Dear Fiddler's Dram,

Even allowing for inflation and given from our research that you appear to originate from Whitstable and the surrounding areas, my wife and I find it difficult to comprehend how you were able to achieve your day trip to Bangor (a ten and a half hour 620 mile round trip, no less) have lunch on the way, a bottle of cider, chocolate ice cream, eels, a cup of tea each, the hire of a boat and a trip to the fun fair incorporating a ride on the ferris wheel all for under a pound ‘you know’. Leaving aside quite how you have managed all this energy-sapping frippery within such a limited time frame, and, even allowing for 1979 prices, under the circumstances we will require a full break down of costs and disbursements including receipts before your folk claim can be taken seriously, in order that we may then replicate this remarkably economical excursion, then duly smugly boast about our own savings on Trip Advisor





Derek Philpott




Tha knows nothing, Derek Philpot! Day Trip to Bangor? It were a folk song, tha daft beggar. That means a song sung by hippies in the 70’s about dead folk long gone what wore clogs and worked down t’mill and ate scraggins for breakfast and hoggins for tea and believed in fairies and suchlike. What’s scraggins? Well, I’ll tell thee. It’s a bannock made of flour and sour milk and a bit of herring if the boat’d come in, or just a scrape of jam if the boat’d been lost at sea off the coast of Llandudno with all hands on board.
And me and Elsie, we’d put on our best tippocks and scunderpinks, and we’d buy our scraggins for a penny farthing and catch t’omnibus from outside t’mill and that were fourpence if t’driver fancied his chances and sixpence if he didn’t, but mostly he didn’t so that made it more expensive. And you could get all the way to Bangor for ninepence if Jack Allroyd were driving. Mind you, he had acne so I usually paid the whole shilling.
Anyroad, this one time, me and Elsie paid tuppence to get on t’pier, and tuppence for a cuppa tea, and there were this competion going on and you could enter for another tuppence, so we did. And it were to see who could roll their scraggins furthest down t’pier, only they didn’t call them scraggins. We didn’t win, but the manager came up after and said ‘Ladies, that were a brilliant Game of Scones!’ and we were as chuffed as a bowl of badger fat.

Anyroad, if tha do thy sums right, it comes to one and sixpence without the cider, and that’s under a pound of anybody’s money. So like I said, tha knows nothing, Derek Philpot!


Deborah Cook




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