Are You a Northern Bar Steward or Southern Fairy?

[bigcumba]

Apologies for the title but that's the name of the quiz!

http://www.thehob.co.uk/northerner.asp

[Workshy]

YOU ARE A NORTHERN *******

Flat caps, tripe, life down t'pit, black pudding, Grimsby. Just a few of the things that you hold dear to your heart, for you are now officially a Northern *******. Why not celebrate with a good ol' fashioned party in the street with bunting, flags and jelly and custard?

If you are, in fact, a southerner and are reading this then don't be too disappointed. You now have to be friendly to people, pronounce poor as 'poowa' and take baths in a steel bathtub in front of the living room fire. Not really. That would be ridiculous. Just move to Workington.

If you are in fact a true northerner, good on ya! And, we'll see you down south in a couple of years. Just you watch.

In conclusion, I'll si thi later, ya *******!

I'm a southerner though :doh

[tophatter]

fank gawd fer thaat. im a southerner!

[bigcumba]

I've been converted to a southerner as well - 7 years in Brighton does funny things..... and no I don't mean that sort of funny! :yikes:

[Workshy]

I've been converted to a southerner as well - 7 years in Brighton does funny things..... and no I don't mean that sort of funny! :yikes:
You've set up camp for too long mate. Ooo

[presto]

northern ................. :doh monkey for me, tec dat yer suthern shandy suppers.

[Jonny2621]

Good old London boy moved out to Essex, i only got to q5 and they went straight to the conclusion...

"Ok, ok, enough, you Southern *******!!"

Yerrrrrrrrr :D

C'mon you Irons! 2-0 to the Irons when the flat caps come to twon tomorrow!

[Jonny2621]

I do beg your pardon, i think i might be a tad tipsy old boy...


Good old London boy moved out to Essex, i only got to q5 and they went straight to the conclusion...

"Ok, ok, enough, you Southern *******!!"

Yerrrrrrrrr :D

C'mon you Irons! 2-0 to the Irons when the flat caps come to twon tomorrow!

[bigcumba]

You've set up camp for too long mate. Ooo

:laugh Good play on words there! Brighton seems to be full of all sorts of weird and wonderful folk, and it's reckoned now that the gay/lesbian community now outnumber the rest of us... maybe they'll twin the town with San Francisco soon.... it's definitely not your traditional seaside resort any more...

[sparkyminer]

I'm a Northern b'stard and proud of it. 'Life down t'pit.' Almost bought a tear to my eye. :wink :)

[HOMER]

Confused from the Midlands?
Depends where you're looking from, Leicestershire's about as near to the middle as you can get. :doh

[sparkyminer]

Strange that Homer, I live approx 20 miles from the Leics border and I consider myself a Northener.

[jollyjayne]

Anyone know where I can get some donkeystones to do my front dooorstep. Used to get them from t` rag and boneman but he dunt come around very often.

I`m off to bed now before t` knocker up comes to get me up.

Here is a short story written in local lingo. ( It may not make much sense to southern wussies )


Our story takes place in a small Lancashire village community with little going on from one week to the next.

"I'm beawnt pack up awze I've geet un tek mi hook someweer else," threatened Dan. "I'm naer beawnt find a wench if I stop areawnd here."

"Tha t' beawnt ger ower it i' time," the ironmonger consoled him. "I wer like thee ut one time un neaw look ut me! "

"That's wor I meeun." Dan felt more depressed. "YO naer geet wed un yore still here selling pegs un nails awe'l wick."

"Nor on a Sunday," he corrected. "Anyroad, if tha left, who would summon us to t' church if our bell ringer took his hook?"

"Yo could do it!" suggested Dan. "I'm nor irreplaceable yo know."

"I couldn't do it," said the shopkeeper, feeling uncomfortable at the suggestion. "Why, I've naer bin in t' belfry awe'lt time uz I've lived here. Un agen, I couldn't leave t' shop."

"It's on a Sunday, yo crate egg. Un tha sez uz tha closes on t' Sabath," said Dan. "Un weers that lad uz tha took on last wick? I've naer seen im abeawt lately."

"I had fert sack him. Tha sees, he weren't too breet."

"Wot does t' meeun -- not too breet? Un heaw breet has fert be fert wark in here?"

"Breeter than him, I con tell thi," was the reply.

"Come on." Dan knew that the lad wouldn't be sacked for nothing and wanted to know the reason for the shopkeeper's harsh action.

"It wer when I wuz on mi dinner breyk," he went on. "A lorry fotched a load of spades uz I'd ordered."

"Well," said Dan, "there's nowt unusual in that!"

"There wouldn't o' bin if he'd acted reet," he was told. "But he sent awe'lt lot back because there wer no instructions wi um! Tha hed bet'thur wattch eawt uz he doesn't put in fer t bell ringer."

"He moant touch them bells o' mine ut no price!"

"Well. He would o' med a mess o' my business if I'd kept him."

"Oh deary me." Dan now understood the difficulty of being a shop owner. "Does havin this shop ger in t' road o' yo havin a holiday?"

"I geet a holiday five year since. Awe t' road ter Norway," the shopkeeper boasted, and a smile showed upon his face which Dan noticed.

"Wor are t' lowfen at?" said Dan. "It must o' bin sommat uz stuck in thi mind."

"Oh it wer," he said. "I went ter church while I wer theer un it wer awe'l in foreign tawk. There wer three English sowgers theer un tha cud tell uz they hed no idea wot wer gooin on un wot fert do, because they sat ut back of a distinguished lookin mon un when he stood up, they followed, if tha knows wor I meeun."

