The diocese has been very supportive of our search for a new vicar, and have committed to ensuring one is installed as soon as possible.
But I still reckon we could let the vicarage out as a holiday home for the summer. We could make enough to take 10p off a pint.
Colin Daley, The Hanged Man Inn, The Green, Little Tremlett
Apparently in my preaching on Sundays in my official role as Reader I have to stick to the truths revealed in the Scriptures, the creeds and the historic formularies of the Church of England, whatever they are.
No such restriction applies to my unofficial activities. Which is why I will be leading a series of discussions across the summer on “Why God Does Not Exist”. 8pm each Wednesday in the Church Hall, followed by a short talk on “Crystal Healing for Career Success”.
Doreen (the Reader), Woodwind Lane, Gt Tremlett
I’m afraid the solemnity of the Midsummer Night coven meeting was wrecked by all the sneezing.
We are children of nature, at one with the divine forces coursing through all life.
But apparently that does not make us immune to hay fever.
Mildred Flossett (Mothers’ Union Branch Secretary), Jasmine Road, Gt Tremlett
What a great idea of Doreen’s to hold a Morning Prayer outside. Made it impossible to hear Jeffrey’s awful organ playing.
Fennel Bailey, The Old Orchard House.
I am the assassin, with tongue forged from eloquence
I am the assassin, providing your nemesis
On the sacrificial altar to success, my friend
Unleash a stranger from a kiss, my friend
No incantations of remorse, my friend
Unsheathe the blade within the voice, my friend. MY FRIEND.
Samantha Giblings, Church Green, Woodby
I appear to have caused some upset at the Summer Fayre.
It all started at Easter, when the Village Store marked down all their Bailey’s Easter Eggs to 50% off. Needless to say I bought them all.
Noticing that the best before date was coming up, I thought it was best to take no chances. So I ate them all that Saturday morning.
I realise I must have caused some upset to Gervais, the Youth Club leader. He was very kindly in the stocks for the “Throw the Wet Sponges” attraction. He wasn’t expecting someone to start throwing the stock of the Second Hand Bookshop at him. That copy of “The God Delusion” could, in retrospect, have caused him some serious brain damage. If he had read it. Luckily it just broke his nose.
In my defence, I did buy all the books before throwing them. So good news for the Steeple Fund!
Major James Dumpling (retd), “Rodney’s Rest”, Little Tremlett
Every week at Communion we enter what we church treasurers call the “corridor of uncertainty” where we are unsure of precisely what the expected costs of the service might be. There are so many uncertainties in the counting of the number of wafers. Who is a communicant? Who is feeling uncertain about his or her relationship with a spouse, and may decide to spend the time contemplating their situation before returning to Communion next week? Will Canon Vyvyan decide to implement his notorious “5 questions” before allowing anyone to receive – some of which even Pope John Paul II would have failed?
I have therefore introduced the “Dranesqueezer Patent Communicant Calculator”. A phone app that, by connecting to the phones of all the congregation, can work out the correct amount of bread to be consecrated without any of that awkwardness and uncertainty of asking whether people will be receiving communion the previous week.
I have estimated that, by the use of my device, we can save up to £4.22 per year!
However there are development costs in the production of the App, licensing from Apple for the iPhone version, server expenses and so forth.
I therefore include an invoice to the total of £7,422.
Norbert Dranesqueezer, Chester St, Grilsby-on-the-Hill
A Poem: The Blackbird
A little friend upon the wall
He greeted me with merry call.
In the early morning light
He woke me with his song so bright
Even in the snow and rain
He sang a beautiful refrain
He sang a lullaby so sweet
When I gave him a bite to eat.
But all the breadcrumbs made him flabby
So he couldn’t get away from the tabby.
He’s not singing any more.
He’s not singing any more.
Mellissa Sparrow (Mrs), The Hollow, Grilsby-on-the-Hill