Tag: British

The Parish Council Minutes #10

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Fiction, Politics, Satire
  • More utterly riveting dispatches from Shufflehampton Parish Council, England. ‘Good lord, these people are clearly morons.’ MADE UP QUOTE
MEETING DATE: FRIDAY 20 MARCH 2020

THE ACTING CHAIR convened the meeting at 7.30 pm.

Item 1

‘I’d leave it a few months if I were you’

Cyril Keenly, the Clerk of the Parish Council, dialled into the meeting because he was self-isolating. Councillor Watterson asked if anyone else was self-isolating because there was just him and the Acting Chair in the Council Room.

The Clerk confirmed everyone else was self-isolating though Councillor Pritchard didn’t really count because he was still in a coma after someone had attacked him with a pick-axe, Councillors Dean and Tomkins didn’t count because they were on trial for murder after the dismembered bodies of their ex-spouses were found at the Cow and Banjo and the Chairman didn’t count because he’d been photographed doing something ‘right dodgy’ and quite possibly illegal, forcing him to resign in disgrace.

The Clerk said Councillor Martin wasn’t able to attend the meeting because of a prior engagement with the Russian Mafia.

Item 2

Councillor Boothby, Acting Chair, asked Councillor Andrews if he could switch off his webcam. While Skype enabled Councillors to run meetings during the current pandemic with public gatherings restricted, this didn’t mean it was appropriate for Councillor Andrews to attend meetings sat on the porcelain. Councillor Andrews apologised and switched off his video feed. He also muted the audio, but not before everyone heard a tiny plop.

Councillor Boothby said the Parish Council needed to show real leadership during the public health crisis and should encourage social distancing.

Councillor Lathers said she’d practiced social distancing for years, mainly from her ex-husband, estate agents and people who read The Daily Mail. Councillor Watterson said that with supermarket shelves now cleared of loo roll because of panic buying, he’d found The Daily Mail to be soft, strong and very, very long. Councillor Andrews, switching his audio back on, said he’d heard rumours that The Sun was actually softer if you were a folder and not a scruncher. He’d also heard The Daily Telegraph was more absorbent, with a quilted edition on Sundays. He muted his audio again, but not before everyone heard a soft groan and splash.

Councillor Lathers said she’d touched a copy of The News of the World once and had to self-isolate for fourteen days.

Item 3

Councillor Gooding said this whole thing with the pandemic was just scaremongering and that Britain had survived the Blitz. Councillor Boothby said she was no expert, but understood you couldn’t generally catch the Blitz by somebody coughing next to you on a bus. You also couldn’t catch the Blitz by walking round in large crowds in deliberate ignorance of advice from qualified health experts that people should stay at home as an entirely sensible precaution to minimise the risk of infecting the elderly and those already in poor health.

Councillor Watterson added that he was no expert either, but understood that comparing the pandemic to something that happened in World War II was at best naïve jingoism and at worst the intellectual reasoning of reckless simpletons.

Councillor Gooding said that British people were made of stronger stuff and even though he’d caught the virus at a darts match in the pub last Wednesday and had since gone to three concerts, nine supermarkets, two schools and a hospital, it would all turn out for the best if everyone just thought more positively, and believed harder, and Got Virus Done. At this point he coughed loudly and his line went dead.

Item 4

Councillor Boothby said it would be a truly beautiful thing for the people of Shufflehampton to set aside their longstanding and ultimately meaningless differences during this crisis to do all they could to work together for the sake of the most desperate and disadvantaged. Already Councillor Boothby had seen many inspiring examples of selflessness and love in the community which, in their compassionate simplicity, had done much to restore her ailing faith in the precious, innate beauty of humanity. In desperate times, she mused, it was astounding how distance could bring people together when proximity so often tore them apart. It was the ultimate paradox.

Councillor Watterson said they’d run out of Ultimate Paradox in the chemists but he’d got twenty boxes of Lemsip and what was left of the hand sanitizer.

Councillor Boothby hoofed Councillor Watterson in the cobblers.

Item 5

The Acting Chair asked if there was any other business. Councillor Andrews, switching his audio back on, said he didn’t know but he’d keep at it for a bit.

He muted his audio again, but not before everyone heard his wife come in.

The meeting ended at 8.01 pm, with absolutely no pasta anywhere.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2020

Minutes of previous meetings

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The Implausible Escapades of Captain Custard #1

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Cartoon, Children, Comedy, English, Fantasy, Fiction, Superhero
  • By Edith Carter (aged 10) and Simon Carter (aged 46) – as serialised in The Village Gazette, Calverton, Nottingham, UK. In this episode! The village’s newest (and to be honest, only) costumed superhero makes his first crime-fighting appearance in Calvo’s mean streets.

JIMMY SPINKS couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d had a plan, and to this point the plan had been perfect. He’d followed old Mrs Mallow from the cashpoint outside the Co-Op, where she stopped every Friday night to fetch her bingo money before walking down to the Geordie Club, and then stealthily nipped ahead to lie in wait for her in the shadows of the twitchel off Collyer Road. Then, as Mrs Mallow shuffled past, he’d leapt out from cover to snatch her handbag.

Jimmy Spinks hadn’t reckoned on old Mrs Mallow putting up a struggle. She was a sprightly eighty-two for sure, but certainly no match for Jimmy’s lumbering teenage burliness. This would all be over very quickly. Pounce from behind, steal the bag, scurry back into the darkness before Mrs Mallow had a chance to realise what was happening.

Jimmy hadn’t reckoned on any witnesses being around. At this time of night in this part of the village you’d get the odd dog walker, but that was about it, and dog walkers usually avoided the twitchel because the twitchel was dark and potentially occupied by unsavoury types. Unsavoury types like Jimmy Spinks.

And Jimmy certainly hadn’t reckoned on his attempted mugging of old Mrs Mallow being interrupted by a superhero.

At first, Jimmy didn’t think the mysterious intruder was a superhero. He thought he was a lunatic. The ridiculous-looking individual who’d suddenly appeared in front of him, as if from nowhere, didn’t cut an especially imposing or dynamic figure. He looked completely unfit to be fair, like he could use more trips to the gym and fewer trips to Fresh and Tasty.

And that costume. For surely that’s what it was, a costume. Nobody in their right mind would walk around looking like that unless they were on their way to a fancy-dress party.

‘Fear not, Mrs M,’ said the man in the bright yellow lycra suit, tight yellow underpants and billowing yellow cape, taking a precautionary puff on his bright yellow inhaler.

His voice was muffled because of the mask, but Jimmy could sense unease and nervousness in the tone.

‘Ay up, mi duk,’ responded Mrs Mallow, by instinct more than anything. Her eyesight was rubbish and she couldn’t really make out who the speaker was in the murk, later describing him to police officers as ‘a very kind and well-spoken six-foot banana.’

‘I shall save you, Mrs M,’ continued the man in the yellow suit, raising both his hands towards Jimmy.

‘Don’t think so, buddy,’ said Jimmy, advancing towards him with menace. A moonbeam glinted off the blade of the knife he’d just pulled out of his jacket.

‘Mrs Mallow? Duck,’ demanded the man in the yellow suit.

The old woman did her best to get out of the way as the unseen thug behind her violently flung himself at the giant banana.

A powerful jet of something yellow, gooey and warm took hapless Jimmy Spinks full in the face, temporarily blinding him. Whatever it was, it tasted just like something his nana used to make, which Jimmy thought was strange, as was this new sensation of suddenly hurtling backwards at great speed. Was Jimmy Spinks flying?

The would-be petty larcenist crashed into a tree as the sloppy yellow jets kept on coming, and coming. Jimmy was saturated now. The gunk had soaked into his clothes, his trainers. Every time he tried to stand he spectacularly slipped and fell over, unable to get any purchase in the sweet-smelling liquid slurry. He couldn’t see a thing because it was all over his face, in his eyes. And now, as the slurry began to harden, he couldn’t move.

