I’ve been meaning to steal this for some time, but have been holding off because the blogger from whom I stole it was threatened right off the Internet by that anal retentive egotist “Hitchens‘ little brother,” not to be confused with his more powerful and eloquent brother, nor with The Hitch, who is far more amusing and not afraid of god or man, much less a snivelling, brittle journalist. I was hoping she’d come back online, but “the other Hitchens” has probably gone so far as to rip up the power lines delivering electricity to her house, restoring her to a state not unlike those pre-Industrial peasants for whom he bears such apparent fondness.

But she’s gone. Hope somewhere a desperately enema-deprived hack is happily snickering into his posset. And drunkenly spilling it right into his shrivelled and dusty lap.

Anyway, here’s four whining Yorkshiremen: Eddie Izzard, Harry Enfield, Vic Reeves and the Voice of God himself, Alan Rickman.

And transcript, courtesy of BadKittyCat over the jump.

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Eddie Izzard: Ahh… Very passable, that, very passable, indeed…

Alan Rickman: Aye! You can’t beat a good glass of Chateau de Chassilier…

(Eddy Izzard seeing the reaction of the public to Alan’s intervention: “Oh! I think Jesus has just come in”)

Vic Reeves: Aye! Who’d a thought forty years ago we’d all be sittin’ here drinking Chateau de Chassilier?

Harry Enfield: Aye.

Eddie: In them days, we were glad to have the price of a cup o’ tea.

Alan: Cold cup o’ tea!

Vic: Without milk or sugaaarrrr…

Harry: OR tea!

Vic: Or Hermes Sweetes…

Vic: Or Canesten…

Vic: You know, we were so poor we couldn’t afford a cup. We used to drink our tea out of a passing turk slipper.

Alan: The best thing that WE could do was to suck on a damp rat!

Harry: Aye! But you knoooow, we were happy in them days, weren’t we? Even though we were poor.

Eddie: BECAUSE we were poor. My old Dad used to say to me… “money cannot buy you a nuclear radar system”.

Vic: You know. We used to live in a tinny little tumbled down ol’ house, wit’ holes in th’ roof.

Alan: A house?? You were lucky to have a HOUSE! We used to live in one room, twenty-six of us, no furniture and half of the floor was missing…

Harry: You were lucky to have a ROOM! We used to live in th’ corridor!

Eddie: Ohhhh we used to DREAM of livin’ in a corridor! It would’ve been a palace to us. We lived in an old water tank in a rubbish tip. We got woked up every morning by having a load of turk slippers dumped all over us!

Vic: Well when I say it were house it were more like hole in ground. We had a dirty rotten old tea towel with a picture of a Yorkshire Terrier eating a macadamia nut dropped by a passing heinkel.

Alan: We were evicted from our heinkel! We had to go and live in the lake!

Harry: You were lucky to live in th’ LAKE! There were a hundred and fifty of us living in Happy Meal box in middle of th’ motorway.

Eddie: Is that a cardboard Happy Meal box?

Harry: Aye… they were all made of cardboard… aye

All: Aaaaaye…

Eddie:You were lucky!! We lived for three months in a rolled up corpse in a septic tank. We used to have to wake up at six o’clock in the morning, get up unnnravel the corpse, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down mill. Fourteen hours a day… week-in week-out… for sixpence a month! And when we got home, our Dad would thrash us to sleep with his willy!

Vic: Aye!

Alan: Luxury!! We used to have to get out of the lake at three a.m., eat a handful of hot gravel, and then work twenty hours a day at the mill for tuppence a month, and then Dad would beat us about the head and neck with a broken bottle, IF we were LUCKY!

Harry: Aye. Well, of course WE had it TOUGH. We used to have to get up out in th’ middle of the night, LICK the motorway clean wit’ tongues. From junction one to nineteen including slipways. Then, after a meal of our own shit, we’d go down the mine… I mean, not the mine… am pissed now!… We’d go down th’ mill, aye, work twenty-four hours a day, seven days th’ week, for four pence every six years, and when we come home, our Dad would slice us in two wit’ bread knife.

Vic: RIGHT! I used to get up at half past ten at night in the morning, half an hour before I went to sleep, eat a pile of hot steaming poisonous magma, go to work at mill for twenty-eight hours a day and pay mill-owner for privilege of lettin’ us work there. And when we got home at night, our father would murder us in cold blood mind. Aaah!! but then! He’d murders us in cold blood, buries us and dances on our graves singing “yes, sir I can Boogie”.

Eddie: And you try telling the young people of today that…and they’ll be HIGHLY sceptical…