Increasing numbers of women are now being consecrated as bishops by the Church of England. And yet still the nudist female bishop continues to be full clothed.
Honestly, I don’t understand why women are allowed to be bishops if this is the sort of thing that doesn’t happen.
Ranulf Bling, Station Road, Great Tremlett
The heating is not working in St Mary’s. It’s been that way since 1835.
Just thought I’d mention it.
Mary Mandible, Crooked Lane, Gt Tremlett
As the vicar took two weeks off for a post-Christmas break, I decided once again to monitor whether he was indeed away, or had decided to hide away in the vicarage with the curtains closed.
It is not easy to do this without attracting the attention of the constabulary. Especially when you are hiding in the vicarage and get detected. So on this occasion I crossed the Rubicon. During the last communion service before Christmas, I took the opportunity of the Sharing of the Peace to insert a GPS transmitter into the vicar’s neck. It is true to say that he noticed the unexpected pain. However I blamed this on Miriam trying to give him a love bite.
I am now happy to share with the congregation the “heat map” I generated from his movements over the post-Christmas period.
It turns out that he spent the whole time going in cycles round Regents Park in London. Which means there are a few explanations:
- He found this was the way that he best combined recreation, “me time” and physical activity.
- He found this was the best way to hide from everybody in the parish
- I accidentally downloaded Strava instead of the GPS tracking application.
Sibelius Bunce, Cold Lane, Great Tremlett
What a brilliant sermon the vicar wrote last week.
Being charitable, one can only presume that he accidentally left it at home. And had to make up the thing he actually preached as he went along.
Dr Sandra Ireland, “Dunphlebbin’”, Great Tremlett
What a pleasure once again to stand in for the vicar while he was away on holiday! And how the people of Little Tremlett enjoyed Epiphany according to the Magrithean Rite!
However on the second Sunday, I am afraid I was unable to lead Evensong.
While walking my dog I heard someone near Reedy Pond, screaming and splashing – a woman’s voice. Naturally I ran to offer whatever assistance I could afford.
As I entered Barebottom Spinney, imagine my surprise when a grand piano fell on me! I have no idea what it was doing in that tree. I saw what appeared to be a blue scarf fluttering to the floor. And then I lost consciousness, to the accompaniment of what I believe was a chord of A6min.
I would like to thank the Reader, Doreen, who most kindly stepped in for me at the last minute. Fortunately she had a sermon on the appropriate readings, “just in case something happens.”
Canon Vyvyan Westcliffe (Retd) (But still available for occasional offices), The Old Vicarage, Woodby
It is important to ensure we take times of rest. Sabbath and Jubilee are the two poles or axes of the Scriptures, the stationary points around which our activity whirls.
And so it was that I found myself in the conservatory of a reasonably-priced hotel, two weeks after Christmas, watching sleet fall outside as I created the service rotas for the next three months, did my tax return, and tried to catch up on a backlog of six months of diocesan administration.
So I’m pleased to say that I have tendered my resignation to the Bishop and the Patron, and I’ll be off at the end of April. I’m going to work in a factory making own-label Hula Hoops. In many ways, I realise, this has always been my real calling.
My prayers will always be for the Trim Valley benefice. And especially with my successor.
Revd Nathan, Tremlett Vicarage, Great Tremlett
As the Patron of the parishes in the Trim Valley, I am the successor of a long line of men with the service of the churches and their people at heart. My ancestor, Antoine de Cheaumlieu, was originally awarded these parishes as a reward for changing sides halfway through the Rout of Winchester. While we received Cholmondeley Manor (formerly Woodby Abbey) directly from Henry VIII, as a reward for hanging the abbot and monks in 1540. At the Civil War, when Great Tremlett fought for the Crown and Little Tremlett for Parliament, Sir Nathaneal Cholmondley bravely sold weapons and food to both sides. Thus ensuring that Cromwell allowed us to keep our properties, and Charles II granted us further lands at the Restoration.
So I can assure you that, in the search for a new minister, I will spare no efforts in finding a man more appropriate to the role than Nathan. I think we can all agree that the great Comprehensive Educational Experiment has failed, and ideally we need someone who went to school with my son, Bartram.