Couldn’t … move!

Realising at last that Jimmy had been trying to pinch her bingo money, old Mrs Mallow raised one arthritic knee upwards into her assailant’s soft parts, just to help the giant banana out and teach this lad not to mess with her again. Jimmy groaned, mainly in agony but with a generous sprinkle of utter humiliation, then passed out.

Mrs Mallow, grinning triumphantly, turned to thank her hero because it was only polite. But the man was already airborne, already up, up and away. There was a mighty streak of yellow in the night sky over St Wilfrid’s Square.

+++

‘Never seen anything like it,’ said Detective Sergeant Mick Quimby, shaking his head.

It was morning. Jimmy was fully conscious now but they were still trying to free him from what forensics had called ‘that weird giant chrysalis.’

As Quimby scribbled in his notebook, and uniformed officers attempted to extricate Jimmy with hammers and chisels from the bizarre thing which had stuck him fast to the tree trunk, Detective Inspector Geena Dobbs thanked Mrs Mallow for her statement.

‘I think our Jimmy may learn a lesson or two from this, Mrs Mallow,’ said Dobbs, smiling. ‘I don’t think Calverton needs to live in fear of this particular criminal mastermind anymore.’

Jimmy was bang to rights. But what of the ‘giant banana’ of which Mrs Mallow had spoken? Who, or what, was he? Why had he come to Calverton? And how had he managed to disable this numpty with … she reached down and dipped a finger into one of the several puddles of thick, congealing yellow liquid spattered all over the crime scene.

She sniffed suspiciously at the lump of it on her finger. Then, grimacing, she took a taste, just to be sure.

It couldn’t be.

Just like her nana used to make.

Custard.

Quimby yelped, skittering in a puddle and falling down, hard, on his bottom.

  • Next month! Safely back at HQ, Captain Custard checks in with his brave young sidekick and plans his next crime-fighting move. Meanwhile, an old enemy resurfaces, intent on chaos. DAN-DAN-DAAAAAN!

The Parish Council Minutes #9

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Fiction, Politics, Satire
  • More utterly riveting dispatches from Shufflehampton Parish Council, England. ‘I’ve heard this stuff might be made up.’ MADE UP QUOTE
MEETING DATE: FRIDAY 29 NOVEMBER 2019

THE ACTING CHAIR convened the meeting at 7.30 pm.

Item 1

Cyril Keenly, the Clerk of the Parish Council, confirmed there weren’t many Councillors left because several had been suspended, or arrested, or had murdered some people, or all three. Councillor Boothby, Acting Chair, said she hoped that those who remained could at least organise the Christmas lights display in the town square without this also becoming a total fiasco.

Item 2

Councillor Watterson reminded everyone that Christmas was a season of peace and goodwill to all men, and more recently women and children. In this vein it was important to extend a cheerful message to the people of Shufflehampton, even though the Council clearly disliked each other in private with some relationships having descended into bitter, pathological hatred. Councillor Lathers seconded this, saying she absolutely loved Christmas but detested Councillor Watterson, wanting nothing more than to yank his boxer shorts vigorously in an upwards direction so that his eyes would water for 4-6 weeks.

Artwork (c) Cllr T. Watterson

Councillor Gooding said this brought back bad memories of bullies giving him wedgies at school. Councillor Martin said she’d had a lovely plateful of spicy potato wedgies at the Cow and Banjo last week.

Councillor Gooding said that whatever happened, the Council shouldn’t ask Mark the Sparky to wire up the Christmas lights again after last year’s debacle. Mark had set up everything so dangerously that when celebrity guest Eric somebody from the Bay City Rollers had switched on the lights he’d been thrown backwards into the air and propelled over the road, smashing through the upstairs window of the barber’s shop into Malcolm the barber’s boudoir while Malcolm and Gladys were midway through some sneaky slap and tickle.

Councillor Martin said she hoped that Malcolm’s wife hadn’t been too upset. Councillor Gooding said she’d been very upset when she’d found Malcolm in the bedroom with Gladys.

Councillor Watterson said he wasn’t familiar with the phrase ‘slap and tickle.’ Councillor Lathers said this was when mummy and daddy were tickling each other very much.

Councillor Boothby said Mark the Sparky was still on the sick after being injured trying to fix the wiring. He’d somehow managed to pass electricity through himself, instantly burning off his unfeasibly shaggy bodily hair and permanently magnetising the larger of his trouser clackers. Even now, this caused his right leg to violently and uncontrollably spasm, like last week when he’d kicked the postman’s bike into the path of that bus, causing it to swerve uncontrollably into the local parliamentary candidate for the Brexit Party.

Item 3

Councillor Lathers said she was happy to go with any reasonable plan so long as organisers made sure the Christmas lights weren’t arranged in a rude and suggestive shape. She’d recently heard about a village in the East Midlands whose Christmas lights had looked like something very saucy one year when viewed from a pavement outside a restaurant which she seemed to remember had been called Oscar’s. She’d found a photo of the twinkling monstrosity in the Nottingham Evening Post which had made all her female friends chuckle and all her male friends feel inadequate.

Councillor Martin said the village in question must have been really embarrassed and probably wouldn’t want to be reminded about it, possibly by way of a column in the village newspaper. Councillor Gooding said the only way this could happen was in the medium of satire and only if the writer was friends with the editor.

Councillor Lathers urged everyone to stop making puerile jokes about this, and conversation returned to this year’s Shufflehampton Christmas lights erection.

Item 4

Michael Buble, yesterday

Councillor Boothby asked if there was time to get a celebrity to switch on the Christmas lights because the local parliamentary candidate for the Brexit Party had suddenly become unavailable. Councillor Martin said she was a big fan of The Krankies and would be sure to ask them if she saw them in the newsagents.

Councillor Watterson said that if necessary he could always dress up as Santa because it would make a change to do this for the general public and not just for his wife. Councillor Boothby said what about Michael Bublé. Councillor Watterson said this was a better idea, but he didn’t have a Michael Bublé costume.

There was a polite pause as Councillors Boothby, Lathers and Martin clearly had simultaneous naughty thoughts about Michael Bublé, judging by the expressions on their faces.

It was agreed that the Council reconvene in a week to firm up plans. There was no further mention of Councillor Watterson’s Santa costume because this just made everyone dead uncomfortable, to be fair.

Item 5

Under ‘Any Other Business’, Councillor Watterson said he could no longer restrain himself and Councillor Lathers was a loathsome harpy with spite and malice in her cold, black heart.

The meeting ended at 8.01 pm, with Councillor Lathers yanking Councillor Watterson’s boxer shorts vigorously in an upwards direction so that his eyes would water for 4-6 weeks.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2019

Minutes of previous meetings

Photo credits

  • Michael Bublé c/o Wikimedia Commons
  • Christmas card c/o pixabay.com

The Parish Council Minutes #8

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Fiction, Politics, Satire
  • More utterly riveting dispatches from Shufflehampton Parish Council, England. ‘If democracy wasn’t already dead, it would be dead now.’ MADE UP QUOTE
MEETING DATE: FRIDAY 23 JULY 2019

THE CHAIRMAN convened the meeting at 7.30 pm.

Item 1

Councillor Martin’s gangster friends, possibly imaginary, yesterday

Cyril Keenly, the Clerk of the Parish Council, confirmed that the minutes of the last meeting were to be amended to show Councillor Pritchard not being brutally slain with a pick-axe. While Councillor Pritchard had seemed dead when he’d been found in the hallway, it later emerged he’d only been seriously injured when he woke up suddenly in the morgue, making the cleaner do a big poo in his undercrackers.

