Tatting at the Garden Centre

Skirlaugh Garden Centre and Aquatics is a hidden gem, situated in the East Riding of Yorkshire 7 miles from Hull, it's a medium size garden centre of many faces, you enter through the main door straight into a gift shop, I bought my maid of all work Carmen, a bar of bergamot and ginger scented soap, I know, I'm a fool to myself, but I have learnt that maids who know there are no lagniappes coming to them, can turn  savage and there isn't a lock on my bedroom door! From the gift shop we made our way to the restaurant I just had a black coffee (I usually take it with milk but I was flagging with the heat, I needed a caffeine kick) Carmen had a banana milkshake and a huge slice of chocolate cake, the gormandising fat cow and she wonders why she's 17 stone with type 2 diabetes! 

We saw a badly dressed transvestite at the garden centre, eyeing up a Sweet William, she was wearing a floor length cheesecloth skirt and clutching her pink gerbera, we looked the other way and pretended not to have noticed.

The close proximity to Hull means I have to carry a vinaigrette of smelling salts in case I hear any foul language from the other customers or if I see anyone with oversized Nye Bevan dentures as worn by the over 80s.

Hull people use a strange cant, here are some examples of what I picked up on:
Ere y'ar mam, you bool trolley. (here you are mother, you push the trolley)
Innit mafting? (Isn't it hot?)
I'll get some of them for bairns (pronounced baines, meaning small children)
Notice the lack of the definite article.

Thanks to Carmen for the translation.

I love scouring around old junk shops/house clearance places looking at priceless old tat from homes that good taste forgot.

Hilda Ogden and ceramic horrors.

Jilted Jill is destined to spend the rest of her days as Queen of the shit tip if nobody makes an honest woman of her.

Anything catch your eye?