I refer to the recent PCC meeting, in which it was revealed that £74.22 was spent on cleaning and refurbishment of choir robes this May.
I have personally always saved the church money by carrying out repairs and laundering my own robes. However after 38 years in the choir I feel I can no longer carry the financial burden.
I therefore enclose an invoice for £92.89. It has been a hard month.
Norbert Dranesqueezer, Chester Street
I hear the Fresh Expressions group have suggested we might have a C!own Service.
Clowns in the Church? Don’t make me laugh.
Burlington O’Brien, Church Lane, Gt Tremlett
I have played the song back repeatedly. And done extensive research. And there is no doubt about it.
The sea creatures mentioned in the B52s’ “Rock Lobster” sound nothing like they do in the song.
What does the Archdeacon plan to do about this?
Ranulf Bling, Station Road, Great Tremlett
The Cholmondley-Cholmonley family have owned Cholmondeley Manor for three hundred years, ever since Sir Charlton “Chummy” Cholmondley-Cholmonley won the old place in a game of cards from Sir Robin Lighteley-Mincing.
And yet I find I am not allowed to prevent the villagers from watching Channel Four. Truly Bin Laden has won.
Rt Hon Alicia Cholmondley-Cholmonley, Cholmondeley Manor, Woodby Chapel End.
I noticed that, during the summer months, Reverend Joanna gave up wearing the chasuble due to the heat. As a result, in that rather well-cut cassock-alb, I think it is true to say her gracious movements lit up our ancient old building’s time-honoured liturgies.
My wife says please could she not do that again.
Rob Runes, Church Lane, Gt Tremlett
At this start of the Methodist year, when so many Methodist ministers are moving to new locations, let us spare a thought for these closest of our relatives in the Church family.
I mean. Imagine being a Methodist. Dreadful.
Felicity Broadstairs, Tremlett Road, Woodby
Some have objected to the suspension of the Sunday Club during the vacation. But I needed a break after the previous 44 weeks of unbroken teaching.
44 weeks. Every week knowing that, whatever craft activity I devise, Liam will eat it. Removing glue from Chardonnay’s hair every week. Aaron throwing glitter over Samanfa. Every week. For 44 weeks.
Sunday Club will restart on the second Sunday of September. I’m really looking forward to a new year of fun, games and activities!
Cassandra Chamois, Peanut Cottage, Lt Tremlett
A flutter of excitement last month as a pigeon found itself trapped in St Audrey’s. A charming little fellow. And such a to-do as the parishioners wondered how best to remove it! A net, luring it with corn? Just leaving the door open? We even made the local news!
Eventually I decided I should act for the community. I give no details. But people said they enjoyed that pie at the church bring n share picnic.
I’ll say no more.
The “Masked Avenger”
As Harvest comes round, people often wonder what to do with the surfeit of pumpkins that are donated to the Festival. We give away some of our food offerings to the food bank, of course, but most poor people could not eat a whole one.
And many find pumpkin a bland food! But fear not – here is the Dumpling family recipe, passed down through many generations.
Ingredients: 1 large pumpkin; 400g strong white flour; 2 red onions; 4 potatoes; 1 red chilli; 1 bottle Madeira wine; 1pt chicken stock; salt and pepper to taste.
Step 1: Drink the Madeira
Step 2: Wonder what you did with the other ingredients.
Major J Dumpling, “Rodney’s Rest”, Lt Tremlett
I regret to announce that the autumn Bible Study course has been cancelled. It clashed with the Trim Valley Morris Men.
I don’t mean the two groups were scheduled for the same time. I mean they literally clashed. Blood all over last year’s Spring Harvest study notes. Terrible.
Romilly Randers, Cave Road, Little Tremlett
Already the nights draw in and we think of the ingathering of first fruits, roads choked with combine harvesters and the gentle bubbling of homemade wine..
“A Victorian Harvest in the Trim Valley”
The setting sun o’er Chapel Wood
Sets the fields glowing in golden haze
The villagers still barley mow
In these so-shortening autumn days.
The apples, green and red, hang sweet
And soft, before first frosty breath,
Are chestnuts, brown as the labourers’ arms
And bejewelled berries, black as death.
Death death death
Death death death death death
Death death death
Wishing you all a mellow and fruitful harvest tide.
Mellissa Sparrow (Mrs), The Hollow, Grilsby-on-the-Hill