Councillor Lathers said she’d been denied entry to the hospital ward by armed police but had learned that Councillor Pritchard had fallen into a coma, stopping him from spilling all he knew about the bodies recently found under the Cow and Banjo and also from coming to meetings for a bit.

Councillor Martin said all this silly nonsense could be sorted out discreetly and professionally through her contacts in the Russian mafia, and would anyone like a coconut macaroon.

Item 2

As per the new procedure, the Chairman asked Councillors to declare any murders.

It was noted that no Councillors had murdered anyone since the last meeting. No Councillors had tried to murder Councillor Pritchard either because they all had perfectly plausible alibis, and anyone who thought any different could jog on, quite frankly.

Councillor Boothby said she was concerned about the reputational damage all this was causing the Parish Council but was glad there was nothing else anyone knew about which could make matters worse.

Councillor Watterson said not so fast, baby cakes.

Item 3

Councillor Watterson said the recent ladies’ night hosted by Shufflehampton Women’s Institute at the village hall had descended into debauchery. As was the case with a similar event at the Cow and Banjo, food and drinks were served at tables to sozzled guests by half naked waiters, causing innocent people to be hurt and / or lightly fondled in the process.

Councillor Boothby said her son Brian hadn’t been one of the waiters this time because he was still being treated for the severe burns he’d received last time from that red-hot sausage plait. This had been so traumatic it had put Brian off any future career in catering, semi-clothed or otherwise, and even now he couldn’t walk past the hot pastry counter at Greggs without getting unpleasant, involuntary twinges. Often, he’d wake up screaming in the night with a recurring nightmare about being chased down a corridor by a giant, freshly baked steak and ale slice with hot coals for eyes, laughing at him.

Laughing.

Brian, still in pain, still applying the cream

Councillor Martin said the involuntary twinges she’d had at the ladies’ night hadn’t been unpleasant at all and she’d not had feelings like these since that holiday fling with Enrique in Marbella in 1978.

Councillor Watterson said he’d seen photos on Twitter of Councillor Lathers canoodling in a hedge with a young male model and Councillor Martin hoisting a pair of enormous frilly knickers up a flagpole. Councillor Watterson said several Parish Councillors were setting an appalling example to the community and it was high time they were removed from office.

Councillor Gooding agreed, showing Councillor Watterson a photo on his mobile of Councillor Watterson at a karaoke party, standing in a bowl of warm custard, drunkenly singing Barry Manilow’s Copacabana with a colourful peacock feather sticking out of his sequined hot pants. At this point Councillor Watterson stopped speaking.

The Chairman asked if anyone had any dirt on him. Councillor Gooding passed the Chairman his mobile to look at some other photos, and the Chairman immediately resigned.

Councillor Martin said all it would take was one phone call, and Sergei and Anatoly could make all these problems go away. One phone call.

Item 4

Councillor Boothby assumed leadership of the meeting as Vice Chair. She said that in the circumstances it was probably best to end this meeting and reconvene another time. Those Councillors who hadn’t already left the meeting in shame, embarrassment or disgust agreed with Councillor Boothby, and then left the meeting in shame, embarrassment or disgust.

Item 5

Under ‘Any Other Business’, there was no other business because there was no-one left, to be fair.

The meeting ended at 8.01 pm, with Councillor Martin making a phone call.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2019

Minutes of previous meetings

Photo credits

 

The Parish Council Minutes #7

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Fiction, Politics, Satire
  • More utterly riveting dispatches from Shufflehampton Parish Council, England. ‘My mum was on the Council, and she was a total headcase.’ MADE UP QUOTE
MEETING DATE: FRIDAY 28 JUNE 2019

THE CHAIRMAN convened the meeting at 7.30 pm.

Item 1

CSI Shufflehampton, on location at the Cow and Banjo

Cyril Keenly, the Clerk of the Parish Council, confirmed that Councillors Dean and Tomkins were suspended from the Council pending police investigation after two dead bodies were found under the floorboards at the Cow and Banjo.

Councillor Pritchard said there was no way Councillors Dean and Tomkins had brutally murdered their spouses back in 2014, buried them under the cricket pavilion and then moved the remains to a shallow grave under the pub to prevent these being found when the pavilion was knocked down for redevelopment.

The Chairman said Councillor Pritchard’s comments were interesting because none of this had been publicly reported and the bodies hadn’t been identified yet.

Councillor Pritchard suddenly seemed worried and said he needed to make a phone call, leaving the room very quickly.

Item 2

The Chairman welcomed newly-elected Councillors Gooding and Martin to the meeting. Councillor Gooding said he was looking forward to making a real difference to the people of Shufflehampton. Councillor Martin asked if this was the meeting of the Women’s Institute because she’d baked a lovely pavlova.

Item 3

The Chairman asked Councillors to declare any interests. Councillor Watterson said shouldn’t Councillors declare any murders first.

The Chairman said it was unusual for murders to be declared at a Parish Council meeting. Councillor Watterson said it was unusual for murderers to be on a Parish Council. Councillor Boothby said it was unusual for someone to think it was unusual for murderers to be on a Parish Council.

The Chairman said he didn’t want to ask Councillors to declare murders every month. Councillor Watterson said so why not declare murders quarterly.

The Clerk said this was tricky because any murders committed by Councillors in July might only be declared in September meaning the police wouldn’t know anything about them for three months. Councillor Watterson said perhaps one way around this would be for Councillors to tell the police about any murders straight away, but only declare them to the Council on a quarterly return.

Councillor Watterson asked that if Councillors had just seriously injured someone but they hadn’t died yet was there a requirement to also declare maiming.

The Chairman, gently rocking, said that he ‘gave up, he chuffing well gave up.’

Shufflehampton Woods, five years ago

Item 4

In a change to the agenda, the Chairman asked Councillors to declare any murders. No murders were declared, though two possible murders were noted as pending at the pub.

The Chairman asked Councillors to declare any interests. All Councillors declared an interest in the two possible murders.

The Chairman thanked the Council for its valuable input.

Councillor Martin declared a pavlova.

Item 5

Councillor Boothby confirmed that the Village Fete would be opened by Tom Hardy, a part-time children’s magician from Tunbridge Wells, because the famous actor Tom Hardy had pulled out due to a TV interview with Graham Norton or something.

Councillor Lathers said this was disappointing because the village had been looking forward to a celebrity opening the fete, and even if the part-time magician was an absolute genius he still wasn’t the dreamy bloke off the movies who she and her friends really fancied and would be very keen to smother in jam and lightly tickle just to start things off. Councillor Martin said if there was an invitation going spare, she’d happily bring along the jam and also a pavlova.

Councillor Boothby said that if an update on the Village Fete had to be recorded in the minutes, maybe it could be buried in bad news somewhere.

The Clerk said did Councillor Boothby mean ‘bad news’ as in Councillors maybe having killed some people under item 1.

Councillor Boothby said yes.

The Clerk said righto.

Item 6

Under ‘Any Other Business’, the dead body of Councillor Pritchard was found in the hallway outside the meeting room next to a bloodstained pick-axe.

The Clerk updated the Declaration of Murders register. Councillor Martin handed round paper plates and napkins.

The meeting ended at 8.01 pm, with police cars and a number of arrests.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2019

Minutes of previous meetings

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The Parish Council Minutes #6

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Fiction, Politics, Satire
  • More utterly riveting dispatches from Shufflehampton Parish Council, England. ‘I moan about them lots on Facebook, but never turn up to vote.’ MADE UP QUOTE
MEETING DATE: FRIDAY 24 MAY 2019

THE CHAIRMAN convened the meeting at 7.30 pm.

Item 1

Iron Man, sacrificing himself to defeat Thanos, yesterday

Cyril Keenly, the Clerk of the Parish Council, reminded Councillors that official email addresses were only for Council business and not for personal use. Councillor Dean asked if ‘personal use’ included buying exotic underclothing off the internet. The Chairman said not if the underclothing was for official business. Councillor Dean said this was fine, he only wore it to meetings.

