Back to the Future

Blog.


Still getting mad texts from ex girlfriend from Uni, although with recent developments haven't dared to meet up again. Nothing too dramatic happened when we met up a week last Friday. There still seemed to be something there, although a part of me couldn't help wondering whether the frisson I felt, was merely the idea of doing something underhand, rather than anything sexual. We had a good natter though and lots of laughs. Haven't laughed like that for years. I got a taxi home and we promised to meet up again and then the banks decided to renage on the overdraft. And so that put the kybosh on that for a while. Miranda was brilliant. Paper back on track and we have a campaign to sort out. The council want to demolish some houses and turn it into a car park. Will they ever learn?

Council eyes camera option to spy on household rubbish

Responding to a new Governement White Paper, Withering Parish Council have initiated a proposal to monitor waste disposal in the valley. With the new wheelie bin proposal having been given the green light, councillors are now looking into the idea of monitoring what we throw into our rubbish bins. A wheelie bin with a miniture camera on the lid will record everything that is thrown away. This new high tech camera, complete with nano x-ray, will be able to see what every householder throws into their bins. Monitored at a regional disposal unit, it will give daily updates on what householders are disposing of in their wheelie bins. Asked to comment on this proposal, Councillor Greenwood, Head of Refuse, Recycling and Wheelie Bin activity said.
'Central government is very keen on recycling, as are we, and as a forward thinking authority we need to keep abreast of all available technology that enables us to monitor what is acceptable and not acceptable in refuse management. For far too long the residents of Withering have been putting any old rubbish into their bins, and its time they stopped.'
Keith Batch, head of CRAP, Council Refuse Alternative Practices said. 'Once again the council have gone completely overboard with this Big Brother CCTV action. Cameras in your bin? What Next?' He said. An energy meter on your mattress. This is state control gone mad!'
The new proposal will be put forward to the Refuse ans Recycling Cabinet at their next meeting on Wednesday 2nd December.

The editor and all the staff at The Withering News apologise for the failure to produce a paper last week. Due to recent global financial developments and circumstances beyond our control, the paper failed to hit the newstands. We are now back and thank you for your continued support.

The Editor.

Waltzing Matilda

For the first time in its 180 year history, The Withering Heights News missed its deadline last week, as the toxic world of the banking crisis poked us in the eye with a very big stick . Miranda and I had been called in to meet our bank manager, Roger Greenwood, a 55 year old serial wearer of Boxing Day jumpers, who, although over the years had torn several strips off us for our Cavalier action in running our business accounts, had never tried to foreclose on us. Last week he was summarily retired by the banks new owners, an aggressive Antipodean outfit called Maguire Bank. We were called into the regional head office to meet our new business manager, a boy graduate called Wayne O'Connell, an inhabitant of Melbourne, with the teeth and gelled tonsure more akin to an Australian soap than the trading floor of an international banking organisation. His whole demeanour was reptilian which wasn't helped by me unconsciously humming 'Waltzing Matilda.' Miranda gave me a nudge and the boy graduate smirked. Little did I know that he had lost a grandfather at Galipoli and we were about to pay for Churchill's errors.
'The bank is calling in the overdraft.' He looked up and steepled his hands. 'And we have temporarily closed your account until funds have been deposited that will bring it back into credit.' I am not a religious man but I went on a five minute rant about him kneeling at the altar of Mammon. I stated that if 'The son of God,' were here , he would throw him and his ilk out of the Temple forthwith for their userous actions. This was greeted with another smirk. 'You have 24 four hours.' Miranda was brilliant. She calmly stated that she had been negotiating a remortgaging of our house and would have the money by close of business today. The boy wonder nodded and said. 'Great. If you can have the paper work in front of me as soon as, we can see where we go from here.' He was all platitudes and styrofoam coffee. He stood up. '24 Hours.' He went to shake my hand which I declined. Miranda however, obliged and said good bye. We live to fight another day. When we got outside I gave her a hug. We might be mortgaged to the hilt but at least those rapacious bastards at the bank won't have won. Yet!


