It falls upon me, Andy Hawthorne, Columnist-At-Large to raise an issue that has been prevalent in Skelfleet over the last few months. I refer to the diminishing quality of tradespeople working in and around the town.

I was walking along the far end of Quay Road where I happened upon a maintenance crew allegedly resurfacing the carriageway. Fine, long overdue. It was the manner in which they were doing it that caught my attention.

First, a crew of five men. Four of whom were watching one man drive a bulldozer. The four stood around smoking cigarettes and seemed engaged in what is known as ‘banter’.

Here is a snippet of their conversation:

“We off up town tonight, Blue?” Said the man who appeared to be the foreman.

“Reckon so, although me missus has still got a monk on because of last time I went out,” said the man leaning on a spade.

“What’s she got a monk on about? You’d think she’d be ovver be now.”

“Aye, you’d think. When I went out, I told her I’d be back later.”

“What’s wrong wi’ that. What day were it?”

“It were Thursday.”

“What time did yer get back?”

“Seven o’clock on Sunday evening.”

The foreman snorted. “Kinnel lad, that were a soft one weren’t it?”

“Aye, that’s what I thought!”

Meanwhile, readers, the digger driver had parked up, disappeared in the portaloo and not yet reappeared. The other two seemed engaged in a mock battle with brooms. Acting as though they were light sabres.

Now, I’m not one to comment on the working practices of others. But this crew was clearly not focused on the job in hand. It gets worse. As I walked by, one of the workmen shouted over to me.

“Oi! Mate! Giz a godge at that!”

It took me a moment to realise he meant the copy of The Gazetteer I had under my arm. I walked over and offered him the paper.

“Ave yer read it?”

“I have.”

He proceeded to take the middle section of the paper out and handed me the rest back.

“We’re out o’ bog roll in the thunderbox, and I’m dying fer a crap.”

He turned on his heel and disappeared into the portaloo (thunderbox), it having only recently been vacated by the digger driver.

Arthur did not want me to furnish you with any more details. But he was furious that our fine newspaper was being used for the purpose of arse-wiping.

Although, as one of the other workers pointed out: “The Gazetteer is dead handy, I saw ‘em using it to wrap chips in the Chippie the other night.”

Don’t tell Arthur.

Anyway, my point here is: I do wonder if Skelfleet is being plagued by work crews coming from ‘Ull. This columnist is conducting an investigation. I’m counting the vans coming across the ‘Umber on the ferry. I suspect the council needs to be reminded to use local people for their work crews.

Right, I must be off, I’m going to Ma Kimble’s on the High Street to tret mesen to cake and coffee.