The Chairman asked the Clerk not to record what Councillor Dean just said in the minutes. The Clerk said yes, he could keep a secret. Councillor Watterson said no, the Clerk couldn’t keep a secret because he often revealed spoilers about films which Councillor Watterson hadn’t got around to seeing yet. The Clerk apologised for this, and Iron Man died in Avengers: Endgame.

Item 2

Councillor Lathers said she’d received several complaints about plagues of slugs in the village allotments. Councillor Boothby said there were lots of slugs at this time of year but they pretty much exploded when you poured salt on them. Councillor Dean asked did they actually explode, or was this just an exaggeration. Councillor Boothby said she didn’t think a protective vest was needed when you poured salt on a slug so there was no need for alarm. Councillor Dean said what about some kind of robot sniffer dog, just in case.

Councillor Tomkins said if slugs exploded, you’d have to be careful on an aeroplane in case hijackers strapped slugs to themselves and threatened to add table salt if the FBI didn’t give in to their demands. She thought that one way of combating this might be to ban taking salt onto aeroplanes, like they do with deodorant and possibly toothpaste these days.

Councillor Dean said all this was very well but what if hijackers just smuggled the salt onto the plane disguised as icing sugar, or crack cocaine. Councillor Tomkins said this was a good point, and actually it was probably harder to disguise slugs, so maybe it was slugs that should be banned from aeroplanes and not salt. Councillor Pritchard said it was easy to disguise a slug by putting a shell on it and calling it a snail.

Councillor Boothby said there was no way you could smuggle crack cocaine onto an aeroplane, but based on current discussions it was obviously very easy to smuggle it into a council meeting.

The Chairman thanked everyone for their valuable input. Changing the subject, he said he wanted to book a speaker for a Council function next month and did anyone object to David Cameron, former Prime Minister and MP for Witney. Councillor Lathers said hadn’t she been in The Bodyguard with Kevin Costner.

Item 3

Councillor Morgan excused himself from the meeting, once again realising he was a Parish Councillor in a different village and had come to this meeting by mistake.

Shufflehampton Woods, five years ago

Item 4

The Chairman asked for an update on Village Fete plans. Councillor Boothby said that while Tom Hardy was free to open the event, this wasn’t the actor Tom Hardy because she’d sent her tweet by mistake to Tom Hardy the painter and decorator from Tunbridge Wells, and not the actor Tom Hardy from the Mad Max films.

Councillor Boothby said she’d now sent a tweet to the correct Tom Hardy (the famous one) and told Tunbridge Wells Tom Hardy (the not-so-famous one) that his services were no longer needed because no-one had heard of him and why would anyone book a painter and decorator from Tunbridge Wells to open the Village Fete, for pity’s sake.

Tunbridge Wells Tom Hardy had said bear him in mind anyway, because he did a children’s magic act on the side and was DBS-cleared. He also did something very imaginative with a rabbit.

Item 5

Under ‘Any Other Business’, the Chairman said he’d just been told by the police that the bodies of two people had been found under the floorboards of the function room at the Cow and Banjo.

The meeting ended at 8.01 pm, when Black Widow also died in Avengers: Endgame.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2019

Minutes of previous meetings

Photo credits

The Parish Council Minutes #5

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Fiction, Politics, Satire
  • More utterly riveting dispatches from Shufflehampton Parish Council, England. ‘You really couldn’t make this up.’ MADE UP QUOTE
MEETING DATE: FRIDAY 29 MARCH 2019

THE CHAIRMAN convened the meeting of the Twinning Sub-Committee at 7.30 pm.

Item 1

Some rather attractive leather shorts, with words on the buttocks

Cyril Keenly, the Secretary of the Sub-Committee, confirmed that Shufflehampton was to be twinned with Kurtlich zum Bummen in Bavaria, Germany.

The Chairman offered to show the Sub-Committee a letter from the town’s Burgermeister. Councillor Watterson said he preferred KFC. The Chairman explained that ‘Burgermeister’ was the German word for ‘Mayor’ and wasn’t a popular fast food chain. Councillor Watterson said he usually went for the Zinger Tower.

Item 2

Councillor Dean said he was worried because ‘Kurtlich zum Bummen’ sounded like a really dirty instruction you could give to someone called Kurt.

Councillor Pritchard said there was no-one called Kurt living in Shufflehampton, so no risk of someone called Kurt being upset by the words ‘Kurtlich zum Bummen’ or taking them as an instruction to do something dirty.

Councillor Dean said it wasn’t really the ‘Kurt’ part he was worried about so much as the ‘lich zum Bummen’ part, which might make villagers complain, or giggle.

Councillor Watterson said hang on, weren’t there lots of people in Germany called Kurt who might already be upset by the words ‘Kurtlich zum Bummen’ and did the Germans get any complaints and could the Sub-Committee get the advice of Germany. Councillor Boothby said it would be difficult to get the advice of the whole of Germany because some of it might be on holiday at the moment.

Councillor Lathers said none of this was necessary because in Germany, ‘Kurtlich zum Bummen’ was simply the name of a Bavarian town and wasn’t taken to mean: ‘Kurt, lick these buttocks,’ which was totally a puerile English thing.

Councillor Boothby said perhaps it would be best to find a different twin town, or persuade Kurtlich zum Bummen to change its name to something less rude. Councillor Pritchard said he’d once visited a place in Scotland called Twatt.

The Chairman thanked the Sub-Committee for its valuable input.

Pedro from Guadalajara (or possibly not), yesterday

Item 3

Councillor Watterson said he was really excited about visiting the new twin town because he’d never met anyone who looked identical to himself before.

The Chairman suggested that Councillor Watterson may have misunderstood the idea of ‘twin town’ at a conceptual level.

Councillor Watterson said he was still looking forward to grabbing a bite to eat with his doppelganger.

The Chairman explained that ‘twin town’ didn’t mean a town full of people who looked exactly the same as all of the people in another town, for pity’s sake.

Councillor Watterson said it was perfectly reasonable to assume this was what ‘twin town’ meant because identical people could be found everywhere and he knew someone called Pedro who’d just moved to Shufflehampton from Guadalajara who looked just like him. Councillor Lathers said this was clearly cobblers, and that Councillor Watterson was just trying to save face and not look like a place in Scotland Councillor Pritchard said he’d once visited.

Councillor Watterson excused himself from the meeting. Councillor Pritchard said he’d also driven through a place in Essex called Fingringhoe.

Item 4

Councillor Tomkins said that if the mayor of Kurtlich zum Bummen was available, couldn’t he open the Village Fete. Councillor Boothby said no, the actor Tom Hardy had now confirmed he would do this.

Item 5

Before Councillor Boothby could continue, Councillor Watterson re-entered the room wearing a sombrero, fake moustache and a poncho, grinning manically. The Chairman asked Councillor Watterson what he was doing, to which Councillor Watterson replied: ‘Me eez not the Councillor, hombre! Me eez Pedro from Guadalajara. Ole!’

Despite many attempts to reason with him, Councillor Watterson did not break character. He was gently escorted from the premises and put into a taxi.

The meeting ended at 8.01 pm, with the shaking of maracas.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2019

Minutes of previous meetings

Photo credits

  • Lederhose c/o pixabay.com
  • Mexican outfit c/o Wikimedia Commons.

The Parish Council Minutes #4

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Fiction, Politics, Satire
  • More utterly riveting dispatches from Shufflehampton Parish Council, England. ‘Still better organised than my garage.’ MADE UP QUOTE
MEETING DATE: TUESDAY 19 MARCH 2019

THE CHAIRMAN convened the meeting at 7.30 pm.

