Friday, 15 January 2010

Spit Spot

I see Julie Andrews is promoting her new show. Mrs M is so glad she’s back. She (Julie A.) very sweetly sent us a signed photo for a charity “gala” presentation of The Sound of Music at Marple’s Regent Cinema a couple of years ago.

Wouldn’t it be lovely if Julie came to see us here in Marple Bridge! 

We’re very welcoming to most visitors. Lady Thatcher might disagree, because someone attacked her with a bunch of daffodils on Town Street.

Alright: it’s hard to imagine Mary Poppins’ umbrella, or her vowels, making it much further North than, say, Gerrards Cross – certainly not all the way up here. The Dark Peak has more peat bogs than Alpine flowers. Also, marching up from Hayfield Quarry to claim the right to roam on Kinder Scout isn’t quite the same challenge as the Von Trapps’ problem with resisting Nazi lebensraum.

Still, our hills are alive. Not so much with the sound of music, but with the thump and squelch of Vibram soles, the swish of Gortex, and the munching of Eccles Cakes. Nothing wrong with that. In fact, there’s quite a lot to recommend life here, Julie.

Take the Regent Cinema. Today, our local screen stands alone against the Multiplexes of Belle View, Grand Central and Parr’s Wood. All around have fled: Gatley, Hale, Hulme; even the Rex at Wilmslow has gone. But the Regent still brings us one screen, two ice cream trays with real Choc Ices, and the faintest hint of popcorn oil and Jeyes Fluid. Great movies too. Mrs M is always on the phone to the Management discussing the programme, so how could I say otherwise? A quick phone call to the Regent is all you need for two perfect seats in the circle for you and Dick Van Dyke – no booking fee. Add in 2 Magnums (Mrs M has no shame), and you’ll still have change from £12.

I’ve done a ditty for you, Julie. The boys (we call them Eminem behind their backs) say it’s nuffin on Big Brovaz’, but it will have to do.

Grey skies and Gregg’s pies in front of the telly
Puddles on towpaths and crab apple jelly
The bubble of curlews high up on the moor
Go on like this, and you’ll give me what for.

When the wind howls, when the road’s shut
When I’m unemployed,
I’ll get out in a track through the woods with the mut
And somehow I’m less annoyed.

Personal number-plates, modernised dwellings
Diggers and tractors, and blousy white weddings
Wet Winter Wonderland, jams on Dan Bank
Why am I looking for someone to thank?

When the wind howls...

Arkwright and Oldknow; blonde ladies in Minis
Agas and Rayburns, expensive bikinis
Moderate jazz in the Devonshire Arms
This little town has more blessings than harms

When the wind howls...

It’s just an idea, Julie. I really don’t mind if you change it. Tx A3GBJGJPR45E

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