Blog.

All phone calls and texts with ex girlfriend on hold as all hands required to fight for survival. Headline will be tomorrow, five days late but at least we're still here. No doubt the letters page will be full and thank God for that!

Letters to Editor

Dear Sir,

Am I the only resident of Withering Heights who finds it utterly appalling that the town council should even consider allowing a Lesbian Pole Dancing Club? As a man of the cloth I promote tolerance, but thrusting it into people's faces over a ham and brie baguette is beyond the pale. I for one call on our elected politicians to stand firm and as a matter of principle declare Withering Heights the first Pole Dancing free town in England, Lesbian or not!


Yours Faithfully

The Right Reverend Ian McCRacken ( Retd.)



Dear Sir,


The very thought of allowing The Sapphic tendancy free reign in our beautiful town is becoming intolerable. Is it not bad enough that we have to witness ladies in comfortable shoes kissing and carrying on in the square as it is, without them whooping and holloring as some poor East European gal swings her tassled nipples for their sexual delight. I will be starting a petition to make sure that there will never be such an establishment in this town.




Appalled,


Eugenia Fairweather.





Dear Editor,

As the President of GAIN, Gay Activists International, I applaud Ms Grann's attempts to establish a Lesbian Pole Dancing Club in Withering Heights. I see the council's refusal of a licence, as a typical infringement of a Lesbian's right to express her sexual rights and freedoms in this repressive age. It is about time the sisterhood stood firm and announced that we will not hide our sexuality anymore.

Angela Connolly

President of GAIN.


Blog.

Friday night with ex girlfriend from uni was great. Will tell you more later but Miranda on the warpath.

Dykes, Tykes and Mics.

A planning application to transform the old Co-op in Market Street into a Lesbian Pole Dancing and Poetry Club has been thrown out by Withering Heights Council. At a planning meeting on Thursday 5th November at the Town Hall, Councillor Robshaw, Tyke Alliance, said a substantial majority of the town were against such a proposal and the 'very idea of bringing this kind of thing into a wholesome town like Withering was an abomination.' He also went on to denounce the misuse of the word Tyke in the planning application, saying, 'To have a Lesbian Pole Dancing Club would be bad enough, but to call it DYKES AND TYKES WITH MICS, is an insult to every honest Yorkshireman in the county.' Speaking on behalf of the proposal was Sandy Grinn, property developer and businesswoman. 'Withering Heights needs to move with the times. When industries are closing up and down the valley, we need to look to the lesiure industry to provide jobs.' Worried that such a club would bring undesirables into the town, the Right Reverend Tony Malpas said'...we need to stamp out the exploitation of women in our society....a Lesbian Pole Dancing Club is sending out the wrong message to our children.' Ms Grinn, later told the enquiry that the club would be run by women for women, so there would be no question of exploitation.' The planning application was denied.



Blog.


Veronica, ex from uni texting like a mad thing. Decide to keep mobile on me at all times. Friday's meeting is on at a Hotel in Wetherby, she's up for a conference. Must remain sober. Miranda calls me into her office and says she was cornered at her Pilates class by the bank manager who wants to meet us Friday morning to discuss our 'Future.' For whom the bell tolls and all that. She's now got the big abacus out and is busy trying to get a business plan together. Three residents from Harley Bank corner me in the offcie. The council are planning to knock down their houses and build a car park. Paddy planning to call in favours from his mother's brew of Pagans, Shamans and all manner of Alternative therapists. I tell him to put the voodoo dolls down and head to the photocopier and start a petition. Local MP, has dropped the charges of criminal damage to his office. Rumour went round that it was his ex, which of course it wasn't but he doesn't want any bad publicity with a General Election imminent. Paddy relieved. So am I.