Item 1

Some Spam, yesterday

Cyril Keenly, the Clerk of the Parish Council, said official email addresses had been set up for Councillors and these should now be used for all business correspondence. Councillor Watterson said he was worried about spam, and getting emails about pills to ‘help a chap out in the bedroom.’

Councillor Boothby said she knew some of these pills were expensive and had told her Lazlo not to get any more until the price of Viagra falls.

Councillor Dean said he’d gone on holiday to Viagra Falls with his wife.

Councillor Pritchard said he was also worried about spam, because of his allergy to processed pork.

Item 2

The Chairman welcomed Councillor Lathers to the meeting following her absence at the last two meetings due to severe migraines which lawyers had now formally confirmed were unlikely to have been caused by the head injuries sustained by Councillor Lathers from the heavy stapler thrown at her by Councillor Boothby at the last meeting Councillor Lathers had been to.

Councillor Watterson said if you wrote all that down in the minutes it would be a very long sentence.

Councillor Boothby said someone else she knew had just got a very long sentence.

The Chairman said his son Gary was very sorry about that.

Councillor Lathers said she and Councillor Boothby had agreed to put aside their differences, now that she’d put aside Councillor Boothby’s husband. Both Councillors said they just wanted to work together for the good of Shufflehampton and the wider community. The Council applauded them, suspiciously.

Brian, back from hospital

Item 3

Councillor Lathers said she’d complained about the recent ladies’ night at the Cow and Banjo. On hearing that attractive male waiters were serving food at tables half naked, she’d assumed it would be the top halves which were naked. This had not been the case, and now she couldn’t look at a sausage plait in quite the same way.

Councillor Boothby said she’d also complained about the ladies’ night after driving her 19-year-old son Brian, a professional male model, to A and E to be treated for pastry burns to his tallywhacker.

The Chairman stated that colleagues should not have attended this sordid event because the Council’s reputation was already crumbling. ‘A bit like the sausage plait,’ said Councillor Lathers.

Councillor Tomkins said she thought everyone was taking this far too seriously and perhaps, in this case, laughter was the best medicine. Councillor Boothby said not for the pastry burns, because this was Savlon.

Councillor Watterson said he quite liked going to the Cow and Banjo. The pub had started a weekly Scrabble club which meant he no longer needed to play with himself.

Item 4

Councillor Dean once again reminded colleagues that with elections on the way it was important to safeguard the Parish Council’s reputation even though everyone knew where the bodies were buried. Councillor Tomkins said yes, these were no longer in the shallow grave under the cricket pavilion.

Councillor Dean confirmed he’d been using a metaphor again and everyone relaxed, apart from Councillor Tomkins.

Item 5

Under ‘Any Other Business’, the Council agreed to support the planning application to build new houses on the land currently occupied by Shufflehampton Cricket Club. Councillor Dean, a longstanding critic of the plans, confirmed he no longer saw any reason why the development could not go ahead.

The meeting ended at 8.01 pm with yummy flapjacks.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2019

Minutes of previous meetings

Photo credits

The following photo used under Creative Commons licence.

Other photo:

The Parish Council Minutes #3

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Fiction, Politics, Satire
  • More utterly riveting dispatches from Shufflehampton Parish Council, England. ‘A shabby attempt to discredit my dad.’ MADE UP QUOTE
MEETING DATE: THURSDAY 7 MARCH 2019

THE CHAIRMAN convened the meeting at 7.30 pm.

Item 1

Cyril Keenly, the Clerk of the Parish Council, said he’d stopped adding silly words into the minutes to check if Parish Councillors were reading them. He said he’d thought about replacing some of the words with rhyming words but the Chairman had told him not to do this or he’d go back to cleaning the toilets at Shufflehampton Pleasure Centre.

Item 2

Councillor Watterson apologised for not being present at the meeting. He was physically present, but had his mind on other things so wouldn’t be listening.

Item 3

The Council sent its good wishes to Councillor Lathers for a speedy recovery following her admission to hospital for treatment for head injuries sustained in a fight with Councillor Boothby at a previous Council meeting.

The Chairman said he’d received a letter from the firm of solicitors acting for Councillor Lathers and it looked like this was going to get very messy. Councillor Boothby said that Lathers should just have kept her mitts off her Lazlo, the brazen drab.

The Chairman asked the Clerk not to record anything to do with this in the minutes, at all, under any circumstances, and the Clerk agreed.

Rachel Riley, yesterday

Item 4

Councillor Boothby said that as suggested at the last meeting she’d asked the actor Tom Hardy to open the Village Fete. She suspected his current commitments to the Mad Max movie franchise were why he’d not responded to her tweet yet, and promised to keep the Chairman informed.

Councillor Dean said why not ask the charming Rachel Riley from Countdown to open the fete instead because, as far as he was aware, she wasn’t in any Mad Max films. Councillor Pritchard said this was a good idea and someone should approach Rachel Riley, but not him obviously, because of that restraining order.

Councillor Tomkins said she’d be happy to approach Rachel Riley but if she did agree to open the fete Councillor Pritchard’s restraining order would stop him from coming and who else would judge Shufflehampton’s Firmest Marrow. Councillor Pritchard said maybe he could just borrow a small tent and hide in it if Rachel walked past.

Councillor Boothby said Councillor Pritchard was a deeply unpleasant and creepy man who needed help. Councillor Dean said that if Councillor Pritchard needed help, he had a tent.

Item 5

Councillor Boothby complained that sexism was obviously rife in the Council. Councillor Dean said this was double standards because how was it okay for Councillor Boothby to openly simper at the prospect of buff young Tom Hardy sampling her prize-winning dumpsy dearie, and not okay for them to hold a torch for Rachel off Countdown. Boothby said this was different, because with her and Tom Hardy, there was no restraining order. Councillor Pritchard said not for the time being anyway. There was a cracking sound, and he cried out in agony.

Councillor Tomkins said that whoever opened the fete, the Council should avoid false advertising. For example, she’d taken two pounds of fresh raspberries, some caster sugar and some lemon juice to the function room at the Cow and Banjo last night, only to be told by the hairy man playing the drums it wasn’t that kind of jam session.

The meeting ended at 8.01 pm, when the ambulance turned up.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2019

Minutes of previous meetings

Photo credits

  • Rachel Riley c/o Wikimedia Commons.

The Parish Council Minutes #2

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Fiction, Politics, Satire
  • An occasional series of utterly riveting dispatches from Shufflehampton Parish Council, England. ‘A frankly shocking indictment of institutionalised malpractice and ineptitude.’ MADE UP QUOTE
MEETING DATE: Thursday 28 February 2019

THE CHAIRMAN convened the meeting at 7.30 pm.

Item 1

Cyril Keenly, the Clerk of the Parish Council, noted that all Councillors were present apart from Councillor Lathers who had a migraine. The Council sent its good wishes to Councillor Lathers for a speedy recovery, apart from Councillor Boothby who’d thrown the stapler at Councillor Lathers causing the migraines.

Councillor Tomkins said that when she’d had migraines she’d got help from a complementary therapist. Councillor Boothby said her therapist hadn’t been very complimentary when she’d accused him of trying to give her a big snog.

The Chairman said his son Gary was very sorry about that.

Item 2

Councillor Pritchard sent his apologies, not for failing to attend the meeting (because he was at the meeting), but because of his poor self-awareness and casual xenophobia. He wasn’t proud of these things, but was now too set in his ways to try to view the world any differently and perfectly content for younger generations to bear the consequences of his ill-conceived and inherently selfish decisions.

Councillor Morgan seconded this, even though it didn’t need seconding.

Item 3

The Chairman said he’d seen some embarrassing mistakes in official documents and asked if the Clerk used spell check. The Clerk said he did, but that spell check wouldn’t pick up any instance of an intended word being replaced by a similarly spelled word where that similarly spelled word was a legitimate English word and was correctly spelled. The Chairman said all this was fine, he just didn’t want anyone looking silly ahead of the forthcoming Council erections.

