Surely nobody can have missed the significance that the flooding of our green and pleasant land last week started in Hebden Bridge – the Lesbianism Capital of Yorkshire – and then impacted Manchester – the home of the “Madchester” scene that featured people being drunk and enjoying themselves.
In previous years, the flooding has impacted Somerset – where the inhabitants are notoriously out of their tiny minds on scrumpy cider every night – and, in 1998, Northamptonshire – the home of the shoemaker’s factory on which the film “Kinky Boots” was based.
Could the message be more clear? The vicar must, in his sermons in the new year, condemn the following groups – or more flooding will inevitably follow.
- Gay Muslims
- People who have trouble accepting the unity of the book of Isaiah
- Giles Fraser
- People who were on the “Madchester” scene
- People who are still on the “Madchester” scene because they have not yet noticed that it is over
- JD Weatherspoons
- Channel 4
- Cider drinkers
- Gay cider-drinking muslims
- The quiz show “Pointless”, which accepts people even if they are in the groups above
- The Hoverboarding Priest
- The Environment Agency
- Hoverboarding clown priests playing banjoleles.
However having seen the Hoverboarding Priest has given me one idea as to how Revd Nathan could immeasurably brighten up the typical Sunday service. He could move to the Philippines.
Melissa Sparrow (Mrs), The Hollow, Grilsby-on-the-Hill
I note that once again Revd Nathan is not in the New Year’s Honours List, or even on the blogger Cranmer’s list of people in the news.
What is the Vicar doing? I insist that he denies the existence of God, or starts a campaign of some kind, immediately.
I would like to congratulate Mildred Gussett, who received a mention in the paper. Mildred has cleaned the Lower School for the last 60 years, started the food bank and does the shopping for all the people in the village who are housebound. Last year she repointed the West Wall with lime mortar to the traditional formula, having mined the lime herself from the original quarry.
I would recommend her to the New Year’s Honours List, but if she had to go up to London to collect an award that would take her away from relining my chimney.
Gabrielle Fitch Thompson, the Old Market House, Little Tremlett
I have been watching attentively the row of coniferous trees that have been planted along the northern edge of Gt Tremlett churchyard.
This time last year I warned that, as the north side of the church is accursed, they would never thrive.
Turns out that, with the mild and wet conditions we have experienced this year, they have actually done really well.
You live and learn.
Fennel Bailey, The Old Orchard House, Gt Tremlett
Since her announcement, we haven’t seen as much of the nudist bishop as I expected.
Once again, the Church of England fails to deliver.
Ranulf Bling, Station Road, Great Tremlett
Was it my imagination, or was the order of service for the carol service at “Great” printed on recycled paper, with a sans serif font? Surely a holy celebration such as this deserves a fine, white paper and a decent serif. I myself prefer a classic Times New Roman, although I know that some people these days prefer the trendier “Alegreya”.
The Prophet Malachi would have had words. And not nice ones.
Chas “Charlie” Charkles, Hanged Man’s Close, Gt Tremlett.
He lies on his side – is he trying to hide?
In fact it’s the earth, which he’s known since birth.
Samantha Giblings, Church Green, Woodby
What a lovely Christmas Nativity Play that was! Seeing the little ones so nervous, and yet so proud as they told us the greatest story every told! And what a nice twist – the baby Jesus receiving a Frozen doll along with the more traditional gifts. You have to move with the times, while keeping the important ingredients of the season.
Although I am a regular Christmas attendee, I will certainly be joining the congregation more often in the New Year!
Jasmine Jones, “Chitterings”, Wheezy Lane, Gt Tremlett
I had a strange – nay mystical – experience this Christmas. After the traditional Christmas Day repast, washed down with just a pint of the old fine crusted port, I forgot that it was not a Sunday and went back to Church for evensong. The building was still open, and I walked in and sat in my traditional pew. The lights were not on but I assumed that the vicar would be along shortly. So I passed the time by comparing the unique smells of the different hassocks – a pastime that seems to have been forgotten in these cyber-days.
