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Now then, enough is enough.

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Forget me and my “There was this one time…” conversational openers.  The prize for the, ‘You couldn’t make it up’ tale of the weekend goes, hands -down, to my Mother.

It all began like this:-

Dad:  “Didn’t you get a lift in Jimmy Savile’s roller once?”

Mum:  “Mmm yeah I think so”

Sibling collective:  “Whoah there!  Hold the fucking phone.  You did what now?

It would seem that my own dear mother, once thumbed a ride (so to speak) from Leeds to Boro with a certain tracksuited, silver-haired, cigar-smoking DJ who we now know had a penchant for the underaged, the soft of mind, the infirm & (allegedly) the deceased!

Stone the crows!

My mother says she is thinking of suing for compo for NOT getting felt up by Sir Jim, as realising 45 years later, that she wasn’t good enough to be goosed and fondled by the old lech, has pissed her off somewhat.

To be fair, as she tells it, she was about 17 and with her mate, who will remain nameless, but whom I remember… and Jimmy would have been a fool to even try & go there.  The pair of ’em would have eaten him alive if he’d tried to feel either of ’em up.  He’d have likely ended up clubbed to death with a pair of handbags and left in a ditch at the side of the A64 (which, in hindsight, might have saved many less able-minded/bodied/dead people suffering the indignity of having to own up to having been ‘fixed by Jim’.

All of a sudden those strict and repeated maternal lectures on the dangers of getting into cars with boys are making a lot more sense.

What’s that phrase?  Don’t do as I do, but do as I say.



The standard of conversation in the pub Saturday night rapidly went downhill after this revelation, truth be told. 

As the wine flowed, salacious accusations were bandied about of rampant fondling of the youth of the 70’s & 80’s by various stars of TV’s Light Entertainment industry.

No-one was safe. 

My brother put way too much thought into it and once Cilla’s name was thrown into the fray, we knew it was time to reign it in, calm down and put the pitchforks and flaming torches away.

For legal reasons I can’t replicate the full conversation, but suffice to say the phrases; “To me, to you”; “Watch Out, Beadle’s About!”  & my personal favourite, “Feel or no Feel” were repeated many times.    Speculation into the misuse of Anneka Rice’s helicopter from Treasure Hunt may also have been alluded to.

You had to be there.

Wrong on many levels, but bloody funny.  🙂

DISCLAIMER:  All ridiculous opinions are those of the writer and her family, whilst under the influence of lots of Malbec and are in no way purported to be true.


About TheDHW

Not loathed by totally everyone so that's good right?

3 responses »

  1. Pingback: Letting rip on Guy Fawkes Night « Divine Secrets of the Yaarkshire Sisterhood

  2. Turns out aunty ‘ shall we have loon’ Claire also got lift in the old cigar munchers car… Clearly a lot of it about ! It will come as no surprise that I and our mutual tall friend have also come up with a few possibles … Maybe we should set up a book ?!


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