Four Balearic Yorkshiremen

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
Aye, very passable, that, very passable bit of Balearica.

SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
Nothing like a good Balearic tune, eh, Jose?

THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
You're right there, Obadiah. Proper Balearic n’all.

FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Who'd have thought thirty year ago we'd all be sittin' here at the Café Del Mar listening to ‘nuff proper Balearic tunes, eh?

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
In them days we was glad to have the price of a tram ride to Woolies to buy the new Kajagoogoo 12”

SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
A seven inch

FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Without a cover or insert

THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
Or seven inch.

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
In a ripped cover, an' all.

FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Oh, we never had a cover or record. We used to have to listen to tunes through the wireless through a rolled up newspaper.

SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
The best we could manage was to stick a tin tack on our thumb and run it round the grooves.

THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
But you know, we were Balearic in those days, though we were poor.

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
Because we were poor. My old Dad used to say to me, "Money doesn't buy you happiness, son. Balearic tunes does."

FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Aye, 'e was right.

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
Aye, 'e was.

FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
I was happier then and I had nothin'. We used to go to this tiny house club with only A Man Called Adam for company.

SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
Tiny house Club! You were lucky to go to a tiny house club! We used to go to a cardboard box.. all twenty-six of us crew, hardly any balearica, 'alf the tunes was missing, and we were all 'uddled together in one corner trying to listen to Fleetwood Mac B sides.

THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
Eh, you were lucky to have a cardboard box! We used to have to listen to tunes from a speaker in a corridor, could hardly hear ‘Why Why Why’ by The Woodentops.

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
Oh, we used to dream of listening to balearic tunes' in a corridor! Would ha' been like the Space terrace to us. We used to live in a typhoid ridden campsite in the South of France. We got woke up every morning by having a load of ‘Severed Heads’ dropped all over us from a cheapo boombox! Tiny House club? Huh.

FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Well, when I say 'house' club it was only a hole in the ground covered by a sheet of acid trips, but it was a tiny house club to us.

SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
We were evicted from our 'ole in the ground; we 'ad to go and live in a Balearic lake.

THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
You were lucky to have a Balearic lake! There were a hundred and fifty of us living in t’Kickers shoe box in t' middle o' road.

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
Kickers shoe box?

THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
Aye.

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
You were lucky. We lived for three months in Pat Metheny’s hair. We used to have to get up at six in the morning, clean Pat’s hair with a Head and Shoulders flavored Spanish guitar, eat a crust of Jibaro pie, go to work down the Eon Spice mine, fourteen hours a day, week-in week-out, for Alan Parsons, and when we got home Howard Jones would thrash us to sleep wi' his mental chains

SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
Luxury. We used to have to get out of the Balearic lake at six o'clock in the morning, clean the Balearic lake with Nitzer Ebb detergent, eat a handful of little fellas!, work a twenty hour day at the China Crisis mill for a pair of bashed up Converse trainers, come home, and Danny Rampling would thrash us to sleep with John Wayne’s Big Leggy, if we were lucky!

THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
Well, of course, we had it tough. We used to 'ave to get up out of the Kickers shoebox at twelve o'clock at night and lick Back to Basics clean wit' tongue. We had to eat two bits of Yeke Yeke, worked twenty-four hours a day at Eon’s Spice mine for True Colours every four years, and when we got home Paul Oakenfold would slice us in two wit' his mullet.

FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night half an hour before I went to bed, drink a cup of Nitro Deluxe, work twenty-nine hours a day down Joe Smooth’s Promised Land Arcade, and pay Farley for permission to come to work, and when we got home, Gary Haisman and our Shaun Ryder would kill us and dance about on our graves singing Hallelujah.

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
And you try and tell the Hipsters of today that ..... they won't believe you.

ALL:
They won't!

(With Apologies to Monty Python)