"I think uz that's wor I would o' done," said Dan.

"Anyroad, near t' th'end ut sermon, vicar blabbered sommat eawt un uz t' mon in front geet up, these three sowgers stood up un set awe t' congregation lowfin."

"Lowfin?" asked Dan. "Un wot wer they lowfin abeawt?"

"I asked," said the shopkeeper, "un wot t' vicar ud sed wer that next Sunday mornin there wuz beawnt be a christening ... un would t' father of t' child please stond up!"

"Oh dearie me. I suppose that's wot tha gets fer not gooin ter church regularly eh?"

"Un fer uz lot not teckin t' trouble fert larn a foreign language," butted in the shopkeeper.

"If tha asks me, tha doesn't need fert go abroad fert hear foreign languages," said Dan. "Tha only needs fert go someweer like Liverpool, or anyweer else eawtside this village, un tha cawnt tell wot they are on abeawt. Onyroad, I'll hev fert be awf neaw cos I'm expectin a visitor."

"A visitor?" the shopkeeper chided. "Tha's not started ...."

"Coo-ertin? Tha duzzn't think uz I've lost mi marbles awe't gether does t' a? Nay, it's a pen friend who's a bellringer un awe'l fro Atherton un I've invited him fert hev a look ut our church bell."

"Tha t' preawd o' yon bell, Danny mi lad," he was told. "Tha knows, it cud become an obsession."

"Nor heawf as bad as courtin," came back the reply, as Dan made haste through the shop door and ran all the way to the church. A young fellow was sat on the seat in the lychgate and stood up as Dan approached.

"Are tha Dan?" he asked.

"That's me, un tha must be Tom."

Both bellringers made close friends on contact and the knowledge and love of bells was apparent as Dan took him inside of the bell tower and showed off his prize bell resting majestic and silent. He kicked the outside of the bell ever so gently to allow it to make a hollow ring.

"Owd mon," said Tom. "It's a fair size in t' it fer a small church? I don't know if I con face this one."

"Wot duz t' meeun," said a puzzled Dan. "Face wot?"

"Oh nowt special." Tom looked out of the paneless stone window and into the graveyard beyond. "Is there onnybody famous buried ere?" he asked.

Dan thought for a while then answered with pride. "There's a chap buried yonder who used ter write crosswords fer Lancashire Evenin sommat or other."

"Oh aye," answered Tom. "Which one uv ems iz then?"

"Theer," Dan pointed out. "Sithi. It's that one theer. Four deawn, three across!"

The business of bell talk took up most of the time and then to characters belonging to the church took centre stage.

"Our vicar is awlus cummin on to uz fert add money to t' church funds. Money fer repairs, money fer books, money fer this, money fer that," said Dan. "We're beginnin fer t' feel like less o' his flock un moower o' his fleeced!"

"Sister Mary is the character in our flock," replied Tom. "She'd just cum back fro Lourdes un wer gooin through customs when her wer cawed back un had fer t' undo her case. Inside wer two dark-coloured bottles which the customs chap spotted. She towd him uz it only held holy water but when he undid t' top o' one un smelt it, he towd her uz it was whisky. 'Oh dear,' said Sister Mary, 'a miracle has indeed started to happen!' "

"Annyroad," said Dan. "Wot does t' think o' my bells, un wot wert on abeawt 'if tha cud face it?"

"Neaw I'm beawnt surprise thi!" said Tom. "Tha's yerd abeawt Quasimodo who rang iz bell wi that hump on iz back?" Dan nodded. "Well wattch this cos I con ring that bell wi nowt else but mi face."

Dan was taken aback as Tom sprung upon the bell to give it a start with its swing then each time the bell came near him he pushed it forward each time with the side of his face.

Dan began to laugh with excitement and exclaimed: "Owd mon, tha should be in t' Guinness Book o' Records. I've naer seen a church bell rung wi sumbody's face afore!"

The bell rang with much glee as Tom pushed and pushed and sometimes jumped upon the bell to give it extra swing, but things took a turn for the worse. Tom missed the bell's casing and slid along it, uncontrollably, and out he fell through the window, his fall broken partially by the outbuilding as he rolled down and lay unconscious, spreadeagled on the grass.

A small crowd, aroused by the bells being rung in mid-week, gathered around Tom as he lay there and, as everyone knew each other in this village, it was soon realised that the prone figure was a stranger.

"Who is he?" asked farmer Simes, wiping sweat from his brow. "I don't know," replied the village midwife, who was riding past on her bike. They all turned to old Sall, which they always did in an emergency. She walked around the lithe figure lying there, noticing his denim patched trousers and his well heeled boots. "Well?" asked the crowd. She walked around him again, grasped his hair and turned his head to face her. "Well," she said in disdain. "I cawnt reetly say who he is ... but his face rings a bell!"

[podtog]

Rag n Bone man, did they have them darn sarf, I remember he always gave us Kids Balloons and Im not even that old.

[John]

I ain't no savnar, gavnar! :doh

[vegyjones]

Alwight, guvnor? For you are a Southern Fairy. Thank God you didn't turn out to be one of those northern gits, eh? Too many of them around for anyone's liking. And, don't even get us started on the Scots. Celebrate down your local bar with a cool pint of lager. That costs £3.00.

If you are in fact a northerner and are reading this, then you have achieved quite something. The only explanation is a lack of work down t'pit and over-exposure to colour television. You should be listening to the wireless you jackanape.

Chances are, you are in fact a southerner. If so, why not try black pudding with your next fryup? It's great. Actually, no it's not.

In conclusion, fack off, you cahnt!

Got me facking dan to a tea, dat! :D