Councillor Dean said Councillors should present a united front in public even though they all knew where the bodies were buried. Councillor Tomkins said yes, in the shallow grave under the cricket pavilion.

Councillor Dean confirmed he’d been using a metaphor and everyone relaxed, apart from Councillor Tomkins.

Tom Hardy, yesterday

Item 4

The Councillors were asked to declare any interests. Councillor Boothby said the actor Tom Hardy. The Chairman said this wasn’t what ‘declaring interests’ usually meant, but that his wife agreed with Councillor Boothby about Tom Hardy, particularly since Mad Max: Fury Road.

Councillor Dean said Tom Hardy was a credit to the acting profession and couldn’t the Council give him an opportunity to open the Village Fete. Councillor Boothby said she’d be very happy to give him one.

Councillor Watterson said why couldn’t the Village Fete sponsor the latest Bob Geldof charity project as advertised at the local Tesco. Councillor Tomkins said she’d check, but was sure that ‘Dishwasher Rinse Aid’ was a detergent product and not a fundraiser.

Councillor Morgan seconded this, even though it didn’t need seconding.

Item 5

Councillor Morgan left the meeting, realising he was a Parish Councillor in another village and had come to this meeting by mistake.

Under ‘Any Other Business’, the Chairman asked the Clerk if he had ceased his irritating practice of adding silly words into the minutes to check if any of the Councillors had read them. The Clerk said he had.

The meeting ended at 8.01 pm hubba hubba yum yum.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2019

Minutes of previous meetings

Photo credits

  • Tom Hardy c/o Wikimedia Commons.

The Parish Council Minutes #1

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Fiction, Politics, Satire
  • The first in a series of utterly riveting dispatches from Shufflehampton Parish Council, England. ‘A searing insight into the cut-and-thrust world of rural politics.’ MADE UP QUOTE
Meeting Date: Friday 22 February 2019

THE CHAIRMAN convened the meeting at 7.30 pm.

Item 1

Cyril Keenly, the Clerk of the Parish Council, said there was no point in writing minutes because the Parish Councillors never read them. He knew this because he’d been adding in silly words recently to see if anyone would notice wibbly wobbly dingly danglies.

Mister Keenly was thanked for raising the issue but asked to behave in future shooby dooby dooby.

Item 2

Jennifer Lopez, yesterday

The Council considered whether its image was ‘funky enough’ for younger people to be engaged. Councillor Boothby said younger people should be engaged, particularly before getting married. Councillor Tomkins said that if it made things less boring why couldn’t the minutes refer to Council members in a showbiz way based on their initials like ‘J-Lo’ for the lovely Miss Jennifer Lopez. Many were supportive of this idea, but not Councillor Tim Watterson.

Councillor Pritchard said Parish Council business was often quite tedious so it was a waste of time trying to funk things up. The Clerk said that if the complaints he’d dealt with in the last month were anything to go by, the Council was already very good at this.

It was decided there were to be no new monikers for Council members. Councillor Boothby said a delightful Polish woman called Monica did her cleaning on Thursdays.

Item 3

Councillor Lathers put a motion to the Council that the gardener employed to maintain the village hall lawns be sacked after her pet dogs were cruelly smothered in horse manure. Councillor Lathers said that when she’d asked the gardener to put fertiliser on the borders she hadn’t meant her border collies.

Councillor Pritchard, smirking, asked Councillor Lathers if she was sure they were a pair of border collies and not a couple of shih tzus. Councillor Lathers replied that Skimpy Foo and Nang Nang had been deeply traumatised by the whole unsavoury experience and that Councillor Pritchard was an insensitive, but nonetheless very attractive, man.

The motion was carried.

Item 4

The Chairman said that attendance at meetings had recently been patchy and asked Councillors to catch up on any outstanding matters. Councillor Dean said he needed time to fully consider the motions. Councillor Boothby said her GP had fully considered her motions last week and there was probably a lack of bran in her diet. The Chairman asked if there was any other business. Councillor Boothby said not since last Tuesday, but thank you for asking.

Item 5

Councillor Boothby said wasn’t it terrible that her son Tony was getting the sack from his gardening job for a harmless prank with that horse poo and wasn’t Councillor Lathers a bitter and twisted old bat who was also having an affair with her husband.

Councillor Boothby threw a heavy stapler at Councillor Lathers, drawing blood. The pair quickly became embroiled in a fight, causing damage to each other and several of the soft furnishings. Councillor Dean tried to intervene but was punched hard in the face.

Given the somewhat controversial nature of the matters discussed at the meeting, the Chairman asked the Clerk of the Council to ensure the minutes were sanitised for inappropriate language.

The meeting ended at 8.01 pm fuzzy monkey nik naks.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2019

Photo credits

  • Miss Jennifer Lopez c/o Wikimedia Commons.

The Law and You

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in Satire
  • Disclaimer: I’m not a real lawyer. But based on this article, I don’t think you’d hire me if I were.
Some credit cards, in a pocket, near my bottom

‘SIMON CARTER! We want to offer you a credit card!’ said my new friends at cashblam.com.

My name on a lovely glossy leaflet. And for two seconds I felt special. Cashblam had personalised the leaflet, and the envelope they’d put it in, just for me. They’d made a real effort to make me feel like I was wanted, needed even, like I wasn’t just another anonymous ‘occupier.’

But then, somewhere in the distance, I heard the camel’s back breaking under the metaphorical straw. And why? Because cashblam thought I was gullible enough to buy this. They’d gone too far. They’d crossed the line with their flirting, their wooing, their insincere sweet nothings. I was just another name on a mailing list. They didn’t really mean it. How dare they?

It wasn’t just cashblam. At least eight other suitors had come calling through the post that month, trying to seduce me with their promises of riches and low APRs, like I was easy, like the word had got around that I was some kind of credit floozy.

‘If there’s one thing worse than a lawyer,’ I told my wife, Jane, ‘it’s someone who thinks he’s a lawyer – in this case, me.’

A famous statue, holding some scales, for some reason

I worked in data protection and I knew my rights. I’d stop these people sending me stuff. Oh yes.

‘I’ll force cashblam to explain where they got my details from,’ I chuntered. ‘I’ll report them, get them fined by the regulator. By the mighty beard of Odin, these contemptible rapscallions shall know my wrath.’

Jane did one of those smiles she does when she’s no idea what I’m talking about, and thinks I may need a lie down. I blustered some more.

‘They have to use my information lawfully. Damn it … I’m entitled.’

And, to be fair, under the the UK Data Protection Act 2018 and General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), I was. Intending to write cashblam a pompous letter about this outrageous violation of my privacy, I gave up my personal details to someone I don’t know on Facebook so I could take a quiz about what kind of cat I am instead. (*1)

It came to me in a flash. Moaning about misuse of my data was too lame when a) the Russians had already stolen it from Facebook and b) I could prosecute cashblam for making me distressed or anxious instead – an offence under the UK Malicious Communications Act 1988. It’s true. If you send a person a communication which is obscene, threatening, or contains a known lie, you’re breaking the law if it upsets them. But – blast it! Cashblam hadn’t sent me anything obscene (apart from the APR quote). They hadn’t threatened me or lied to me. They were off the hook!

It was clear I couldn’t put my expert legal knowledge to any use. Meanwhile, on Twitter, I saw a man from Dundee in a big fluffy dog outfit. He was angrily waving a placard outside his local council building, protesting against a fine imposed on him for not clearing up after his Schnauzer.

‘How could I have scooped it?’ claimed the man. ‘My dog ran into the bushes and I didn’t know he’d done it.’

