Yorkshire: The Cradle of Life

After watching with fascination the latest BBC series Origins of Us and having studied Human evolution during my first degree I have come to my own theory in regard to the origins of modern humans (Homo Sapiens) and how we came to take over the planet. I have long referred to Yorkshire as "The Motherland" as do many of my fellow Yorkshire folk as we spread our good will and inherent cheery nature throughout the country.


The first and most common misnomer is that life originated in Africa, not so. Yorkshire is this seat of origin and has long been over looked as such. Life sprouted from a small spring found on Ilkley Moor and not in the dark arid climate of the African jungle. This spring can still be seen today just to left of a tuft of heather on yon moor.


Man's ancestors first came out of the trees in order to adapt to a new environment as the climate changed and grass land became more prevalent, again this is not the case. Following on from the spring, Man is inherently Yorkshire and thus mining is in the blood. Man therefore came from the trees in order to "g'darn pit". This is Man's default setting. Where is the evidence for this I hear you say, well where do you find all the artifacts and bones of these primitive Yorkshire folk.....in the ground! You don't find complete skeletons in the trees, where would the tools be laid? How would you keep a whippet in a tree?


Now that this has been established the social nature of Man is a subject of great study mainly focusing on the evolution of language of a means of communication and the social glue that holds together a tribe and/or family. This language is thought to have evolved from primitive sounds such as "ugg", indeed this is also wrong. The first sound was clearly "Ay" as the Yorkshire folk gathered round a small object to admire its beauty. The sound "Ay" can be used in agreement but also approval.This primitive behavior can be found today in many a market town in the North Yorkshire Moors as the villagers gather round a particularly well crafted piece of Wensleydale or set of pipes. Over many years this gradually evolved into a further sound of "Na'then lad" traditionally used as a greeting however this has morphed into a term of disapproval when scolding a small child and even in later times a Grand National winner.


The social groupings of Man have increased as the brain size has increased in order to cope with more complex social interactions until we reach the size that the human brain is today. This increase in brain size is also due to the introduction of meat into the diet providing the protein. Primitive Yorkshire Man, or PYM if you will, has always eaten meat anything else is for Southerners. Indeed PYM's have always had a brain size equivalent to today's "modern" Man it is simply the case that this brain volume has decreased the further a PYM has moved from the Motherland, how else would you explain the Australians? Social groupings were maintained not by means of information in regard to food sources and shelter but by gentle ribbing and showing off, hence the phrase "You were lucky....." entering into common parlance sometime around 40,000 years ago. This is indeed the social glue holding a Yorkshire collective together.


Tool use is one factor that distinguishes Man from animal. This may well be the case however this goes back to the mining argument. Most of these tools are crude mining tools, hand axes and digging implements. The rest can clearly be seen as training implements for children and whippets.  Take these for example:

A small shaped stone with a hole; this is clearly the end of a lead for tethering ones whippet to a tree whilst otherwise engaged.

Similarly this:

clearly a miners helmet at rest with a crude pick axe cheekily cradled inside whilst the PYM enjoys a tea break, Yorkshire Gold of course. Indeed this tool later evolved into the very one used to create Compo's tin bath used primarily for rolling down hills with hilarious consequences.

Yorkshire the cradle of life and oft misunderstood origin of life. I shall leave you with the national anthem and the first known song formed around a camp fire up ont'moor:

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee?

On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee?

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee?

On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at

On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at

On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at

Tha's been a cooartin' Mary Jane

Tha's bahn' to catch thy deeath o` cowd

Then us'll ha' to bury thee

Then t'worms'll come an` eyt thee up

Then t'ducks'll come an` eyt up t'worms

Then us'll go an` eyt up t'ducks

Then us'll all ha' etten thee

That's wheear we get us ooan back

An Ode to Talk Talk

Talk Talk how do I love thee? Let me count the ways
I don’t, to the depth and breadth and height
My broadband went off, and you’re out of sight
Attempt to convince it’s not the router
Its always something else or my computer
The calls continue at your own pace
Until the battery runs out and I lose my place
Customer service more useless by the days
Until my phone disconnects and I’m left in malaise.

I despise thee freely, as I strive for a signal
I despise thee purely, as you turn from me
I despise thee with passion put to use
In raising old issues and finding another
To find a new source I must use my mother
To regain my lost connection, I must transfer providers
I shall not miss thee once or twice
as it seems this process is done in a trice.

So a warning to others about the level of service
Talk Talk is way below anything approaching the anus.

The Rise of the Endotherms

It’s come to my attention of late that there is one section of society that is criminally overlooked and dare I say it actively discriminated against. No other group of people are so easily suppressed. This group mainly resides within offices of varying natures and are  continually sidelined in favour of others. These people can be seen in their natural habitat silently going about their work, slumping lower in their chairs and getting slower as the day grinds onwards eventually attempting to head butt objects in front of them as they nod in deference to their masters and environment. These people are indeed the Endotherms or Hot People and not hot in the American sense. The overly red faces and excess sweat may well see to that, although I’m sure there are some enthusiasts out there preferring their partners to be the equivalent of a human radiator. I won’t be Google-ing that one! No day can pass without the temperature of an office being raised to that of the surface of the sun such that the very air itself is enough to cook flesh on contact. Out of the haze will rise a small pathetic voice “it’s freezing in here” echoing round the stifling room as it would along a parched canyon in the deserts of California. Not one of these poor shivering unfortunates has the forethought to put on extra clothing lest they might be slightly cold during the day instead preferring the cold person’s uniform of a stringy top of some sort, if female, or little else other than flowing cotton that would struggle to keep an overactive oven warm on a baking hot day once the ozone layer has dissolved. A Hot Person without complaint will carry on about their tasks after years of conditioning towards deference to the poor cold person casually watching for paper to spontaneously combust. I can only assume this is the reason behind the “paperless office”, paper simply cannot exist in these temperatures and Health and Safety have removed it all as a fire risk.

It would seem that David Ike was correct, the lizard people do indeed live among us, only stirring when temperatures reach blistering, existing as if in some real-life version of V, ruling the Endotherms with an iron fist and little warm clothing.

Well no longer we must revolt and rise up to reclaim the temperature of normal humans. We must feel the air in our lungs as refreshing rather than scorching like the very winds of Jupiter itself were unleashed from a filing cabinet. We shall rise from our slowly melting chairs and struggle through the pain, parched lips cracking as the skin loses its last drops of moisture, to the sacred thermostat. We must battle the guardian standing over the small box like some Medusiod creature awaiting hot blooded mammals to feast on and devour in a blur of icy claws and sharp words. We shall stock pile extra thick jumpers and hand them out like food parcels in a famine, throwing them to eager blue hands as they grapple with warmth never previously known. We shall make appointments with GP’s for those terminal cases that would still moan about being cold if dumped on the surface of the sun. The phrase “it’s your circulation, I’d see a doctor” will be our mantra. Together we can resist this relentless pursuit of heat in favour of more temperate office environments and we may survive to continue pointless bureaucracy into the next century and beyond.

Rise my red faced, sweaty brethren and we shall be victorious.

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