Us Worksop folk might be an uncivilised, ugly, and illiterate bunch, but at least we aren’t a load of softies like that lot over in Retford.
On Saturday afternoon it hammered it down with rain and there was a bit of a stiff breeze.
When the squall had finally blown itself out, Worksop was just as it had always been, and the people were still going about their everyday business which in many cases involves shoplifting, scrounging benefits, and necking cheap, super-strength booze.
Just a few miles down the road in Retford, though, it was an altogether different story.
The locals were in disarray, and the shacks in their little shanty town were in tatters.
They were out on the streets, pointing at the sky, and mumbling the word ‘tornado’.
Come off it. Tornado? Pah! You’re not in Kansas anymore, folks.
It was no such thing. It was more likely a wolf that huffed and puffed and blew your houses down than it was a twister.
This is North Nottinghamshire, not tornado alley.
It was at worst a gale.
What are the houses in Retford made out of? Straw?
It seems to me they’re a bunch of drama queens.
They probably refer to a snow flurry as a ‘blizzard’.
I wouldn’t be surprised if whenever it drizzles over that way they start building their own arks.
I imagine Retfordians get the standpipes out and start bathing together after a couple of days of sunshine.
The thought of bathing with someone else would turn the stomachs of most Worksop people. Actually, just the thought of bathing turns most Worksop folk’s stomachs.
Here’s my advice to the good people of Retford - toughen up a bit.