Millom in the Dock

MILLOM IN THE
DOCK

Copyright
Frankie Lassut 2015

Published by
Wonky Books at Smashwords

EPUB
ISBN:
978-1-910103-68-5

EBOOK
:
978-1-910103-69-2

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MILLOM IN THE
DOCK

The Definitive
Tourist Misguide

A Caricature
portrait of the small English Lake District fringe town of Millom
and its people
.

Frankie said,
on the internet ... “Millom can’t laugh at itself”. Is this true? A
rather significant ‘member’ of the local community for more than
fifty years, a Millomite, said, upon hearing this ...

‘
We always do laugh at
ourselves, but we are expert piss takers to those from over the
bridge (Duddon) or from Marra Land and beyond.’

Really? ‘We’?
Everyone? Cool! A globalisation, but good enough.

By the way:

The Duddon? A
river you have to cross on the A595 to go South e.g. to Barrow in
Furness.

Marra? Someone
from the Whitehaven Workington area.

A Fantastic
introduction

The North West
of England is popular as it plays host to the Lake District which
manages to attract several tourists every year just with sheep key
rings, never mind the lakes, rivers, trees and mountains. Oh yes,
and the real sheep which tourists can stare at, point at and take
pictures of. Indeed, several sheep have found employment in the
Welsh film industry (I am prohibited from mentioning the kind of
films they appear in).There is
a
negative
side ... try and park at peak season.

There was
thought of building a massive underground car park to cure this
problem, but that idea was pinched and the nuclear boys and girls
decided to use the pit as a nuclear waste storage site, which will
be coming soon (free radiotherapy will be available to ramblers,
but watch out for the local rabbits a hundred generations down the
line).

That’s the
lakes anyway. If you decide to visit, first watch films like
Deliverance and A Lonely Place to Die ... oh, and study Paganism
and you will then understand the behaviour of the locals. If you’re
travelling up to the lakes on the M6 for instance, if you see a big
truck with a large figure covered in canvas in the rear, be scared,
it may be a wicker man, for you.

As the crow
flies, which in The Lake District means ... after it has landed on
a pub garden table and entertained the tourists by drinking a half
pint of Bluebird bitter, down in one) ... the nearby radioactive
coastline plays host to several fringe towns (and you thought the
glow was Blackpool ... LOL!).

Barrow in
Furness, famed for ship building at Vickers, and for producing the
late Emlyn Hughes, England footballer, a real nice chap. Ulverston,
the birthplace and home of Stan Laurel. Whitehaven (Rum),
Workington (erm), St Bees (probably beekeeping?) ... and the King
of North West coast towns, MILLOM! That’s where I lived from just
after birth in Ulverston (same place as Stan), so I really have had
the Millom experience.

I now live in
Coventry. People ask me ‘why move to this dump from somewhere so
nice? Well, I keep the local therapists busy, so it’s good for the
local economy (I pay Geoffrey Robinson’s and Dave Nellist’s
expenses). If it’s true that the people we attract are the result
of our inner feelings, then therapists must be really messed up (it
is and they are).

Millom was just
like any other North Western town, plodding along, heading for more
plodding along on the road called life’s great journey. It was
hanging onto its claims to fame, The Ironworks, which the town was
built on and a semi famous poet, Norman Nicholson (he said hello to
me once!). But still, due to lack of revenue, the pub signs kept
falling off, or at least some of the letters did.

The Castle
became the Ca le. The Ship, The hip (a decent joint). The Red Lion?
The Red ion. It was always full of scientists after the L fell off,
which totally confused the locals because they were used to talking
about the weather, not the covalent bonding of the hydrogen
molecules in cumulonimbus clouds. The Devon became The De on, etc.
So, it was dozing away, and the good people were wondering what had
happened to it and what day was it? And why did all their calendars
say it was 1560?

There was a
reason, and you probably won’t believe it, because it’s hard to
believe, but, here it is anyway ...

Pre Big
Bang

QUITE A WHILE
AGO:

REALM:
HEAVEN

LOCATION:
THE KITCHEN IN GOD’S PARENTS’ HOUSE.

DAY:
TUESDAY? (Might have been Wednesday as the bin angels had just been
… late as usual)

TIME:
TEA TIME!

CONVERSATION:
THE USUAL CRAP KIDS HAVE TO ENDURE.

God’s
Mum:
“
Well God, what did you do at school today?”

God:
“Practical Creation.”

Mum:
“Really?! What did you create?”

God:
“Oh, we’re all doing England, different bit each. When it’s
finished and if it’s good enough we’re presenting it to the Council
to get it passed for the Big Bang festival and, I’m the schools
rep! I’m supposed to finish my part off for homework by designing
part of the West Coast of Cumbria which will start out as
Cumberland, but I can’t be bothered.”