‘I’d leave it a few minutes if I were you’

Naturally, I made a beeline for the Dog Fouling (Scotland) Act 2003, hatching a plan to defend the fella in court. But then, as I read it, I realised to my horror that not being aware your dog has pooped is not an excuse for failing to clear it up in Scottish law. Clearly the inference is that you’re meant to tell by the goofy expression on Mr Waggly’s face, or just use telepathy. So Dundee pooch-boy was bang to rights.

Then Jane passed me the rest of the post. All the bills had come in and I didn’t want to pay up. If only there was some way I could get around this. Perhaps there was a loophole in the law! I set out about looking immediately.

This brings me to the here and now. Jane tells me she loves me but is worried I’m a badger. According to the law, specifically the UK Protection of Badgers Act 1992, I’m a nocturnal black and white stripy creature belonging to the weasel family. It’s true. And you can be one too. All you have to do is display a sign on your house which says ‘this structure or place is in current use by a badger’ and your house becomes a badger sett by law. This means you’re a badger simply by living there and aren’t liable for the bills because only people have to pay bills and not badgers.

Minky, in our loft, last week

Okay, there may be a flaw in this logic. You can’t call your house a badger sett if you’re not a badger in the first place. But I’ve got around this by abducting a real badger. And because Minky’s a real badger, Jane and I legally live in a sett and that makes us badgers too. Shut up. It does.

Trouble is, we’re only badgers while we remain in the house, so we can never leave it. Ever.

Epilogue

The police are waiting for me to come outside so they can arrest me for badger abduction. I’ve drawn the curtains so the snipers can’t get a shot and farmers can’t cull me. They’ve sent round officers disguised as Fresh and Tasty food deliverers to try to lure me out, but I’ll not fall for it. I know that as soon as I’m outside I’m legally a person again and they can do what they like with me. I’m insisting all food delivery is flung through the window apart from pizza. I’ve sawn off the bottom bit of the front door so they can slide the boxes through without me having to open up.

Jane perseveres with things but misses running water and floorboards. When I dig holes in the basement, ever deeper, she gives me one of her nervous smiles. It’s my plan to complete a network of secret underground tunnels by the end of 2025, just with my bare hands. My employers plan to sack me.

The place is chock full of badger poo and Minky’s just eaten the budgie.

I need to pay my legal bills so I’ve taken out a credit card with cashblam.

(*1) = I’m an Exotic Shorthair.

copyright (c) carterbloke 2019-2020

Photo credits

The following photos used under Creative Commons licence.

Other photo c/o pexels.com

Strictly Am-Dramming

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in British, Comedy, Drama, Performance, Theatre
  • Inside the mysterious world of competitive amateur theatre. This article was first published in HOT, WILD & FREE magazine (don’t blame me – I didn’t name it) in September 2011. 

THE LETTER comes inviting us to Tamworth. It’s £25 to enter and feedback on each play performed at the festival will be given, in public, by the adjudicator. Hurrah!

It’s amateur theatre, it’s the Tamworth Drama Festival and the adjudicator is the expert from the Guild of Drama Adjudicators (GODA) who’ll put one lucky group through to the Regional Final to compete with winners from the other local festivals. Other GODA adjudicators will determine its fate should the group then make the English Final, British Final, World Final, Solar System Final and Universe Final.

I may have made those last three rounds up. It’s competitive, this am-dram lark.

On a Budget

My village drama group says that if you can a) write your own play so you don’t have to pay royalties, b) have almost no-one in it because it’s easier to rehearse, c) not have to hire the venue you’re performing in and d) make sure your set will fit in the back of a Vauxhall Zafira (or similar car), your production’s good to go.

I’m not saying that we’re careful with money but our bank account’s more secure than a combination-lock chastity belt, in a sealed vault with 24 hour CCTV, guarded by a patrol of heavily-armed soldiers, in a castle with an iron portcullis and a moat filled with sharks, on a remote desert island protected by an impenetrable forcefield, whose top secret location is known only to an elite band of deadly ninjas. I mean it. There are ducks’ posteriors less watertight.

A ninja (Brian), protecting our theatre group’s finances, yesterday

So taking part in someone else’s event for £25 is good because you can just turn up and let other people do the admin. Everything is perfect.

But if it wasn’t for that pesky adjudicator.

One Lovely, One Drunk

We’ve been adjudicated before. Oh yes. First time, a lovely lady called Jill. Adored our show, a one-man play converted to a two-man play to meet the ‘minimum two characters’ entry criteria. She called it ‘wonderful,’ said we’d won and gave us two awards. Great for the cast. But not for the bank account because of budgeting for the next round and expenses for the trophy engraving.

It would be impolite of me to suggest that the next festival’s (non GODA-approved) adjudicator was ‘a little tiddly.’ In his defence, I’m sure his decision to punctuate his feedback on our show by careering haphazardly into furniture was made in our interests. I think he needed the toilet. I’m a father to two young kids and I know a pee-pee dance when I see one.

This bloke didn’t say anything complimentary about our show, a two-man play converted to a three-man play to meet the ‘minimum three characters’ entry criteria put in place to stop a one-man play converted to a two-man play winning all the trophies again.

But then he said we’d won anyway and gave us four awards.

Great for the cast. But not for the bank account because of budgeting for the next round and more expenses for the trophy engraving. They charge you by the letter at Timpson’s. ‘Calverton Theatre Group’ (at twenty-one letters a pop) is really costly so it’s been suggested in future that we either enter rubbish plays with no hope of success or continue to win things but change the name of our group to ‘Jeff.’

Stiff Competition

Anyway. As you move through the rounds of these scarily competitive events two things become clear – 1) the groups you’re competing against are a better standard because, like you, they’ve already won some local festivals and 2) the adjudicators are more eccentric and unpredictable. There’s an escalation in scale of what you have to face to progress. Adjudicators are like baddies in Plants vs Zombies Garden Warfare on the X-Box. More difficult to conquer the higher you go up the levels.

Sepp Blatter arriving at Batley Light Operatic’s recent production of ‘The Mikado’

On balance, everything’s above board (unless you’re mates with the adjudicator in which case the brazen FIFA-esque favouritism can fair take your breath away). But in the end, for all their alleged expertise, adjudicators are fallible human beings judging talent shows, hard-wired like the rest of us to either like something or not. And when you like something, you’re more likely to say positive things about it at the expense of something else you don’t like which may actually have more artistic merit.

The Regional Final

I need to accept that adjudicators either love the plays I write or they hate them. In their eyes I am theatrical Marmite. And when an adjudicator doesn’t like you / is jealous of you / has already decided another group’s going to win anyway so big cheesy cobblers to you, all you can do is try to take the moral high ground. Strangely, the greatest praise given to one of my shows by any adjudicator took the form of two pieces of criticism at a regional final.

Firstly, the basic staging of our show (one chair, no actual set) could, the adjudicator suggested, have been improved by a chorus of heaven’s angels floating around the stage at the show’s opening, ‘as intended by the writer in the script.’ Given that I was the writer of the script and now intended quite differently due to my production budget being non-existent seemed to have escaped him.

Moody production shot of me at Regional Final (illuminated crotch not pictured)

Secondly, we’d botched the final lighting cue. Due to a misdirected spotlight the last thing the audience saw as curtains closed was my illuminated crotch area. A fair point from the adjudicator on this one, because there’s nothing worse than having a show ruined by the final tableau being the actor’s knackers lit up like a beacon. Maybe if we’d brought in the chorus of heaven’s angels right at the end, it would have distracted the adjudicator. I suppose we’ll never know.

The adjudicator said nothing about the writing, or the acting, or that the audience had found the piece so powerful many were moved to tears. Competitive am-dram it seems (and this is its biggest flaw) takes no account of the impact of a play on an audience as a measure of its quality because – heh – what does an audience know?

So in summary. Two picky comments from adjudicator = nothing else to find fault with = resounding moral victory = no trophies = no engraving costs.

