Beware: Yorkshire Lasses Running Free.

Fierce creatures have all but disappeared from Britain. The bears and wolves were hunted to extinction hundreds of years ago, and although we get the occasional sighting of a big cat, they remain solitary and avoid human contact. This cannot be said, however, of the one fierce and exotic creature we do still have in abundance. It is known affectionately as The Yorkshire Lass.

The Yorkshire Lass is proud, indomitable and tough as twelve-inch nails. She is strong of arm and sure of aim, but her greatest weapon is her eyes. Oh men of England, if you value your sense and sanity, never stare at a Yorkshire Lass. You’ll lose. The Gorgon was a mere pussy cat by comparison.

There are conflicting theories as to how the creature evolved. Some say it is the high octane Viking blood running through their veins. Some say the dark, satanic mills imbued them with the destroyer gene. Others claim it stems from the inclement weather on the wilder parts of Ilkley Moor. I favour the latter, for we all know what the moor engenders, don’t we? The Hound from Hell, that’s what! It is a little known fact that the Hound of the Baskervilles was not a dog at all, but a Yorkshire serving wench who was missing a week’s wages because Lord Baskerville had inadvertently fallen asleep in his office that Friday. Look what happened to him, poor chap, and see what heroic efforts were needed to rid Dartmoor of its curse.

So what do you do if you encounter the creature? Tread carefully, wear a flak jacket and be as nice as you can to her. But at all times remain honest. The Yorkshire Lass has an inbuilt radar that detects the dishonest and the disingenuous in a millisecond. Woe betide the flatterer; oh yes! Better to remain silent and avoid the sententious stare than utter a falsehood. You might at least survive with no injury other than that to your manly pride. And bear in mind that manly pride is an irresistible call to arms to the Yorkshire Lass.

But, of course, you first have to recognise the creature, and it is wise to become practised at an early age. I can offer only two pointers. First, there is the voice. If you doff your cap to an outwardly attractive young lady, smile nicely, and ask ‘Good day, fair miss, and how are you this fine morning?’ and she replies ‘Ey up, lad. Want ter cum up an’ see me scars?’ take care. You’ve almost certainly encountered one. Yorkshire Lasses don’t do etchings; scars are their art. The real giveaway, however, is the horns. It’s the Viking blood again. Yorkshire Lasses slip on their horns as easily as you or I would don a fresh pair of socks in the morning. They don’t know they’re doing it. It is their only weakness.

Use it to your advantage. Better still, stay in Surrey. It’s the one place Yorkshire Lasses never deign to enter. They say it’s a matter of standards.

You think I’m joking, don’t you?