A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 62 Hello Dad
Dave laughed and said, “Simmering on the Hobb‽ That’s over the border in Northumberland isn’t it? Small spot no more that six hundred folk live there.”
Tommy Dowerson said, “Nah. You got that one mixed up, Dave. That’s Gravy on the Hobb you’re going on about over in Northumberland. The Hobb river over there is nay mere than a beck. Simmering on the Hobb is on the outskirts of Ross on Wye away down country, Herefordshire way. Ross has about eleven thousand folk and t’other spot has maybe four. Just on the other side of Ross from Simmering is Custard on the Hobb where the custard boreholes are which strictly puts it into Wales. The Hobb is a big tributary, mostly in Wales, of the Wye which eventually runs into the Severn Estuary. There’re some odd town names down that way like Builth Wells and Symonds Yat. I only know because I did a postmasters’ course in Hereford a few years back.” There was just enough truth in Dave’s and Tommy’s ridiculous remarks to cause some confusion in the newer outsiders, but considerable hilarity amongst the locals and regular attenders from outside. Inventing silly, often profanely coarse, place names and equally ridiculous personal names vaguely connected to the satirical comedies of Monty Python, The Goons and Much Binding on the Marsh was an ongoing game they played often at each others’ expense. Their recently invented favourites were the villages of Shaver on the Motte, Hard on the Rod and Whacking on the Edge, the last of which came about as a result of a discussion concerning killing flies with a fly swatter. For some reason he wouldn’t explain Fluff in the Hinge was considered to be particularly amusing by Alf.
