The bells did ring... honest

BELL-ringers on duty at York Minster on New Millennium Eve want me to assure revellers they were doing their job even though no one could hear them.

People who were further away from the Minster probably had a better chance of hearing the tintinnabulation because the sound travelled well - despite failing to reach the ears of those gathered right underneath.

The combined lung power of the crowd drowned out the chimes and left many wondering if the bells had been rung at all.

The Dean of York the Very Rev Raymond Furnell and the Archbishop of York Dr David Hope, who were standing on the steps of the west front of the Minster, were among those who looked up in wonder.

Turpin's saying nowt... he had a few too many liquid Bells to be aware of anything much and had terrible trouble finding Black Bess after the excitement had died down.

Tim Bradley, deputy ringing master, who was on duty that night, says: "Unfortunately the problem is that the western towers are so high that the sound does carry a long way, but it's not deafeningly loud in the immediate vicinity.

"The crowd was enormous and it drowned out the bells but I can assure you we were ringing."

ONE of the poshest hotels in York became one of the splashiest... Two minutes after midnight, Turpin spied small groups of men gathered to solemnly anoint the Dean Court Hotel in Duncombe Place into the new century.

The basement entrances to the closed hotel bar and reception became relief points for at least seven Champagne revellers who discovered this haven of privacy among the masses gathered outside the floodlit Minster.

But there is no truth in the rumour that the grand old establishment is about to undergo a name-change to the Dean Court Short.

I DO believe this because it's true... Turpin was standing behind a woman in a stone-coloured raincoat at the cashpoint inside Lloyds Bank, Pavement on Christmas Eve. She keyed in her numbers then took her card when it popped back out.

She walked away leaving the crisp notes for the next customer, which happened to be me. I picked up the cash twixt thumb and forefinger and caught up with the harassed Christmas shopper on her way out of the bank.

"Oh, thanks, oh, thanks," she cried. "Do you know how much is here?," she asked clutching the notes.

"No," I replied, adjusting my mask. "Two hundred pounds," she blurted. "If I'd lost this it would have ruined my Christmas!"

The real Dick would have hanged himself in self-disgust...

I DON'T want to believe this but it must be true... it appeared in the last edition of The Sunday Post.

Marion Murray of Glasgow and her friend dropped into a York snackery for a pot of tea and a light bite during a recent visit.

Marion's mate likes strong tea so she asked for an extra tea bag and offered to pay. And pay she did. She was charged 78p!

Marion now urges her compatriots harbouring notions of visiting this fair city to: "Carry your own spare tea bag if you like a strong cup of tea."

Would the miserable munch-house please own up to this highway robbery?

SNIPPETS from 11-year-olds' science exam answers.

When you breathe you inspire.

When you don't breathe you expire.

Rhubarb is a kind of celery gone bloodshot.

Vacuum, a large empty space where the Pope lives.

For fainting rub the person's chest. Or if it is a lady, rub her arm instead.

When you smell an odourless gas it is probably carbon monoxide.

My undying love goes out to the women of the North Yorkshire East Federation of Women's Institutes for these howlers.

SOMEBODY at Doncaster railway station has an evil sense of humour. While stranded at the station recently, as staff sorted out some festive rail chaos at Peterborough, what tune should waft over the speakers in a station caff full of disgruntled travellers but... We're On The Road To Nowhere by Talking Heads. Whoever picked the piped music playlist is either very slick, sick or thick!

VOICE Recognition Software is for PC users to talk to their computer to get it perform specific tasks that would otherwise would be mind-numbingly tedious such as typing. You speak, your PC responds and away you go. But computer nerds have been shouting at their software so much that doctors have now diagnosed Voice Repetitive Strain as an occupational hazard for these techno types. So don't shout at your PC, it's not worth the strain.

If you have any comments you would like to make, contact features@ycp.co.uk

11/12/99

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