Mum:
“Never mind can’t be bothered! If you don’t get a good mark how are
you ever going to get a ‘proper job’ like your father?! Now come
on! You’re almost one million, billion, trillion, quandrillion
years old now and I can’t support you forever. I work my fingers to
the bone as it is. Go design your bit of the West Coast, create a
little town to put on it. Somewhere nice by the sea of course; it
being a coast.”

God:
(Brightening up) “Oh okay. Can I create a nuclear plant near it
too?”

Mum:
“Of
course you can, that’ll be ideal for good jobs to help the local
economy. Now eat your greens! Or no divine raspberry ripple ice
cream for you and, that’s final!”

God:
“Ohhhh Muuuuuuum!”

BUT …

Is it a good
idea to put a white topped work desk in a child’s room? The
homework effort was a little half-hearted and, the pencil tip,
controlled by a half-hearted hand just happened to … slip off the
edge of the paper … leaving poor old M on a desktop! In the lurch!
Out on a limb! In the middle of nowhere! At the
END OF THE
LINE!

Millom,
Cumbria, the little Northern town which God then forgot all
about.

Oh Dear!

And time
passed, and passed, everywhere else on this good earth, but Millom
was left in what could only be described as a curved time warp.

Oh Dear x
10
.

Now though, we
must step into the world of woo woo stuff. The people of Millom
wanted change and so the mass minds sent a signal out to the world
via the ether, a Rocket of Desire for recognition (a silent
vibrational request, like a radio signal). The only problem was,
desires are usually answered by God, but ... God had forgotten
about Millom and so, confused by this signal, sent all the goodies
to places like Barrow in Furness, Whitehaven etc., which is where
the Deity thought the very ‘give us goodies and recognition’ desire
signal had come from (oh dear). Then one day, God was snoozing and
a picture of the white topped table with the pencil mark on it
popped into his head and he realised with a sudden feeling of dread
what he had done.

What does God
say to God? ‘Oh my God?!’ Hmmmm? How about ‘Oh ME God?’ But, God
was a bit ashamed and a large bit guilty and thought ‘Better give
them something to pull them out of the poop. Hmmm? I know,
publicity!’ God likes a good laugh and so likes entertainment. He
noticed the behaviour of the people of Millom and though ‘My ME!
It’s a bloody Pantomime!’

So God began to
inspire a few people and hatched a vast Divine plan. His idea was,
‘I’ll put them on the bloody map! Oh yeah!’ God was as good as his
word as always, well, read for yourself (he then forgot again as
building future Universes requires a lot of focus and
concentration). It all happened about fifteen years ago. I got word
when I was ...

Millom

The town is on
a pinnacle, sea on one side and a nearly mountain called Black
Coombe on the other, so it’s kinda trapped, a little ‘on its own
(at the end of the line). Let’s hope the Scots don’t attack OR roll
a giant haggis down the hill, although it would be good for the
local building trade. This project began about fifteen years ago
(its 2015 now) when synchronicity (you may call it fate, or
coincidence?) a Police Sergeant, a Mr Terence McGlennon was moved
to the town (I’ve tried a few times but never managed to make
contact with him). He didn’t like it and said it was a joke in the
force and that he was being put out to pasture by the force; he was
a laughing stock. He sued and won fifteen grand. He, or the
National press, said Millom was the end of the line, a dull crazy
place. The locals were up in arms and the mayor at the time was
pissed off (which made a change from being pissed up courtesy of
the rate payers). I got wind when I found a used newspaper on a
bus, which I believe ‘found ME’. I thought ‘maybe it’s ‘much’ worse
than some new
s
reporter who has no idea of
the place realises, how could he or she? I began to word sketch my
caricature of the town with the reason for why it is, I can’t help
writing in that style, it comes naturally, my muse is a fun entity,
so I am too. So, why would my version of the town come to me in a
way which was so hilarious to me that I ended up literally blowing
a gasket laughing (I gave myself a hernia). Hang on just a second
though. One character you’re going to meet is my old mate, Sharpo.
People sometimes wondered where the hell he came from. I can tell
you ...

Back in Heaven
...

God:
“Peter! Come here! Please.”

Peter:
“What’s up?”

God:
“Look! He’s taken them again! The little bastard! Platinum with
mother of pearl inlay by soul Michelangelo. What does he do with
them? What’s the bloody point of nicking things here?”

Peter:
“I think he gets a kick out of it.”

God:
“Well I’ve had enough! I’m trying to create Universes and stuff and
all I think about is that irritating little shit all the Non-time,
it’s a good job we don’t get blood pressure. Send him to earth
please.”

Peter:
“He will just do the same things there. Fighting, nicking stuff,
chasing rabbits, chasing female souls around ... he will upset
people and the police.”

God:
“So?! ... Just bloody send him, NOW!”

Peter:
“Ok, calm down. Where to?”

“That place I
forgot about. The one I remember occasionally and then conveniently
forget about straight away. The place with the crazy Reverend who
is always hassling me, scary human that one, thinks he’s my boss.
What’s it called again? You know, whatsitsname ... erm ...”