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.