Bricks Windows and Afghanistan

Reports are just coming in that the local MP's window and office have been smashed and trashed. The labour MP for Withering, Geoff Tindall has been contacted at his holiday home in the Algarve. Geoff is a radical socialist who tans easily. The police are looking for a hooded youth. That'll narrow it down. Unfortunately I know who did the dastardly deed, Pat the Pagan, our junior sub at the paper. Every time his mother goes away, this time she went on a womens' only poetry retreat to Tiverton, he gets hammered and does something stupid. The last time I had to bail him out of gaol for urinating on a statue in the middle of Withering Square. He got 100 community hours cleaning walls, and knows every graffitti tag in the valley. He said he threw the brick as a protest against Afghanistan. I said he hurled the brick because he was canned up on strong continental lager. Pat has now entered the paranoid guilt stage and wants to give himself up. If he does that he'll definitely go to prison for criminal damage. Our MP is from the hang em and flog section of the Labour party. I went round to Pat's house this morning and he was muttering some shamanic noises he uses to contact the spirits. I said the less said about the spirits the better and if the police find themselves a hooded youth before the weekend is out, then he'll need more than an inverted teepee, incense and crystals to get him off the hook.

Alien Abductees on Acid

Starship, Captain Kirk, aka Dave Randall popped into the office this morning. He's a serial alien abductee. Over the years he's been whisked away to numerous stellar destinations, interfered with, impregnated and on one occasion returned to Withering Heights in the body of Michael Jackson. His Moonwalk was the hit of Christmas 1996. Dave's an acid casualty, one of the first Hippies to come to Withering at the end of the 1960's. He'd done the Chakra Foothills of the Himalayas and found himself back in England looking for somewhere to start his Socialist Food Cooperative. Unfortunately his dreams were scuppered by a habit that rendered him incapable of working. Dave's the kind of chap who can start of a sentence in an articulate and amusing manner, and then mid sentence there occurs some grammatical road crash and he's unable to finish what he so elegantly started. This morning he's in carping on about bins and Afghanistan. In that order. Once he starts whistling 'A whiter shade of pale,' you know the chemicals are winning in the battle for Dave's head. He leaves with a copy of the paper and I promise to pop round and have a cuppa with him later.

Veronica, ex Uni girlfriend constantly texting about meeting up.


Letter to Editor.


Dear Sir,

In regards to your article PIE CRUST CHRIST, the Yorkshire term for a Wimberry pie is Bilberry, not Blueberry as one of your readers quoted . It is this kind of shoddy journalism that has resulted in the demise of the printed press in England today. I for one counted sixteen typographical errors last week and at least three factual mistakes. Boy graduates with a spellchecker are no substitute for an educated sub editor.


Yours faithfully


The Reverend Ian McCracken. (Rtd.)

Friends Reunited

Paper hit the stands this morning without too much fuss. Banner headline was Pie Crust Christ. A woman from Withering Heights found the face of Jesus in her home made Wimberry Pie. A YouTube hit and local radio and TV, very interested. Miranda did speak at breakfast, grudgingly. Got interesting email from someone at Friends Reunited. Old University girlfriend called Veronica. She's now divorced of course and 'fancied meeting up.' All sounds very desperate, but we did have a good time at uni, and she still looks good, if indeed that's her real photo. What with Photo Shop and airbrushing , you never really know what someone looks like. We went out for a year. Well, we had sex for a year. I bought her the 12" version of 'Love will tear us apart.' How apposite those Joy Division boys were. I will email her tonight under the ciover of darkness.

The books are coming

The books are coming, the books are coming. The printers tell me Falling through clouds will be with me within the next two weeks. Now the serious marketing starts. Press releases will have to be written and then sample copies sent to all those Lit eds at the nationals and regional newspapers. Of course London may look the other way, but I'm being magnanimous and will let them view our great new book. Then it's the viral marketing campaign. Twitter, facebook and other tinternet sites. It's selling time. The Moose is about, everywhere.

Letters to Editor

Dear Editor,

It strikes me as rather odd that when The Lord decides to appear, he does so in, Pies, Pastries and Pasties.(Pie Crust Christ) Given that we now live in a technological age, wouldn't he rather wish to appear on The Internet, YouTube or simultaneously on everyone's Facebook Page? Surely he would make more of an impact on these sites. It would certainly give those who live their lives in a virtual world something to Tweet about, as I believe those who are on Twitter do all the time!

