Sixth series, episode 1

All six series are available here on the HebWeb.

In the first episode of series 6, George Murphy reflects on changes in our climate. He recalls the birth of a northern soap, notices the different reactions to the Epstein files in Britain and the States and is aghast at developments in plastic surgery. He compares the differing call out charges of local plumbers, swaps tales with a fellow performer and welcomes the autobiography of a famous solicitor.

Where are the snows of yesteryear?

In Britain, very wet winters used to occur once every 80 years. Now they drench us every 20 years, and global warming will increase their frequency. In January and February 2026, the southerly flow of the Jet Stream, which usually warms our shores, brought us a prolonged dousing due to severe snowstorms in the States.

I remember hearing Alistair Cook, of Letters from America renown, saying he preferred New York's freezing winters to our cold, dank, dreary ones. In New York, the skies were often blue at this time of year, and when Central Park Lake froze over, the public were allowed free access for skating. After snowstorms, families sledged on downhill slopes and the public mood stayed buoyant - despite the freezing air.

This weekend, we received a much needed gift of sunshine, blue sky and a romantic dusting of glistening snow on Valentine's Day. But in the past, heavy extended periods of snowfall were quite common.

In the 70s, I ran to work from Foster Clough through driving snow and a farmer jokingly shouted a request to help him dig his sheep out of the deep snow in the field below our terrace. That winter, snowploughs piled the soft white stuff into solid walls along Heights Road.

Photo with thanks to David Ball - taken 21st February 1979

But, when the snow eventually stopped and the sun came out, Alistair Cook would have exulted in the beauty of the Pennines and the views from Mount Skip and the 'Hippy Terrace.' Due to the warming winters, I haven't felt able to perform the following song in recent years …

It's Grim Down South
(To the tune of My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean)

A dusting of snow lies on Surrey,
With drifts almost half an inch deep.
And London has had a light flurry,
Now rush hour's been slowed to a creep.
Up North our bad weather's more chronic,
But we never get reet down in t' mouth,
(Down in t' mouth)
If we utter these words as a tonic,
Eee but it's grim down South!
(CHORUS)
Eee but, Eee but,
Eee but it's grim down South,
Down t' South.
Eee but, Eee but,
Eee but it's grim down South!
(Soloist)
And we dance the Hoochey Cooch
North of Ashby de la Zouch,
Singing Eee but it's grim down South.

And when Pennine snow's piled up to t' windows
But BBC don't want to know
(Want to know)
'Cause backroom Nigels and Belindas
Say ours isn't "the right type of snow,"
Then we summon our humour sardonic,
From Merseyside up to Tynemouth.
(To Tynemouth)
Though our heating bill's grown astronomic,
We say, Eee but it's grim down South!
(CHORUS)
(Soloist)
Winter's long but we'll get through it
If we think of the Inuit
And sing Eee but it's grim down South.
I wor tawkin' 'bout fundin' of London,
An' all capital, capital takes,
When a mate who's a London offcumden,
Said, "They've not got your hills and lakes."
And I dreamt 'bout this new high speed rail,
And all passengers sang with one mouth,
(With one mouth)
As their train left King Cross they all wailed,
Eee but it's grim down South.
[CHORUS]
And as they rode forth, to t' glories up North
They sang Eee but it's grim down South!

Storm Corrie

Steve Wright of British Social History recently shared an old photo of Ena Sharples and Elsie Tanner having a shouting match. The first episode of Coronation Street was broadcast on 9th December 1960, which also happened to be my 10th birthday.

It must have been in 62, my first year at my Secondary Modern, when I was asked to write a 'critique' of Corrie for The Ellesmere Port Advertiser. Thinking critique meant criticise, I wrote that the soap wasn't like real life. In real life, most people muddle along with their neighbours. I stuck to what I thought was my brief, whilst knowing that conflict is a key part of dramas and storytelling. However, it wasn't the scripted actors that fascinated me, it was the real life of viewers who were muddling through, especially the younger generation. The documentary 7 UP was my favourite TV series.

Not long after my review appeared in the paper, Pat Phoenix was a guest at a local event in Ellesmere Port and a man showed her my critique. Pat said I was a "Cheeky Bugger!"

PW has continued to watch Corrie over the years. She reckons it's not as funny as it used to be.

Britain v America

The social commentator Greg Stuart, has pointed out striking differences in the responses to the Epstein files.

A British woman is in prison, a British politician has been disgraced, and a British Prince has been stripped of his titles and public role. Stuart agrees that these measure were: 'All warranted. All deserved.' But he notes that in the States, 'not one prominent American has been investigated, charged or held to account … 'So, USA, when are you planning to take the handcuffs out and start thinking about the victims instead of protecting reputations?'

