Ha ha.

True Black Country humour is gentle and warm-hearted. Here's a story I remember being told a good many years ago -

Old Jack was dying. He'd had a good life, and liked his drink. He'd never been a church-goer, but none-the-less his family sent for the local Vicar, who was also known for downing the odd glass or three of whisky. The Vicar came and did those things which Vicars do in those circumstances, and then asked Jack if there was anything else he could do for him. "Well, Padre" said Jack "perhaps you could read to me - something from the Good Book maybe - there's that 23rd Psalm, isn't there." So the Vicar - sensing perhaps a last-minute conversion - leaned close to him and started to read - you know the one: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...." When he'd finished, Old Jack, now clearly fading fast, said "Again Padre", and so the Vicar recited the Psalm again. And then he thought he ought to ask Old Jack why that particular reading - was it something he remembered from childhood perhaps, or from some memorable occasion in his life? "No Padre", Old Jack whispered " 'twouldn't have much mattered what you read - but your breath, it do smell good".