Alan Bennett Joins Twitter!

[Dr Rock]

Tuesday, so the cleaning lady has been round again. And I'm two macaroons down, as usual. I shan't say anything.

[Glebe]

Mmmm, yes, the custard creams were suprizingly yummy, but the cuppa left a lot to be desired.

[Cuellar]

11th September, 2018
Watching archive footage of the attacks on the World Trade Centre, the uncomprehending face of George Bush when informed brings to mind that of a friend of my father's, an Ilkley butcher, being told by a customer that the scrag end she bought last Thursday was 'complete horseshit'.

I turn to Rupert: "It's been 17 years since them slags smashed into the twin towers and it STILL freaks my nut out to this day"

[wosl]

Into the village this after, to buy a bag of medlars.  Once done I sit on a bench next to a mother and baby.  I ask the baby how it thinks its life will change when it goes up to Oxford.  It ruminates, and then lobs a bottle of rosehip at me, causing my glasses to fall off and land next to a ration book and a buckle off a Start-Rite sandal.

[wosl]

This evening Dominic and I decide to walk off the Woolton pie with a constitutional through the park, Dom still wearing his checkout apron.  I ask him what sort of roles he thinks he might've written for Maggie Smith, had he been awarded a first.  Thinking it over he stumbles and his elbow catches my glasses, which fall off and land next to the small lead figure of a conscientious objector and a 78 of Gracie Fields' "'Ee Mr Ramsbottom, Camden's Reet Gentile An' You'll Never See Me Again!"

[spamwangler]

massive laughs

[Janie Jones]

Me too. Long live Northern Camp. More, please, Alan, I want to see where your glasses land next.

[Dr Rock]

On such a muggy night; or 'close' as mam used to say, I can't bear even a corduroy next to my skin. Sat in my underpants, peering into a 'laptop' - something that rarely goes on my lap, for several reasons I shan't bore you with - I think this is not like you Alan.
But 'needs must', as dear Alma Cogan used to sing to us, whether we asked her to or not.

[Glebe]

On such a muggy night; or 'close' as mam used to say, I can't bear even a corduroy next to my skin.

Fantastic.

Joined Malcolm Hebden - who plays Norris Cole on Corrie - for a meal at that new cafe round the corner today. We both agreed that the Beef Wellington was mildly sumptuous, although mind you the fruit flan tasted stale to my lips.

[Gregory Torso]

Wonderful thread, this.

[newbridge]

Quite unfortunately @realDonaldTrump was at it again this afternoon. They call him Donald Trump, but he reminds me more in temperament and tact of a trump my companion Donald let loose on a quiet garden evening in late 1967

[Huxleys Babkins]

Joined the tennis club. Not to play, you understand, on account of my lackadaisical tendons. Just for somewhere to go of a Tuesday afternoon. Had a lemon barley water and an egg and cress sandwich which repeated on me something fierce so I wrapped myself in one of those foil first aid blankets until it subsided.

[Norton Canes]

Lost Harriet today. Edith is inconsolable. Gave her a macaroon in an attempt to revive her spirits but I fear the distress will result in her own demise.

[Huxleys Babkins]

Looking for inspiration in the Scope shop on the precinct. I bought a rather haunting porcelain doll. Sat her out in the garden, covered her thighs with haslet and watched as the seagulls and crows circled before ripping the meat and the dainty frock from her tiny body. It was only then that I could truly understand what it means to work as a minimum wage barmaid in Wetherspoons.

[Glebe]

Really must do something about them rododendrons. They've become quite overgrown, and are blocking that lovely view of the bird bath.

[Huxleys Babkins]

Received a sympathy card from Rick Stein this morning. I've never met the man and I've little to feel sad about but I appreciate the gesture so I bought myself a fish supper and wrote him a thank you note on my Basildon Bond.

[Dr Rock]

Forgetting my usual peek from behind the nets, I opened the door to dear old Dr Jonathan Miller. He'd not phoned ahead so I smiled as he brushed past me, excitedly telling  me of the fantastic new opera he was directing. Or it may have been a Radio 4 play, but it was clearly very important, as ever. I may have got a word in edgewise of my upcoming film about a fictitious meeting between Wallace Simpson and Will Hay but I was repeatedly and somewhat happily distracted by the sight near the birdbath of a possibly illicit meeting of a plump old wren and a sinewy squirrel with an air of a young Dirk Bogarde. It'll end in tears I mused, as Jonathan continued

[Huxleys Babkins]

Met with Julie Walters to discuss a potential project and catch up. She tried to talk about Mamma Mia! but I excused myself to the gents where I stood in silence for three minutes, reading a poster about car insurance.

