It were during a bit of a lock-in down at t'Tackler's Ferret when Beefburger's pimple, what he always has on his left cheek, just below the eye socket, began to bleed yet again. He denied having picked it. "Wuzznae me" he said, offering his empty glass for a fill up. He picked a bit of cardboard off his beermat and staunched the flow. For now, anyway.
Some say that Beefburger were raised by otters on the shores of a windswept and stupidly remote Scottish sea loch. His resemblance, though, was more like a very sad alsation, abandoned on a moorland trunk road and waiting in the rescue kennels for the new family and cosy home that never came. He'd be a ginger alsation, then, which may be what's putting people off. And he's Scottish, obviously. What he's doing in the upper corries of Calderdale is a mystery that may never be solved.
He did suggest that my life had settled into a rather cosy routine and that what I really needed was a bit of exercise and something like a target.
Later... I shuffled off home. The night rain slashed down and the wind re-arranged some wheelie bins at the end of our street (bin day tomorrow). It was midnight on midsummer's eve and Beefburger was right. I decided to do some research.
After a session on t’interweb, during which I almost sobered up, I came across an intriguing idea for a long walk. I forgot to write it down, but it was obviously a Yorkshire idea – something like “T’Go Challenge” A fascinating name, and probably just the thing for me.
I couldn’t find it again on Google the next day.
I must discuss this further with Beefburger. Next Thursday, down at the Tackler’s Ferret. After the ladies’ darts and free ham and tongue barms.
