drummond of Northern Parts and Lady Michelle of Middle Parts blanched at the foul and putrescent language issuing forth from Sir Gundogs spraying lips. Sir Ian of Hemsworth sobbed, his tears falling onto the crisp oncers which currently filled his ladies purse. All knew that Sir Gundog had at last risen from the jesty fop which he had of late become and had transformed into the virile and powerful stallion which had been hidden beneath his outrageous costumery. Lady Audrey swooned fair away with pride at the man whom she had married as a last resort but who had now shown himself for the leader she had always longed for. Darting forward she plucked him from the room to lead him to arbours cool where the heat could be turned up further, a look of unconcealed desire spread across her face and heaving bosom. Sir Ian was left to go on his spending spree, every penny which left his purse causing him actual physical pain.
Lady Rochedale and the bard Chaucer appeared when all had left, Chaucer still believed she would fall for his own brand of gibberish and so let fly another of his classy poems:
Lady Kathy was now thoroughly sick of the lumpy poet and kicked him gracefully in the gonads. "See you at Leeds at the conference," wheezed Chaucer, optimistically seeing the kick as a playful taunt.
"Not if I see you first, bloody ejit" sayeth strong Lady Kathy, checking for hot towels.
And so the stage was finally set to welcome one and all to Old Leeds. You’ll enjoy it when you get here and we’ll give you the chance to make some great memories of your time in Yorkshire. Eat, drink and be merry and remember there’s always someone worse off than you …. and it’s usually Sir Gundog!!
WARNING - may contain nuts.