Back from the Dead

Eve Wiseman in The Observer Magazine (8th February) reported on a course for the British Society of Facial Plastic Surgery in Nottingham, where beauty products were taken from the heads of dead loved ones to give the surgeons some practice. In the States, 'corporate types and celebrities' are paying hundreds of thousands of dollars to be injected with dead people's fat to 'smooth out breast implants and fill out their faces or add more arse after Ozempic thinning.'

Wiseman quoted from an article in Dazed magazine, where Ellen Atlanta interviewed an ethics professor who worries that people who donate their bodies in order to cure cancer might think twice if they learn that their heads might be used to train surgeons to perform nose jobs.

Plumbing the depths

As I was out having a half of Heart and Soul with my son Jude at the White Lion, followed by meeting up with the Editor of HebWeb at Leila's, I little guessed that PW was sorting out a domestic drama at home.

Whilst flushing the top floor toilet, Kath found that the water that should have gone down kept welling up. Derek, our reliable plumber, was away for the week. So she phoned around.

The first local plumber she rang told her he charged £180 just to turn up. She said that was too steep. Later he rang her back and said he'd drop his call out charge to £140.

She said, "Don't bother. My daughter has sent her regular plumber over and he's just fixed it for £80 - including his call out charge!"

The magic glove

Before Christmas at the Shaggy Dog Club, fellow monologue man Andy, told a rhyming tale about Jack, an apprentice builder who was sent on lots of errands by his workmates. One job was getting the workmen's lunchtime sandwiches. This wasn't such a bad task because Jack quite fancied the lass behind the counter in the sandwich shop.

One bitterly cold day he was on his way back from the shop when he noticed an abandoned black gauntlet on the pavement. So, daft as it may seem, he put the glove on - even though it had a hole at the tip of its Toby Tall finger – thinking it would at least warm one of his hands.

No sooner had Jack pulled on the gauntlet than a genie popped through the hole and said, "I am the genie of the glove. If you say 'Alacazam!' I will obey your every command." So, Jack ordered the genie to deliver the sandwiches to his workmates.

When he got back, the workmates all looked at Jack in wonder. One said, "Jack, is that a magic glove you are wearing?"

Jack said, "How did you know that?!"

"Well, the sandwiches arrived before you did."

Another said, "Also Jack … you're still hovering five feet up in the air."

So Jack told them what had happened. But when they asked what the magic word was, he couldn't remember it! So they started going through the few magic words they could think of, starting with "Abracadabra!" None of their words were the magic one. So, Jack slept with his glove on that night in case he happened to remember the magic word.

Next day, the workmen told Jack he had such a bad memory he should start writing a list of their sandwich orders.

So he wrote:

'Cyril has prawns and lettuce on white.'

'Dougal has beef and onion on brown.'

'And Alec has ham.'

'Whoosh!' The genie shot out and said. "I am the genie of the glove. And I will obey your every command."

What happened next? Well, I can't remember the rest of Andy's tale, but perhaps the men received their sandwiches, whilst Jack and the lass from the sandwich shop left their jobs and were never seen again … apart from in Madeira on their holidays. What d'yer reckon?

Andy told me his story was inspired by a Geordie guy called Garth Coch, and a game. In exchange for sharing his tale, I gave him a copy of Hippy Valley.

At the next Shaggy Dog gathering, Andy told me his favourite tale in Hippy Valley was Marjory Dexter: Schools Inspector. The song was inspired by a friend who'd just retired as a primary school Head Teacher about a decade ago. She told me that Ofsted had declared that in future, schools graded as Satisfactory, needed to be reinspected. Satisfactory now meant Must Improve!

Marjory Dexter, Schools Inspector
To the tune of Pixicati from the ballet Sylvia by Delibes

Richard Perkin, most parts working,
Looking for late romance joined a dating agency.
Chose Marjory Dexter, Schools Inspector,
She gave ratings after datings in three categories

[MARJORY]
Your manners and opinions I endorse: Grade 4s!
Your country house and cars deserve applause: Grade 4s!
But Sex was only Satisfactory: Grade 3!
So really Richard, don't start boasting,
Friends agree that you've been coasting!
On this website I am hosting.

You really ought to think of ambience, Dicky!
If we should date again by any chance, Dicky!
To stir my fires down below,
You'll never make my embers glow
By playing songs by Barry Manilow, Dicky!

[RICHARD]
Marjory Dexter, Schools Inspector,
Thank you for your ratings in all three categories.
You say our mating was deflating,
Satisfaction calls for action,
But you're hard to please.

Although your charms I find hard to resist, Marjory!
Every move I made you ticked a list, Marjory!
And then you put on t' Ride o't Valkyries, Marjory!
And it did not increase my pleasure,
Contemplating parts I treasure,
When you took out your tape measure!

Your website says that you admire restraint, Marjory!
But when I saw your whips, I felt quite faint, Marjory!
At bravery I'm not a champ,
I draw a line at Nipple Clamps,
In fact I'm satisfied I scored Grade 3, Marjory!

And finally

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