As the memories of the Bournemouth trip fade and old Chuffer is not-so-chuffed as he hasn’t heard from Marilyn yet (see last blog) the reality strikes that the play, The Accrington Pals, is on in a month and lines must be learnt. So I thought I would take this opportunity to remind you, dear reader, the production dates are 27th to 29th November, Kingston Bagpuize with Southmoor Village Hall 7.30pm sharp. Tickets £7 from village shops or telephone 01865 820375 and ask for Betty.

Just to put you in the picture vis-à-vis the ‘Pals’ by Peter Whelan, it is set in Accrington during the first two years of the Great War. The ‘Pals’ are the men from the local volunteer battalion who march high-spiritedly off to war. Their experiences in the trenches are contrasted with those of the women left behind, adapting to new patterns of life and drawing together in the face of social and sexual deprivation. In particular, the attitudes of May, the hard-working and strong-minded vegetable-stall holder, are contrasted with those of her idealistic and naively optimistic lodger Tom, and also with those of Eva, her generous hearted friend. At times funny, at times sad, the play paints a moving and powerful picture of the changes in civilian life during wartime. So now you know.

Fresh from the knowledge that it was this day in 1808 that Covent Garden burnt down and J C Squire founder of The London Mercury died in 1958, I return to my script to polish up the old lines. So I leave you this week with this tale of a man who owned a small farm in Aberdeenshire.

The Department of Employment claimed he was not paying proper wages to his staff and sent a representative out to interview him.

I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them,' demanded the rep.

'Well,' replied the farmer, 'there's my farm hand who's been with me for 3 years. I pay him £200 a week plus free room and board.

The cook/housekeeper has been here for 18 months, and I pay her £150 per week plus free room and board.

Then there's the half-wit. He works about 18 hours every day and does about 90% of all the work around here. He makes about £10 per week, pays his own room and board, and I buy him a bottle of whiskey every Saturday night. He also sleeps with my wife occasionally.'

That's the guy I want to talk to...the half-wit,' says the agent.

'That would be me,' replied the farmer.