Our Nikki Was Marvellous in Mountain Language

Last night I went to t' theatre fot see my niece, our Nikki, in a play.

Generally speaking, I don't like plays much. I prefer a good game of rugby league if I'm honest. But our Nikki is a smashing lass so I thought I'd see her in action, like.

Anyway the play was one of these modern arty things. A lot of strange people jumping up and down and shouting and swearing. Not that different from being in t' crowd watching Wigan Warriors on a Sunday afternoon.

It was called Mountain Language, which is what they must have been speaking cos I didn't understand a bloody word of it. It was by a bloke called Harold Pinter - I wouldn't mind a "pinter" whatever he was drinking when he wrote it! Ha Ha! (must remember that one)

Our Nikki was very good though. I was proper proud of her. She played an old woman and she was right convincing.

As far as I could make out, this old woman got bit by a dog but she didn't know t' name o' t' dog. So she went visiting her son in prison. But then he had some kind of fit. And there was another feller in a boiler suit with a scarf o'er his face - put me in mind o' t' gimp in Pulp Fiction.

There was a good deal of effing and jeffing. A woman in a head scarf started screaming blue murder at this bloke with a beard. She used some very unlady-like language (maybe it was mountain language, I don't know).

Anyway, I hung around and congratulated our Nikki on her performance. Then I went to t' Catholic Club for a stiff drink.

Hopefully, t' next time I have fot go to a theatre they'll be doing an autopsy on me.