Yours Faithfully


Horace Crabtree



Dear Sir,

A note of some Geographical and etymylogical import. Your recent headline, PIE CRUST CHRIST, mentioned that The Lord appeared in a Wimberry pie. Anyone who has lived in these valleys will tell you that a Wimberry pie is the Lancastrian term for what we Yorkshire folk know as a Blueberry pie. Those in the red County may have won a battle some years back, with the dubious help of the Welsh, but they can't take our Blueberries, they belong here in God's own country, Yorkshire.


Yours,

Councillor Brian Robshaw
Tyke Alliance

Flat Pack Stocks

Withering Blog.

Editorial meeting this morning, had a memo.' The advent of the internet.' Miranda, my darling, my life, it's already here. Newspapers are officially dead. We are merely local post it notes to remind people who has died and to give them directions to the sofa shop. Another rejection from a literary agent, the gatekeepers. The great British novel spurned again. Our youngest Siobhan is having problems at school. Key stage two exam time. Utter nonsense. The Education Secretary should be strung up by his surname. Miranda had a go when I opened the second bottle of vin. She stormed off to bed. Alone. Watched The Godfather 2 and fell asleep half way through. Woke up with red wine tash. Again.
Tumbleweed time in the office. Blanked by Miranda. Made excuse about interviewing local writer. Went to pub and met two sticks Malcolm who talked nonsense about Rhodesia. He's always been three decades behind. Miranda texted and said she knew I was in The Lion. I am now officially electronically tagged through Sim card. Brilliant. Forty Four and can't even play out without being called back for tea! I suspect Miranda is down B&Q right now buying some flat pack stocks for yours truly.

PIE CRUST CHRIST

Withering Heights is at the centre of a media storm this week as the face of Jesus Christ has appeared in the crust of a Wimberry Pie made by Mrs Greenwood of 3 Temple Drive. " I always make a Wimberry of a Tuesday," the 53 year old mother of three said. " And our Michael had just cut into it and there it was. The face of Jesus, there in my crust." Mrs Greenwood then called Father Grimshaw and told him what she had discovered. " He came straight away and was as shocked as we all were when he saw the face of the saviour in the crust," Mrs Greenwood and the priest carefully put the pie in a box. Fr. Grimshaw has contacted the Bishop of Leeds, who was unavailable for comment but it is believed that he will be arriving tomorrow with a Papal Nuncio based in London. A member of the Withering Women's Institute, who wanted to remain anonymous, has said she was very surprised that 'Our Lord' had appeared in a pie made by Mrs Greenwood, as she had never won won first prize in the annual Withering Pie competition. She went on to say that, "If the son of God was to appear in any pie in the town then surely he would have appeared in those made by Mrs Higginbottom, who had won 'best pie award,' six years on the run." Mrs. Greenwood's youngest son, Fred, has placed a photo of The Pie Crust Christ on Youtube and so far there have been 285,000 hits in one week.


Withering Blog.

Death by Planning Committee! Two hours at the Town Hall listening to Councillors bore for England about drains. Lesbian Pole Dancing Club, Dykes and Tykes With Mics, will not be appearing in this Pennine Market town any time soon. Memo to editor and proprietor of Withering News and my wife, Miranda. I never, ever want to go to another planning meeting. Ever. One developer handed me a copy of CONCRETE QUARTERLY to pass the time. I would rather pay my own way to the Digitas clinic in Switzerland. Miranda, you can go instead and hone your shorthand skills.
This morning, SHE left me details for membership of the gym. I'm genetically predisposed to look like a Toby Jug. Crunches and the treadmill will just propel me to an early grave. Death by healthy living. Letter to solicitor....My wife ,the editor , El Presidente is trying to kill me but at least I'll look ripped in the coffin. May strap her into an armchair and make her watch multiple repeats of TEAM AMERICA. The battle of the loo seat continues.