[Glebe]

Tried Marmite for the first time this morning. Didnt like it.Tart.

[wosl]

Melvyn Bragg and I visit Ilkley Moor.  We're both 'baht 'at.' I tell him I've joined Twitter and have been going through some of his tweets, which I say read more like desultory diary entries than snappy social media utterances.  We laugh, and he produces a bottle of Beconase from a jacket pocket.  As he goes to insert the nozzle into a nostril, his arm slips and it catches me 'oopside t'noggin,' as they say in tweetese, dislodging my specs.  They fall and glance off Russell Harty's grave, chipping the headstone.

[Huxleys Babkins]

I often remember the intense shame of spending a night in the cells after slashing Tom O'Connor's tyres after a couple too many sherries at the Royal Variety after party. He did call me a poofter and threw a cork at David Haig but I should have known better.

[Glebe]

Michael Palin called round for elevenses. Yes, Michael really is a very nice man, but he doesn't half get on my wick sometimes. He took the last cherry bakewell this morning, and I've still not quite forgiven him for tramping dock muck into me doormat last year.

[Absorb the anus burn]

In Grange Over Sands filming a documentary for BBC4 about tanktops.

[Huxleys Babkins]

Took my best black suit down to the dry cleaners for Dame Maggie Smith's funeral. She hasn't passed yet, thank goodness, but it's always good to be prepared.

[Absorb the anus burn]

Tuesday 23rd. Chilly day. Put on Dad's old covet coat and went for a walk up Primrose Hill with Rupert... Bumped into Eileen Atkins, Judi Dench, Maggie Smith and Margaret Tyzack who were taking part in Alex Jenning's annual Easter Egg Hunt. We found an empty bench and watched Patricia Routledge paint 'EAT MY SHIT' on the pathway with a can of menstrual blood she'd been sent by a fan with a seafront apartment in Scarborough.

[Huxleys Babkins]

On sunny days like today I'm often minded of the morning I left for Oxford. Father burnt all my toys and scrawled the word "MAN" on my bedroom wall with black treacle as was the tradition in Leeds. For some reason he didn't burn my yo-yo. I asked mother why not and treacle started oozing from her ears, nose and eyes. Terrified, I turned to father. His glorious, bushy moustache turned to treacle and started running down his mouth and chin. They both opened their treacle-stained mouths and started chanting "Yo-yo-man. Go-go-man." over and over until I left for the station. They never said goodbye, something which still pains me to this day. But I'll tell you something; I don't half fancy a slice of treacle tart.

[wosl]

To Eemustntgrumbleborough, for a dine-out fish supper with David Hockney.  While waiting for my snook and chips, I come over a touch silly and suggest to David that we swap glasses for a bit of fun.  Possibly emboldened by the snazzy styling of his eyewear, once I've donned them I hear myself saying "No wonder you've been making a pig's ear of rendering the ripples in swimming pools all this time, wearing jam-jars like these!  I'd go t'foot of our stairs, only with these on I'd currently be incapable of locating either it or them!!"  David goes to put mine on, but with his vision temporarily compromised, he misses his face with them, and there's a crunch as they drop and land under his saddle shoe.  A piece of lens flies off, nicking the leg of a washer-woman nearby, who, due to the current air-raid tape shortage, is sticking criss-crosses of her late mam's intestine onto some windows.

_{(I think someone needs to have a quiet word with Alan about his character counts)}

[Huxleys Babkins]

Warner Bros. got in touch and asked me if I wanted to write a new Batman movie. I agreed so long as Batman is an abused spouse played by Maxine Peake who's forced into prostitution. They said they'd think about it and get back to me. I suspect they shan't.

[Glebe]

Roy Clarke rang me today. The BBC are doing a doco about Dame Thora Hird, and he was wondering if I'd like to contribute. I told him I hadn't heard from Thora in years, and hung up.

Rang Roy back just now. Told him I wasn't thinking straight, apologized for being so abrupt, and told him I'd love to contribute to the programme. He must think I'm doolally!

[Huxleys Babkins]

As the cliché says, they don't make them like they used to. And so I find myself in the queue at Laura Ashley to return a faulty table lamp. I'm minded of the lamp Father had. It had been in the family for three generations and would have likely lasted at least another ten had Mother not knocked it over during an over-vigorous dusting. She blamed her monthly afflictions but Father were having none of it and made her sleep in the coal bunker.