The Church of England has many checks and balances in the selection of new ministers – including the wardens, the involvement of the Archdeacon, the participation of the bishop. This is right and good. But don’t worry. I’m still doing the choosing.
Sir Richmond Cholmondley-Cholmonley (Bart), Cholmondeley Manor, Woodby Chapel End.
I can’t help noticing the ways the shops and old crafts in the valley have closed as time has gone by. The blacksmith has now moved to an out-of-town blacksmith superstore on a shopping estate in Banbury. The cooper went online and is now available via his own Amazon store. The post office, all but one corner shop, and the pubs have closed – leaving us with just the newsagent, the Hanged Man and the Quiet Woman.
And now the police have closed down Weedy Will’s backyard marijuana operation. Where am I supposed to get my skunk now? It’s not exactly available on ebay. Or, if it is, I’d appreciate anybody who could show me where abouts.
In the 70s, we would spend days on end out of heads on Will’s produce. Me, the wife, the guys from Woodby – some of whom would have to take the “long way home” to avoid PC Rodney. That’s in the unlikely event he was on the beat, and not in our back room, talking drivel and looking for Mars bars. Even old Reverend Jones used to like a quick drag to get him through the next pastoral visit – though when he succeeded him, Fr Vyvyan preferred speed, as I remember. Which was why sometimes his sermons lasted only three minutes. Now Nathan eats nothing but Hula Hoops, and his sermons seem to go on forever.
Ah, the old things pass away.
Rob Runes, Church Lane, Gt Tremlett
Lots of talk about the proposed merger of the Church of England and the Methodist Church. I thoroughly approve.
Since the last Methodist in Woodby Chapel died, we’ve been unable to get our hands on the “Beryl” tea set. If we can take them over, the Circuit will have to give it back.
Felicity Broadstairs, Tremlett Road, Woodby
Every Sunday the children join us for the “all together” part of the service, including Communion.
Could they stop?
Ciara Meringe, The Old Stables, Gt Tremlett
Hot cross buns are on sale half price and it’s still not even Lent. Disgraceful!
Yesterday I had to eat seventeen of them. Made me thing I was a lemon.
Yours in a gin and tonic
Major J Dumpling, “Rodney’s Rest”, Lt Tremlett
Once again this year we will be holding our “penny collection” charity collection.
The rules are simple. Ask me for an empty jar. Every time you have a penny piece, put it in the jar. Bring it to the service on Low Sunday after Easter, when we will have the grand counting.
Last year we raised £74.24. Great news! As after paying for all the peanut butter I had to eat to get the empty jars, we had 2p left over for “Church Treasurers’ Aid”.
Norbert Dranesqueezer, Chester St, Grilsby-on-the-Hill
A terrible event at the wedding of Radley and Mandy last week.
I know that all kinds of “alternative” ring-bearers are in vogue these days. And that birds of prey are apparently de rigeur. And Olly was a lovely owl.
It was just a shame that our pet Church Mouse, Millie, popped out to see if there were any crumbs around just before the exchange of vows.
Poor Millie. No longer a charming addition to our congregation. Just a few bones and whiskers in an owl pellet. Such is life.
Tom Cobley-Anhall, “Tweezers”, Grilsby-on-the-Hill
I got no scent of existence
I know the nodding dogs
I go out in the city
I stay away from the bugs
Samantha Giblings, Church Green, Woodby
The vicar went on about sexual impurity in his sermon last week. And yet he did not give any details.
I feel, if he wants to reverse the decline in the church, he is missing a trick.
Martin Moraine, “Purity House”, Little Tremlett
A poem for Candlemas
Spring’s First Hintings
I walked through the churchyard this morning
The Lent lilies pushed through the turf
And the snowdrops nodded gently
Bowing down to earth.
And I walked past your grave
Where you sleep by the gate
I loved you once
But it was too late.
I scared a cat in a tree
And it fell on your head.
I saw the love in your eyes
But too late. You were dead.
Bit unlikely, I know.
But still. Dead.
Melissa Sparrow (Mrs), The Hollow, Grilsby-on-the-Hill
Writes of the Church: Gripes and grumbles of people in the pews. The book to make you laugh, think or possibly gnaw the back of the pew in front. Written by the creator of the Beaker Folk of Husborne Crawley. With cartoons by Dave Walker.