NOW that Mean Mike has finally slunk back into the Beggars' Arms after the great Beggarsdale Burger Bar Battle, Maggots Money-Grubber has begun to show his face too.

They do not speak to each other, however, in case this would confirm suspicions that it was in fact Maggots, new owner of the Old Vicarage, who put Mike up to the burger bar stunt in the first place. And who, as is the way of these things, deserted him in his hours of need.

Maggots has not yet learned the ways of village life: he will insist on ordering doubles all round and appears not to notice that virtually no-one ever takes him up on the offer ("Tha canna buy friends in this 'ere village," as Owd Tom remarks.)

There is one exception, however: Jetset. He seems to be somewhat put out that he is no longer the Dale's star entrepreneur. And as brass always mixes with brass (particularly new brash brass), the two seem to have struck up a cautious alliance.

Their conversation the other night, however, did neither of them much good.

Speaking in his usual boom, Maggots (who fishes for trout with the aforesaid wriggly things) complained: "Bleeped if I know what to do. Should I buy a BMW Roller or a VW Bentley?"

He was referring, of course, to the recent take over of the Rolls-Royce car company by the Beetle people who, much to their chagrin, found that the right to name the cars Rollers had been sold instead to their arch rivals BMW.

Now it is not often that we Beggarsdaleians concern ourselves with the problems of buying £100,000 motor cars.

Until now even Jetset has never hinted at aspiring to such heights, although he can no doubt afford it now that the Asian currencies have collapsed and he can buy even more cheap foreign textiles to put ever more British workers on the dole.

But he was clearly not prepared to be pushed into the motoring second division by his new rival. He pondered over his large G&T and then announced his verdict: "Have to be the Roller, I suppose. At least Beamers have a reputation for up-market cars..."

Their high-rolling reveries was brought to an abrupt halt as Owd Tom banged out his pipe with such ferocity that the ash-tray bounced over the bar and landed at the Innkeeper's feet.

"Listen to me the two on ya," he snarled. "Does tha realise that without Rolls-Royce, the Gerries would have stolen this country 50 years ago, instead of buying it up piece-meal. It was Rolls engines that won the Battle of Britain and gave them Nazis a bit of their own medicine for bombin' Coventry.

"If tha' wants to make a place for tha' sens in this Dale, tha' should buy British." And he stormed out, leaving behind an echoing silence broken only by the Innkeeper cleaning up a mess of ash and still smouldering dottle.

Maggots and Jetset looked at each and shrugged. The Innkeeper, who has a habit of getting the last say, put the now-sparkling ash tray back on the bar and asked: "But how can you, when Ford own Jaguar and BMW own Rover?"

He has a point, the Innkeeper. Are Raleigh bikes still British, I wonder?

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

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.