“The Yorkshire Satnav” – by Patrick Dransfield

Comedy Sketch Night – performed at the Foreign Correspondents’ Club, June 25, 2018

This is my first open mike so I am feeling a little bit nervous. Is there anyone from Yorkshire here tonight? EITHER:

Thank the fuck for that (No)

OR: Oh God, that makes me feel 10 times worse (Yes): Where abouts?

You see, my parents made my two brothers and me feel terrible about NOT being born in Yorkshire, God's own county, as my parents used to say: 'HE wasn't actually born in Yorkshire, you know' my mother would say to random passing strangers, 'but we forgive him for that!'

My mum and dad came from different villages in the same town: Huddersfield. So, aware I should be proud of Yorkshire, but somehow excluded, kind of defines my childhood. So, you can sense my excitement when I was parked outside my mother's old home at 7 Banks Avenue, Golcar, in Huddersfield, and my iPhone alerted me to download the:

‘No Nonsense Yorkshire Sat Nav: the Sat Nav that speaks it's own mind'.

I scrowled down:

‘Only a bit a brass - go on, you can afford it, you tight bugger!'

Thus ran the rather unusual sales speel. I paid the ten guineas (go figure), downloaded it onto my iPhone and began the engine. The SatNav exclaimed, derisively.

'You’re not from ‘round here are you?’

I didn’t quite know what to say.

‘Alright then, where do you want to go?'

'Rithin, North Wales' I said.

‘North Wales! That shit hole!’ exclaimed the Sat Nav‎. 'Why the bloody hell do you want to go there for?! What's wrong with Yorkshire?’

'Er, because my mum and dad left Huddersfield and retired to Ruthin'.

'A son of traitors. Bloody hell! <Pause> And where might you be from, if you don’t mind me asking?

‘I work in Hong Kong.’

‘Hong Kong! Couldn’t you get a job nearer home? <Pause>

‘Ruthin is it?’

‘Yes, please. Rithin, North Wales. Do you know it?’

‘Aye, I know it. Let me give you a piece of advice. <Pause> I wouldn't start from here.’

'I guess I will help you - it'll cost you extra though, leaving the country and all.'

And so we started.

‘Do you want to go the scenic way or the fast way?’

‘The fast way, please.’

‘Well, we are going to go the scenic way. Take in some of the sites. Right, turn left at the junction. We’re passing the Eddie Waring Stadium for the Yorkshire Olympics. Now don’t look yet, but that is Eric Braithwaite doing some magic ferret wrangling! Look at that – pure genius! It’ll all kick off over the weekend – there’s various great events like ‘tossing the Lancastrian’, flat cap discus, PROPER clog steeple chase – with a real fiery pit mind! Pork pie rolling - down Castle Hill, naturally: the Ahmen 400 metres hurdles, followed by the full Messiah Halleluah Chorus Marathan – 2 hours of mind-numbing pointless noise! Sure you don’t want to stick around instead?’

‘No – definitely not.’

Bloody hell you idiot - we should have turned back there!’

‘Where?’

‘Turn here!

‘Which way?’

What do you mean, which way? That way, that way! I'm pointing right at it!’ Nay, Nay, Nay lad - you silly bugger! My left, you fool.

You've completely missed that turn. Definitely NOT Huddersfield Grammar material... Now you are completely buggered. Getting there in 2 hours? Fat chance! Nay nay nay nay nay!'

As I sat bewildered on the hard shoulder of the motorway on our way to Scarborough the Yorkshire SatNav burst into song:

'And I will take thee to yon green gardens where the pratty flowers grow: where the pratty pratty flowers grow!' Nice bit of the Home Firth Anthem that.

‘Taking me to North Wales would be nice.’

‘I do the jokes, son. Now, turn left. Here we are! Banks Avenue, Golcar!'

We are back where we started three hours ago!

'And aren't you pleased? Best place on earth, Yorkshire. I mean, really - who wants to go to North Wales anyway?'

'I want a refund'.

'Well I never - there is no pleasing some folk - especially those that don't come from Yorkshire.'!