Hi Ballroom friends,
Firstly it's really nice to be back home after a wonderful (but tiring!) 3 weeks on the road. All in all the show was a huge hit but there's nothing quite like coming back to one's own warm, comfy and luxurious 5 bedroom mock Tudor mini-mansion....tentative plans are being hatched to take the show back out on the road before Xmas such was the warm reception I recieved.
Sadly though as ever the fickle hand of fate was waiting for ol' Sheepsy in the twisted, pork related form of bastid Swine flu! - my first thought was "Fook me! the bureaucratic health official rotter's had better not ban all pork consumption!!" - but thankfully eating Pork is safe although chuffin' trips to Mexico aren't!! seriously though folks innocent people have died so we must all be vigilant, who'd have thought that the humble pig could be responsible for so much terror and widespread panic?
Anyway as a treat in these times of reccesion related misery I thought I'd treat you to another revealingly fascinating excerpt from my recent autobiography, so pull up an easy chair and settle down with a nice hot mug of tea and a few "Uncle Les's battered pork boasters" sandwiched between a couple of floury baps!! The following chapter focuses on the sometimes violent and strained relationship with my late father Whitworth, read on folks and enjoy!!!
"Back in 1997 I attempted one last time to heal the bitter rift between Pater and myself, slowly pulling up in my Bentley outside the run down, delapidated 'Happy Meadows' nursing home a lump came to my throat as I tried to remember happier memories of my frail dieing father - small loving gestures or maybe an affectionate moment of joy.....but I fookin' couldn't! who was I kidding my father was a violent, malingering alcoholic with the intellectual capacity of a mentally unstable Jack Russell, a man who made life sheer misery for Mater', myself and my brothers and sisters....We hadn't spoken since 1963 but as the old buzzard was dieing I resolved to be the better man and finally seek some form of dance related closure.
I remember one day I must have been about 11 or 12 and dear old silvery haired Mater' had just nipped out to the butchers to purchase a few cheap cuts of pork for our weekly Wednesday night 'Pork casserole'...I think I was sat at the kitchen table sticking a picture of legendary ballroom champion Arthur 'Squeaky' Tichdale into my scrapbook when all of a sudden the front door crashed open and in staggered my father - a half eaten pork pie in one hand and his favourite smoking pipe in the other 'Yer f-f-f-f-fookin' little t-t-twisted foookin' b-b-bastid, come ere son!!' he stammered drunkenly - nervously I approached Pater as he motioned to me to sit down next to him on the second hand chaise-lounge.
'Son l-l-listen son, I k-k-know you and m-me have had our differences b-b-but listen Lester lad yer me b-best mate really' he stuttered inebriated...'You'll always be m-m-my son, whatever you choose t-t-to do with your life b-b-but if yer ever humiliate this family as a f-f-fookin' twisted ballroom b-b-astid dancer I'll f-f-f-fookin' CHOP YOUR FEET OFF!!!!!!!' he screeched as he threw me against the wall before slowly unzipping his trousers and proceeding to urinate on my treasured silken ballroom galoshe's which were proudly sat by the fire!! - as the acridly pungent urine sprayed copioulsy onto my blessed dance slippers I could feel the anger and heartbreak rising up through my feet of flames and into my spindly dancing legs as I ran from the house out down to the nearby canal where I threw myself onto the grass sobbing uncontrollably. Honestly the last time I felt that low again was of course when Mater' was taken from me and also back in 1992 when I lost my long running Veterans Mens Championship winning run (4 successive years!) to that right royal fooker Lockett of all people!!!
The mental (and physical) scars still linger to this day and I only need to think of Father and the old feelings of hatred and bitterness return.
Gingerley entering the acid smelling TV room of the nursing home I saw Father sat in the corner dressed in a tartan dressing gown (and oddly pink fluffy carpet slippers!) gazing vacantly out through the window with saliva dribbling down his chin, 'Your son is here to see you Whitworth' said the Nurse to Pater. 'Son?!? Son?? what you mean my favourite son Minton!?!' asked Father beseechingly, 'Er, no it's me Lester, Pater'' I softly whispered - quite without a word or expression of emotion the old twot span round and stared at me for what felt like an age before spitting with contempt 'Get out fookin' mincin' queer, yer no son of mine!!!!'
I had heard enough and so I fled from the ramshackle rat infested nursing home and danced down the stairs into the back of my Bentley. 'Maurice' I sobbed 'Let's find a first class pork carvery right away and fill our fookin' boots!!!!' and so we did we found a rather fine and reasonably priced establishment just a few miles away, if I remember rightly Maurice opted for six prime pork chops with a huge stack of fat greasy chips, garden peas and battered onion rings whilst I chose the 'all in - all day pork ensemble' eeh it was fookin' majestic I tell you, 4 huge meaty pork loin medallions with a few fat pork and herb sausages, a large smoked gammon steak with pineapple all finished off with some roast potatoes
(basted in prime pork fat!) and garden peas and a large gravy boat filled with a thick slurry of onion and pork matter!!! eeh such lucid pork memories!!"
My autobiography is still available for just £2.99 from most good book retailers or directly signed copies can be ordered from Shoteley entertainments, PO Box 12745, Barrow in Furness.
Until next time folks take things easy!!
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