A mother and her 13 yr old daughter, Holmfirth Cafe on a Sunny Sunday
HER: “Mum, why is Holmfirth always chocca-ful of middle-aged blokes on bikes in leather ..? Or blokes on bikes in lycra? It’s so embarrassing.”
ME: “You know why. Good biking routes – whether you’ve got a big engine or … or muscular thighs. It’s probably a male prowess thing. They move in packs. They like to wear the same team colours. They probably hunt down innocent females who simply want to grab the odd hour in a charity shop or jump onto the Summer Wine Tour Bus.”
HER: “Well, they’re not looking at you. They’re more interested in their bacon butties. But … it’s just weird. Why do they stop at the cafes here?”
ME: “Bottom of Holme Moss. Come on, can’t you remember Tour de Yorkshire here in twenty-er…. Sixteen?”
HER: “Twenty-fourteen, I think you’ll find. A whole lifetime ago.”
ME: “Might be for you, but I remember when …
HER: “When Henry the Eighth died. Probably. But honestly, grown men like that wearing – who aren’t even famous – wearing those little hot-pants in the middle of the street. It should be banned. I mean, they’ve banned the burqa and the niqab for women in Denmark – they’re either controlling what women should wear, or what they shouldn’t wear! And yet here, in Holmfirth, men just wear weird things and we all have to put up with it.”
ME: “I think the reasons – or rather the alleged reasons – for banning the burqa in Denmark, are a bit different to the reasons that you and me would want lycra banning.”
HER: “Like?”
ME: “It’s putting me off my coffee. A crime in itself.
HER: “Yeah, I know what you mean. My milkshake is tasting a bit ikky now. But hang on a minute, you don’t mind the motorbike blokes in the leather, do you? At least they’re sensible – wearing leather. Even if it’s because some poor animal had to have its skin ripped off, so they can ride a motorbike.”
ME: “Oh, I don’t mind them at all. But it’s too early on a Sunday morning to be exposed to any of this ‘what do you want to see a man wearing’ malarkey. “
HER: “So, let’s get up a petition to ban them then! Ban all men in embarrassing outfits from Holmfirth – of a weekend! Not even the proper cyclists would be allowed to wear it.”
ME: “Hey, speaking of proper athletes, did I tell you? That your dad and I were in a café in Bolton Abbey a bit back – and he kept whispering at me and hitting my knee. I thought it was because I’d put my jumper on back to front again, but it turns out that this famous triathlete called er … Alistair Brownlee or something, was at the table next to us.”
ME: “Neverurdofhim”
HER: “Me neither, but you know me and pop culture. I’ve still only just found out who ‘Adele’ is. So yeah, apparently he is. Dead famous for being dead fit. Your dad took a photo of him.”
HER: “What? Without him knowing?”
ME: “Well – yeah.”
HER: “Ew. That’s just … sinister.”
ME: “Ah, you know your dad. A whiff of fame and he gets all giddy. You should have seen him the day he met Margaret Beckett at the House of Commons and talked to her about her caravan.”
HER: “Who?”
ME: “Never mind.”
HER: “But yeah, we’ll ban it all for men. All ridiculous stuff. So … that when we go to Grandma’s over in Manchester, there could be a ban to stop blokes from taking their tops off the minute the sun peeps out behind a cloud. Dunno what’s wrong with that lot over there… You don’t get that sort of thing in Yorkshire. Well, Scarborough maybe. Sooo embarrassing.”
ME: “To be honest, I’m not convinced that banning anyone from wearing any form of outfit – or even choosing not to wear very much at all – is the kind of society that I’d like to live in.”
HER: “Ah there you go again. Turning what was a nice morning, sitting here in the sunshine, into a history lesson.”
ME: “Or a morality lesson. Or an ethics lesson. Or human rights. Or ‘Citizenship’ or whatever your schools are calling it, these days, or …”
HER: “Whatever. Can we go now? I still feel a bit sick.”
ME: “Okay. But I really, really want to go on the Summer Wine Tour Bus. I’ve never done it. Not in all the time we’ve lived here. Pleeeeeease … will you come with me?”
HER: “No way! No way are we going on that! What if someone I know sees me?”
ME: “Please! I really want to! It’s a beautiful day! You don’t get days like this very often and I’ve never done the tour and …”
HER: “NO WAY! I would die of embarrassment!”
ME: “Right okay. If you don’t come with me – I’m going to get your dad to sort the bicycle in the shed out and maybe I’ll start cycling to school to meet you instead of …”
HER: “Aggh – okay! Fine! Fine! Just don’t expect me to do a selfie with you and that life-sized statue of Compo. Okay?!”