I clearly dozed off and missed the service. But arriving home and checking the Times, it appeared that four whole days had passed since Christmas. Who knew that the building had the power of time travel?
Major J Dumpling, “Rodney’s Rest”, Lt Tremlett
Whenever my niece kindly shows me the Church Website on her Internet, I notice that it is mostly just service times, what has been happening in the villages, upcoming events and suchlike. Worthy, but dull. Even the detailed description of every stone with mineral content and cutting direction, that I supplied last Christmas, has not been incorporated.
What is really needed is to provide some decent material that will really keep the punters coming. And I think I have just the thing.
I have kept a record of the precise temperature (external, within the church and in the font when relevant), weather conditions and length of sermon at every service in Little Tremlett since 1951. It is gripping reading, and a veritable record of life lived – as it were – on the cutting edge of the church.
10th Jan 1965, for instance, was a mild day if a little drizzly, and the vicar spoke for 17 mins and 42 secs. Which was, as it turned out, his 21st longest sermon of the year (and 185th longest of the decade – his successor tending to a shorter sermon.)
This invaluable record is handwritten in a collection of 64 A4 notepads. I really believe the Webmaster (who, it turns out, is not a Spiderman-type superhero but rather Dora from the corner shop) should transcribe the records into the Internet, to thoroughly shake up its current, rather boring, contents. Since she refuses to do so, I plan to ask the PCC to pass an Act of Attainder.
Chesney Peterson, Walnut Grove, Lt Tremlett
I was planning to put before next April’s Annual Parochial Church Meeting the full details of how I had cut the parish’s candle expenditure by recycling old candle stubs into full-length candles. This is not an activity to be under-rated, requiring skillful melting, casting and joining. The wicks can be particularly tricky.
To this end, I have been collecting all the candle stubs and half-burnt tea lights from the church’s worship activities, and have been storing them in a large cardboard box ready for my reforming processes. I knew the Christmas festivities, with their gratuitous use of candles, would fill the box nicely. So imagine my shock to discover that the Vicar had taken the entire box down to the landfill site to “tidy up the vestry”.
Naturally I dived headfirst into the skip where the vicar had thrown the candle stubs, and retrieved the box. However, as I took the box back to my car, I was apprehended by the workers at the so-called recycling centre. Apparently it is against the by-laws to retrieve materials that have been dumped. I subsequently spent an unpleasant afternoon at the magistrates court being fined. I believe that, given my good intentions, the vicar and PCC should recompense me for my inconvenience, and for the extra-strong soap I needed to buy to remove the smell of the chicken droppings into which the candles had been thrown.
I therefore include an invoice for the treasurer to the value of £74.22.
Norbert Dranesqueezer, Chester St, Grilsby-on-the-Hill
On 25 December, the daffodils in my garden came into flower. I do not believe this has happened before, and I consider it likely to be due to a spell having been cast.
However when I phoned the Vicar at 3pm to insist he come straight round to exorcise my garden, he told me to not be so bloomin’ silly, it was a warm month.
Even now, three days on, the Vicar has not made the time to visit. I have resorted to cutting the daffs to the ground, to try to nullify their evil powers.
Is this the kind of service from the Established Church that I pay my taxes for?
Chloe Joey, “El Nino Cottage”, Woodby Chapel End
I note that the Vicar included in his prayers, alongside those for the Queen, the Prime Minister and other godly people, the petition that God should “guide the opposition in constructive criticism of the Government”.
This is the kind of wild Trotskyite behaviour we have now come to expect. The Revolution has come to Woodby by stealth, in the form of our Red Vicar.
I have written to the bishop, but his reply was “please do not write this kind of drivel to me again.” So I have written to the Pope. So far, he has not replied.
Mary England, Carstairs House, Woodby