Filed: Maurice Wilson

It’s all a dream and illusion now

I don’t know if it was the Brussels sprouts or the Christmas pudding that did for me, but after the exertions of the football match, the meal and the soporific effect of Yorkshire Television, I dozed off into a deep sleep in the armchair.

I woke in the early hours feeling the chill. The only sounds were the hiss of the gas fire and the high-pitched hum from the Rediffusion tv, its screen blank, apart from the white dot in the centre indicating that it had closed down for the night. Read more ›››

When Glad Tidings Were Brung

Christmas Armistice

Detective Snow called this morning like the Archangel Gabriel bringing tidings of great joy. The Yorkists had declared a Christmas truce in the War of Maurice Wilson’s Underwear.

In the spirit of the season, they invited me to play in an armistice football match in the no man’s land that is the mud and cinder pitch at the end of Bethesda Street, but it turned out to be a Yorkist ruse to kick seven bells out of me. Read more ›››

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Christmas Eve in Cleckhuddersfax and I believe we are finally beginning to settle into our new surroundings.

We had a visit from the Carol Listeners last night. This is the Yorkshire version of carolling in which groups of people knock on your door and you have to sing them a song and then pay them for listening. Or else they take your first born child or television, whichever is handiest. Read more ›››

Deck the Halls

With all the excitement of joining the police protection programme, one thing we haven’t had time to do is decorate the flat to make it feel more like Christmas, so we decided to risk being spotted by murderous Yorkists with a trip into town to see what we could find.

Pc Derek insisted that I should wear a disguise for my own safety, one that would help me blend in with the crowd and wouldn’t draw attention. That’s it on the left. A sort of Yo-ho-ho Z Z Top look. Read more ›››

Truth is like the sun*

In case you didn’t know it (and I’m sure that you do) it’s the winter solstice today which means we’re as far away from the sun as it is possible to get. Or at least it feels that way in Cleckhuddersfax.

We’ve been here for the best part of a week now and I don’t think the sun has shown its face once. In fact, the only way of knowing whether it is night or day is to check if the street lights are on or not. Read more ›››

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale*

Pc Barraclough

Day three in the police protection programme and we’re at a bit of a loose end. There’s not a lot to do in Cleckhuddersfax.

Mrs P has taken up knitting cakes, a popular past-time in these parts it seems. She picked up the pattern book at a local charity shop. It was good as new, apart from a few expletives scrawled on the cover in crayon. Read more ›››

Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety*

Jack Frost

The police come in for a lot of criticism these days, but they’re still the people to turn to when you’re in trouble. When I explained what I’d posted about cross-dressing in Yorkshire, there was a panda car round the front of our house before you could say Maurice Wilson.

The senior detective who turned up to interview me looked exactly like the David Jason character in A Touch of Frost, even down to the trilby and dated moustache. Read more ›››

Cross Cross-dressers

I was somewhat taken aback by by the heated reaction to my post about Maurice Wilson yesterday. There was me thinking I was celebrating the life of a forgotten Yorkshireman and all I get are insults and denials.

I told the tale straight (no pun intended), or at least with no more tongue-in-cheek than I would have used had Maurice been a Lancastrian. Read more ›››