Frank Incensed at Nativity 'Slur.'

Frank Greenwood, 33 of St Bede's Close, Withering Heights, was arrested yesterday after starting a fight at The Withering Heights Womans' Nativity play. A police spokesperson said the assailant had 'Apparently taken great umbrage because they had depicted the baby Jesus as a woman and that the three wise men, were an all female singing troupe from St Helens whose act consisted of constant references to 'female plumbing.'' The accused, a sheet metal worker, had spent several hours in The White Lion drinking strong continnetal lager before going along to the nativity play. It was only when 'Jospephina, picked up the 'son of God and said' It's a girl,' did Greenwood allegedly throw the first punch which connected with the angel Gabriel and sent her reeling into the cowshed. The police were called and Greenwood was taken to the police cells to be questioned. Amanda Fotherington-Haysmith, the director of the play said she was 'appalled' at his behaviour and hoped the magistrates would throw the book at him. Baby Jesus was unhurt in the fracas, although she did sustain a few cuts and bruises after an altercation with a couple of Asses in the Manger. The doctors passed her fit and she will be appearing in the last show, which is tomorrow, the 17th December at the Womans' Refuge Centre on Cross Street. Frank Greenwood is to appear before Withering magistrates on the 21st of December.


Dear sir,

I am not having cameras in my bins. Gordon Brown should spend more time looking into the Bankers Bonuses than snooping around in my bin. I for one will be petitioning the Home Secretary as I think it is an attack on my civil liberties. What goes into my bin is my concern and nobody elses. What next, cameras in our stomachs to see what we're eating?

Yours


Graham Batty



Dear Sir,

Apropos Bins. I propose that a group of us should go down to the Town Hall and look through the Councillors bins and see what they throw away. I'm sure that would be very illuminating.
What next stool monitors in the sewers?


The Reverend Tony Malpas. Rtd.




Blog.

Uni friend desperate to meet up again for her company Christmas Party. I just know where that will end up. Drunken and guilt ridden and all rather messy. I'll text her later.

Pie Crust Grotto

News update on The Pie Crust Christ story.....

The face of Jesus,which appeared in Mrs. Greenwood's Wimberry pie, and then became an instant Youtube hit has found its way all the way to the Vatican. His holiness, Pope Benedict, has sent his Papal Nuncio to Withering Heights to look deeper into Mrs. Greenwood's pie. There has been no official statement from The Vatican yet, but it is believed the Nuncio arrived with the Papal forensic unit which comprises a unique carbon dating testing kit and the pie was taken away to Manchester University for tests. Mrs. Greenwood has been told that a decision on the validity of 'The Pie Crust Christ,' will take a couple of months, although The Withering Heights Tourist Information Office have told this reporter that there have been hundreds of inquiries from Catholic associations worldwide. Mrs Greenwood would not comment on the runour that she is looking for funds to develop a Pie Crust Grotto but it is known that one of her children has been in contact with the Lourdes PR Office.

Take me to Cuba and don't spare the horses

Sue Greenwood, our secretary, returned from her three week SALSAFEST in Cuba today. She's salsa'd to the max and swivelling around the office like a sleb on Strictly Come Dancing. The table is littered with photos, especially Juan, her salsa teacher from Rochdale, who seems to appear in every one holding a drink and the breasts of whichever unfortunate female happens to be next to him. Juan is from Rochdale, and his real name is Ken. He was a gas fitter before he had a Paulian conversion to Salsa on the Manchester Road after seeing The Buena Vista Social Club at The Ritz. His hips haven't stopped since. His accent is Cubastrian, half Havana, half Lancashire. Sue has been infected with the Juan gene and can't walk into a room without wiggling a hip or three, and if I hear another salsa mega mix tape as I attempt to meet a deadline, I'll club her to death with her own marracas. She bought me a bottle of Club Havana, which she wants me to open, but I refuse, telling her it's only 9.30 in the morning, but she says it doesn't matter what time it is, it's always party time in Cuba, which is fine I say, but as we're in Withering at the beginning of December and the paper needs to get out, having a party is the last thing we should be doing. 'Instead of having an Advent Calender, and opening a window every day, can't we have a nip of Rum, to jolly us along?' She asks. 'No.' I reply but think its a damned good idea nonetheless. Will put it to our commander in chief, Miranda, and I know what her answer will be.
Off to The White Lion to do an Anglo Saxon Foxtrot.