Where was I

today?

In a field.







Lanarkshire. Am i close.

It's quite a bit closer to our hometown, Section8.

Oer't Fosters?

You're reet, Joseph.

Eeee am reet chuffed!

How tall is that?

Reminded me of a sheet-metal thing at Morecambe which you can line-up with the hills of the Lake District.

Don't know mester never seen it, I recognized the trees in the background. I would say about Three foot at the highest point.

why on earth is that thing stuck in the middle of a field?

You're probably right with the size, Joseph. Going off the grass.

Because It's Ince, Danni, no reason needed.

I calculated from the trees in the distance and the length of the grass in the foreground mester.

"Because It's Ince, Danni, no reason needed."


There's Bohemian. Do they dance around it (Weather permitting & except Good Friday) in the nak?

I think it is about 3-4 feet tall, Dustaf and Joseph.

It's a bench, Danni.

I think it was put there to replace the burned out Ford Escort or "Modern Art" as it was known.

A bench!

You don't want to be sitting on cold steel, Jo Anne.

At least there's no risk of spiles as from wooden benches, Dustaf.

But you could end up with one of these.

daftest looking bench Ive ever seen

Dont say that to the Magistrates.

It won't burn though Danni.

nah it'll just melt

There's a few of the metal benches over Fosters Playing Fields, Danni. One, near to the canal, has quite a spiky back rest. They are used sometimes, but they're getting a bit rusty and are generally grotty now.

Have you noticed what metal things are missing from the field?

Is it fastened down?

The rugby posts have gone.

Goal posts, too, Joseph.

Shhhh! we don't count those.

I missed this post earlier, Dustaf.

There's Bohemian. Do they dance around it (Weather permitting & except Good Friday) in the nak?

Whether permitting or not.

They probably do worm charming too.

Astu seen mi contact lens?

if you sat on that cold bench long enough you'd prob get to meet emma royd Hemorrhoids

No need to lower the tone Mani.

am only saying she was a pain in the rear

I'm sorely tempted Mani. Sorely tempted.

Anyroad, seeing as how that thing is in Ince;

Shouldn't it be called a form?

Google isn't helping.

Is 'form' another word we can claim as a Wigan word?

Telegram for Tonker.

I call it bad form, Dustaf and Mani.

For that, there are piles more photo's for your perusal and no refusal - here.

The metal artworks are called 'Safe Routes' by M. Nash + others.





There used to be a green metal archway over the entrance gates, with the words Fosters Playing Fields (I think) wrought in it - but it's no longer there.

Yes there was Jo Anne, not sure when and where it went though.

Now here's a conundrum;

What are the holes in the seats for?

Cupholders perhaps?

?Definately a hole here in this bucket.

There must be a reason for them.

Jo Anne will tell us.

I don't really know, Dustaf, but, being resourceful, I'd say they'd have had to use a hole lot more metal for each bench if they weren't there.

"they'd have had to use a hole lot more metal for each bench if they weren't there" Tut


Not good enough missus.

I did wonder if they were for sticking a scaffolding tube into. For the nakky dancing thing. But they look a bit too big for that.

walking stick

They might have wanted the benches to look a bit more holed-fashioned if people were reluctant to embrace modern art?

I think they may have contained some fancy glass ashtrays which have either been broken or nicked.

They probably had a bucket underneath for those "caught short" times.

For 'research purposes', I googled seat with pole and the google gang sent me this nakky woman's illustrative guide.

A scaffolding tube?

I do believe a poll was once taken and it was decided that no poles were required.

fancy glass ashtrays would be a pane in the wotsit.

Buckets for those "caught short" times - I think that's a tall story, Joseph.

I also thought of something along the lines of an inkwell.

But going by the graffiti, spray paint is the chosen writing medium.

I meant as a sit down do Jo Anne.

typical of you higher incers,worshipping a metal idol, do something proper to occupy your selves like us spring viewers do, we watch the traffic going round the rounabout in spring view, a very calming exercse.it's even better that watching traffic lights change.

I don't think they worship it, Fivestarbry. It's still there because it won't burn.

"I meant as a sit down do Jo Anne."



