Dauphy: Are you entering Chelsea Owen’s poetry challenge this month?
Hobbo: No, I don’t think so.
Dauphy: Why not.
Hobbo: I can’t get a handle on the subject.
Dauphy: What is it?
Hobbo: You have to write a rant. I haven’t got a rant in my body!
Hobbo: What do you mean, psht?
Dauphy: You’re a Yorkshireman aren’t you? Ranting is as natural as breathing.
Hobbo: Thanks Dauphy. I’m not sure I agree with that, but you’ve given me a great idea.
Dauphy: De rien!
A Yorksher Rant Tha' mun think that, am med o'brass Well, shove it up yer Khyber Pass Fifty bob fer chips wi' scraps I dunt pay that fer good flat caps! Tha' thieving sod, tha'll rob me blind 'all take me stick, 'ave 'alf a mind To stick it where the sun don't shine Tha' robbin' git, tha' greedy swine. I'm an O.A.P tha' knows I wotchit, where me money goes So, tha' can keep thee chips, instead 'all mek do wi' some drippin' bread. Translation You may think that I have lots of money Well, you can put that money in your bottom £2.50 for french fries with trimmings It costs me less for decent headgear. You are a thief who is prepared to scam me I am inclined to take my walking cane And put it in a painful place you robbing villain, you greedy scoundrel. You know I'm an old age pensioner And I have to be prudent with money So you keep your chips for yourself, whilst I Will have some bread spread liberally with pork fat.