The Curmudgeon

For a start, he wouldn't dare. We locals all have strongly held points of view on most subjects and insist on our divine rights as Englishmen and women to express them.

Secondly, a good debate is good for business - the drinks flow when throats get dry. And third the Innkeeper himself enjoys a good argument for it gives him a chance to exercise his sometimes devastating line in under-statement.

However, a strange thing has happened this week. We have been censored. The Innkeeper has banned the P-word.

Now I would like those of a nervous disposition to read no further. Similar advice is extended to those whose savings have been decimated by the greed of bent American businessmen and their accountants.

For the P word stands for ...Pensions. And it is not a term to use in polite company in the Dale at present.

It all started, not unusually, by a facetious remark to the Vicar from Maggots Money-Grubber in the Beggars' after morning service last Sunday.

"I see your pension's gone down the pan ... again," said Maggots, with a smirk that only a rich man with money in many tax-free overseas accounts could afford.

"What do you mean?" asked the Rev Rupert nervously. As the good Christian he is, he tries hard but has never quite forgiven Maggots for the fact that he now owns the Old Vicarage, which the Church Commissioners had to sell off when they lost millions in property speculation in the late 1990s.

"It's in this morning's paper," leered Maggots, who is far from being a good Christian and not very bright when it comes to social intercourse. He never quite knows when he is kicking someone who is already down.

"Not read the paper yet," said the Rev. "This, you might have noticed, is my busy day."

"I see," grinned Maggots. "Well it says that those dead-heads who run your lot have lost a billion pounds on the stock market. It means your pensions are under threat again."

Rupert paled visibly. He is already one of the poorest people in the parish. He is also very close to pensionable age and to lose that one small security would mean an old age of total penury.

This reaction was noticed by everyone but it was the Innkeeper who took it worst. "Be careful, Bertie," he warned. "You're getting just a bit close to the knuckle here. There are a lot of people in this bar who are very worried about their pensions and I don't want them upset."

Bertie (Albert is Maggots' real name but no-one ever uses it) reared, then slumped back on his bar stool: he is not used to being told off but to be barred from the Beggars' would be social death in Beggarsdale.

The truth of the matter is that the Innkeeper and his lady have lost a small fortune on their investments and pension fund. So have Cousin Kate and her husband Mean Mike at the post office.

The pundits say that every saver in the country has lost an average of £10,000 because of the scandals on Wall Street. And there are still people about to whom £10,000 is a lot of lolly.

So the P-word is banned in the Beggars' despite the fact that not one of us had a penny invested in America. Strange place, this global village.

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.