You make it sound like a cold meat buffet, mester.

Which, when you think about it...

Hence the expression "You could get your dinner out of that"

Spellings mester!

Just think of all those fumes, Fivestarbry.

No - Worshipping metal idols is above all the best way to idle the day away.

Fresh air, exercise and socialising, with no dress code to worry about.

Spellings?

Swine cat!

"Fresh air, exercise and socialising, with no dress code to worry about."



What did I tell you?

Nakky dancing.

That's what I was referring to, Dustaf.

I know, Jo Anne.

"Ay thang yow" would have sufficed.

I have that "Love Thy Neighbour" scene in my head now where Eddie does his nude tree dance to rid himself of the voodoo curse.

I wouldn't want to appear grateful, Dustaf.

But ...

I don't think they worship it, Fivestarbry. It's still there because it won't burn.

That really grates on me.

There's a thought. They could light a fire under the benches and cook burgers on them.

The hole would allow all the unhealthy grease to run away. Thus making them less fattening.

Grease, Dustaf - what about health and safety? Someone could do themselves a mischief trying to match those moves.

After a heated discussion, it was agreed that fire wood be a great way to keep off the chill, for those with the knack.

I watched one of those 'Worst Jobs In History' programmes, Jo Anne and Mr Baldrick was told about the fellows who turned the spits in times gone by (Henry VIII's kitchen possibly ). Due to the heat, they were practically in the nak.

Frequently burned.

It don't work mester!

She's not been keeping up with the nakky dancing regime.

Ouch.


She's definiely not felt the burn, Joseph.

I don't know who the blazes suggested the grate idea. In all furnace, it wasn't.

Probably suggested in the heat of the moment.

Gas poker anyone?

Ooooh

Are those a blast from the past?!

Yes, Jo Anne.

They look like something from a medieval torture chamber.

Reminds me of the Blackadder II scene where the Baby Eating Bishop Of Bath And Wells threatens Edmund with a red-hot poker.

I love those flowers, Dustaf. Yes ... I'm always stoked to see them.

I just put a picture of the Bishop on as you posted, Jo Anne.

Played by Ronald Lacey. Also appeared as the 'nasty scrote' Harris in Porridge.

I'm aghast at that picture, Dustaf.

Good job it's only a gas as it's Blackadder.

Harris by name, harass by nature.

There's a minstrel type in the BA episode who recites a poem about 'Poor Tom' who got his cat-flap skewered by the Bishop.

I have a feline that's not a matter, Dustaf.

Poor Tom.
And to add insult to injury they're poking fun with a witty ditty. Where's the pity?

Blackadder II 'Money'

Bishop: (to Edmund) And, as for you, you come with me.

Edmund: (stands) Where?

Bishop: To visit the last poor fool who (draws his sword) LOST HIS WALLET!
(hits Edmund's bare buttocks with sword; Edmund runs out)


[at graveyard; a mad beggar is dancing around (the same one whom
Edmund chases in the final credits of each episode).]

Edmund: (reading over a tombstone) "William Greeves: born 1513 in Chelshood
with the love of Christ; died 1563 in ... agony with a spike up his
bottom."

Beggar: (comes behind Edmund) Ah! 'Tis ever (in sown uncle?) with the Black
Monks! (fondles the tombstone) Oh! Screamed, did he -- scream and
gurgle as they skewered his catflap for once of a farthing!

Bishop: I think you get my message.

Edmund: (stands; the beggar grabs onto his leg; he tries to shake him off as
he speaks) Erm, yes, yes indeed. But, tell me, Bishop, let me just
test the water here, so to speak. Erm, supposing I was to say to you
something like, "I'm a close friend of the Queen's, and I think she'd
be very interested to hear about you and Mollie and the wimple, so
why don't we just call it quits, eh, Fatso?"

Bishop: I would say, firstly, "The Queen would not believe you," and,
secondly, (draws a hot poker) "You'll regret calling me `Fatso',
later today!"

Edmund: Ah.

Bishop: I will have my money by Evensong tonight or ...
YOUR BOTTOM WILL WISH IT HAD NEVER BEEN BORN!!! (exits)