Fulton Farnsworth Fletcher

It’s at this time of year that I like to remember Fulton Farnswoth Fletcher … one of the true Dregs of History

 

Known to his friends as Fletch or Farnsie, Fulton Farnsworth Fletcher was a prominent figure in Yorkshire sporting circles. He played cricket, usually at the lowest possible level, as well as 23rd division Sunday morning football. His mediocre talents were spread across numerous teams, all of which tried very hard to get him to join them.

His talents were more in social rather than sporting arenas. Fletcher was an accomplished Saturday Night Specialist.

He led the drinking and visits to Indian restaurants with a passion and vigour second to none. It was not unknown for him to down 15-20 pints of a variety of real ales, follow them with rum or whisky chasers, and then consume a vindaloo curry, or perhaps two.

Fletcher was no stranger to his local job centre; he found it difficult to hold on to a job for more than a few months at a time. He lived in a small council flat in Bradford where, it was later found out, he spent his time attempting to write poetry in his brief moments of mental clarity. He specialised in his own individual version of the Japanese Haiku which he applied to the local social and industrial landscape. His seminal work is considered, by many totally unqualified to judge, to be his classic series of five haikus entitled A Saturday Night Out In Bradford.

Fulton Fletcher died early at the age of 45 in tragic circumstances. He had been out drinking copious amounts of beer and spirits and had ill-advisedly followed this with a nuclear-strength curry. The next morning, while sitting on the toilet reading the Sunday Sport, his arse exploded taking him to the next world. R.I.P. Fulton Farnsworth Fletcher.

 

A Saturday Night Out In Bradford

 

A night on the town

One pub after another

Who’s buying my drink?

 

Navigating crowds

Did you spill my pint sunshine?

Got my lights punched out.

 

The fiery curry

Challenges constitutions

A warm wind blows strong

 

Falling on pavements

Fighting the urge to vomit

Where’s my house gone mate?

 

Sat in the throne room

My arse a ring of fire

Torturous hours

This is an extract from The Complete Dregs of History which is available Here

About George Fripley
I am a writer who enjoys writing humour, satire, poetry and sometimes a bit of philosophy. I live in Perth, Western Australia and occasionally get a poem or article published. It's all good fun! I have two books available for unwary readers, Grudges, Rumours and Drama Queens- The Civil Servant's Manual (This contains all that anybody could ever want to know about why government runs so slowly) and More Gravy Please! - the Politician's Handbook. (available through Amazon)

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