IT must be my retro fascination with music hall acts and variety performers that attracts me to the world of working mens’ clubs.
As a student in Huddersfield I was a member of a local club in Moldgreen, making weekly trips to see a range of ‘turns’.
One I remember, was called Rocky Rhodes and appeared dressed as a latter-day Zorro to perform tunes like Down Mexico Way.
The comedians were never really ‘blue’ because the audience was mixed and relatively elderly, but I was told that the rare night the club had strippers in was worth a visit.
Apparently they showed everything for £1, collected gracefully in a pint pot.
It’s a pity I never got to experience such an evening. Inflation means they probably wouldn’t take their lace gloves off for a quid these days.
My most recent visit to a working mens’ club was on Monday evening.
Thanks to Jamie Hunt of Yorkshire-based finance firm CTF, I was invited to the Arden Road Social Club in Halifax.
Now Jamie either has a business opportunity in the social clubs sector or just fancies himself as a Yorkshire version of Brian Potter from Phoenix Nights.
Working mens’ clubs kingpin George Dawson, president of the Club & Institute Union, runs the organisation with the same iron fist he manages the weekly bingo game at Arden Road.
In between popping out for a Capstan Full Strength cigarette (the only person I have ever seen smoke one of those was Harry Enfield’s Wayne Slob character), George is interesting company and a mine of information on Britain’s social club scene.
Monday evening was a special event where representatives of social clubs across West Yorkshire came along to see three acts auditioning for bookings (there was a fourth but they got caught in a traffic jam on the M62).
A man appeared on stage and said to the gathered throng: “Hello everyone, I’m your compere tonight because the club secretary is in hospital having a heart bypass.”
He then proceeded to sing a number of songs including an ‘easy listening’ version of Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars and a couple of Beautiful South hits.
Then the ‘turns’ were introduced. The first was a talented local singer called Bebop Betty with a big voice who ably tackled songs by Dinah Washington and Ella Fitzgerald.
Next up was a chap who must have been well past pension age in a black trilby and spangly pink shirt who proceeded to knock out a few numbers, the only one of which I recognised was a hit for Roy Orbison.
Finally we were introduced to “put your hands together for a lovely young girl from Ireland”.
A slightly hard of hearing lady at the table next to mine, asked: “Where did he say she’s from?”
Putting on my best Irish accent I said to her: “He says she’s from de old country.”
“Do you mean Jamaica?” she replied.
Quick as a flash, to cover my embarrassment, I said: “Yes and she’s going to sing some of her favourites songs from her home country like Shaggy’s Mr Boombastic.
“And her mash-up of Chaka Demus and Pliers and Prince Buster is a delight,” I added, enthusiastically embracing my theme.
She went back to sipping a port and lemon and munching salt and vinegar crisps, as her companion said to her: “Who’s that good looking lad down at the front? He’s like a young Jim Bowen.”
I made sure they weren’t looking in my direction.
Back on stage, the Irish woman singer, wearing a red spangly dress probably made out of similar material to the shirt on the bloke who sang before her, was now preparing to belt out some country hits, having added a straw hat for authenticity.
“I’m going to put a straw hat on now because I don’t feel country until I look country,” she told the audience.
“There’s a joke in there somewhere,” said a guy on the table in front.
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IF there is one thing the last five years of austerity have taught us it is that George Osborne thrives on pressure.
The Chancellor appears to have an uncanny knack of rolling with the shots from the opposition and then landing a sucker punch flush on the chops of his critics.
Of course, he’s not universally popular, but Osborne has won over many in the business world with his careful management of the economy through one of its bleakest periods in modern memory.
He held his nerve when people like Ed Balls were calling for an end to austerity policies.
He was at it again this week.
Some in the media termed his post-election announcement an “Emergency Budget” but ‘Summer Budget’ appeared a better name.
As Andy Murray warmed up on centre court at Wimbledon, that other British battler, George Osborne, stood up at the despatch box in the House of Commons.
Labour might still be in disarray but the Tories’ clear pre-election commitment to £12bn of welfare cuts gave them plenty of ammunition and had many depicting George going on a Viking style pillaging raid against Britain’s poorest people.
But again he emerged in the ascendancy, this time committing to a minimum wage of £7.20 by next April and a target of raising it to £9 by 2020.
He attempted to address the criticisms – by myself and others – of a lack of commitment to transport as part of the trumpeted Northern Powerhouse initiative.
He has found £30m for Transport for the North to introduce an Oyster-card to make travel between cities and towns easier.
That will help. You’ll find it much quicker to get on trains on an under-invested and creaking rail system and buses caught in traffic jams on our over-congested roads.
Well done George, but you still need to do better north of Watford.
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I’M now the proud owner of one of the best golf trolleys without a motor on the market.
That was thanks to an invite from top photographer Simon Dewhurst to join his team in a charity golf day at Pannal, near Harrogate on Sunday.
Sadly it wasn’t my golfing prowess that claimed me the prize, just a rare bit of luck in the raffle.
Not being a very good or very regular golfer, I enjoyed the company of my team mates more than the quality of my game.
So much so that I was disappointed when deafening thunder and horizontal streaks of lightning down the fairway meant the klaxon was sounded to abandon play when we were just about to reach the 16th green (although I wasn’t as I’d lost my ball after a dodgy second shot).
I’ve decided I need to consult a sports psychologist as I go to pieces every time I have to tee off in front of a group of more than four people.
I even chose to take an easy iron shot to tee off on the first tee, only to shank it 30 yards, and then fluff the second shot as well.
My game improved somewhat as we moved away from the gathered throng (well about six pensioners enjoying a Pimms on the clubhouse terrace).
The charity golf day had been organised by Pannal’s junior captain, Olivia Jackson, who is about to embark on a golf scholarship in the USA.
Touring the course on a buggy during the tournament, she stopped to check how each team was doing.
I asked where in America she was going to be based.
“The University of Oklahoma in Tulsa,” she said.
When I asked if she knew there was a song about Tulsa, she replied: “Yes, and a lot of people have already sung it to me.”
Given my rendition of Gene Pitney’s 24 Hours From Tulsa is a bit ropey, I was pleased not to have to sing it.
Our team complimented her on the quality of the event.
“It is really hard organising and running an event, I would much rather be playing in it,” she observed.
That is the opposite of how I felt, having hacked my way around the course.
But given she plays off a handicap of 1 and I’m a 28 then perhaps I should have been in the halfway house serving tea and cakes.
Have a great weekend.