Rules is Rules / Keeping it Real

If this isn’t bonkers enough, read the competition rules. Each group has thirty minutes to put up their set and you’re timed with a stop watch. I hold the record for shortest rig at seven seconds, which was how long it took me to pick up a single chair and place it on the stage. I said timing me was pointless. The stage crew timed me anyway. Afterwards I said could they time me again, because maybe I could get the chair in place in three seconds now I’d warmed up a bit. They told me I was taking the Michael.

So why even take part at all, you may ask? Because it’s absolutely blooming brilliant, that’s why. These festivals are quirky, antiquated and arbitrary and I love them. Also, did I mention it’s dead cheap to take part?

If you’re in a group that takes this sort of thing seriously, please accept my apologies. I don’t mean to poke fun unfairly. It isn’t that we lack respect for this wonderful British thespian institution. It’s just that our group has different priorities. We just want to have fun and entertain some people, and that’s really about it. We’re quite happy, thank you, to turn up at an arts centre, do the best show we can, blag a couple of trophies, drive off with our set in the boot, pitch up at a camp site and drink whisky until sunrise.

Richard Burton (as ‘Tommy Tumble’ in the 1968 Felixstowe Players production of ‘Crikey, Vicar!’)

Our acting idols? Oliver Reed and Richard Burton. They’re still with us, you know. In spirit.

And they were certainly with that adjudicator I referred to earlier. You know, the ‘tiddly’ one.

Maybe we’ll see him at Tamworth.

Disclaimer: the author’s suggestion that a GODA-approved adjudicator would be biased – and therefore not judge all plays with complete objectivity – is not intended as a criticism of all GODA-approved adjudicators.

It is, however, based on a real example where it was blindingly obvious to a room full of people – and each of the drama groups taking part – that this is exactly what the adjudicator was.

I’m not bitter.

Please don’t take away any of our nine awards :-)

copyright (c) carterbloke 2011

Photo credits

The following photos used under Creative Commons licence.

Postscript

  • Two more awards at Tamworth. Boom!

Devil Went Down To Blidworth – The Calverton Plough Play

Posted on by CalvertonNotts in Performance

SOMEONE TOLD me once that I was romanticising the whole thing, that I was taking our Plough Play far too seriously. The evidence for this was apparently compelling.

I’m a CRAPPPSoholic

Paul Prior 350x468I’ll admit I was a bit obsessed. I’d just written a screenplay for a movie called Plough Boys based on our group, and I’d just been asked to share the part of Beelzebub with Paul Prior who I now realise I hero-worshipped. It’s no mean feat to keep a voluntary activity going for more than thirty years, to keep the participants keen, to keep the goodwill going. People tend to be flakier these days and don’t seem to stick at things. You try keeping something going that long. Until I met Paul I’d have thought it impossible. But he’d managed it, and I massively respected the fact.

Paul, thirty-plus years a devil in a long-established Nottinghamshire folk tradition. Me, a soft southern jessie from West Sussex. This wasn’t exactly textbook succession planning but the group had decided, with Paul’s blessing, that I should double up with him as Beelzy and ultimately succeed him, and that I should even ask my mother-in-law to knit me my own horned balaclava.

I wasn’t about to take on the responsibility of taking over from Paul lightly but this playful accusation of romanticism, of this meaning far too much to me, had been levelled. Surely this was ‘just’ a bit of old-fashioned nonsense I did round the pubs every January, raising a few quid for charity, and nothing more.

Truth is, I couldn’t respond objectively at the time to such comments. And I can’t now because, for the avoidance of doubt, you need to know that my name is Simon and I’m a CRAPPPSoholic.

Beelzy Hardwick Inn 300x450I run the Plough Play website. I love doing it. I spend something like two hundred hours a year keeping it updated. I don’t have to do this. I keep the Flickr account updated with all our latest snaps which I’m sure must be of limited interest to the population of the Planet Earth in general. I don’t have to do this. And every January I paint my face, pull on three layers of lycra and charge into pubs smacking a bloke in a dress over the head with a squeaky plastic club. I certainly don’t have to do this.

I’ve written scripts for our group including a rebooted St George’s play and a live action Punch and Judy show. I’m writing lyrics for a Plough Play-themed comedy single to raise a few more quid for charity. And I find myself on the bus right now, writing an article about our bloody Plough Play. It’s unhealthy, this hobby I have. There must be tablets I can take.

And one gets reflective as the year draws to a close. With the January 2016 Plough Play on the horizon, I look back at our antics in 2015 and ask myself: ‘Was it all worth it? Do I still love this as much as ever?’

2015 Remembered

Because on the 2015 Plough Play run, I’d been wondering if all the work we’d put into our show really, truly justified what we got out of it. Had we overegged the whole thing? And come the run itself, was I actually enjoying myself anymore?

A couple of gigs into the Friday night and I’d become pretty darned grumpy – a right sulky, stompy prima donna. It was mainly to do with a misunderstanding about who was managing the collection and how we’d forgotten to fetch big enough plastic coin bags because the small ones we had were simply incompatible with my dripping pan. You know. The big, important, world-changing stuff.

But my usual chirpiness and spark was missing completely. Come Farnsfield, I was still a bear with a sore head.

The Lion, Farnsfield

And then The Lion happened. And it was extraordinary.

The pub is packed, the atmosphere is electric and the audience response is stunning. And, being the total show-offs we are, we play up to the pub’s undivided attention. Every line delivered with gusto, every little improvisation met with howls of approving laughter, every little stumble over the lines turned into an opportunity for humour, and a near standing ovation at the end.

CRAPPPS Plough Play 2015 23

And I know that this is no random accident. Because the people in this pub are not here in spite of us but because of us. This is a show based on a script written in 1890, a script that in all honesty can make little or no sense to an audience of pub-goers in 2015. And yet – there are people there finishing our lines for us, mouthing the words back to us, joining in with us. Knowledgeable people, respectful people. Young and old, man and woman, they’ve come out not just to see our play unfold before them, but to be part of it.

And I think: this tradition’s not dead, Paul. On this evidence it’s brilliantly, vibrantly alive.

And I realise: this is so much more than words on an old script and a hodgepodge of colourful costumes. This is about friendship, and fellowship. It’s about heritage, and culture, and community. And it’s a real privilege to have a role to play in this. Lucky, lucky me.

And every man Jack of our team is loving it. Insofar as it’s possible to fuse mumming with rock ‘n’ roll this is as good as it can get, surely.

Fox and Hounds, Blidworth

Then the Fox and Hounds at Blidworth Bottoms happens. The single best gig I’ve had the privilege of being involved with as a Calverton Plough Boy, followed by … the single best gig I’ve had the privilege of being involved with as a Calverton Plough Boy.

For the uninitiated, the way I describe the Fox and Hounds is that it’s the Wembley Stadium of the Calverton Plough Play. Paul’s long association with the pub is the stuff of local legend. On the one year I was lucky enough to share the part with him, there were certain gigs he wouldn’t let me do, like the Fox and Hounds, where he told me: ‘I need to do this one. I’m expected.’

CRAPPPS Team 2015 Tape 600x400

I think back to 2012, when Paul couldn’t make it because he was too ill. I remember walking into the Fox and Hounds as Beelzy (where he was expected and I wasn’t). And the pub caught its breath when it saw me – because not to see Paul standing there meant that there was trouble with Paul. It was exhilarating and heart-breaking all at once, and I didn’t know where to put my shiny, painted face.

Now, in 2015 the pub is standing room only and the show … just … delivers. It’s a rollercoaster ride of absolute, unbridled, adrenaline-fuelled joy to be in the pub, to be part of it.

Nights like this are why CRAPPPS members are gloomy when it’s all over and we know we have to wait another year. Give us the stamina, the liver resilience and the money to subsidise it and we’d probably be out there every night. Just try stopping us.

Woodborough / The CD in the Dripping Pan

So. Collection taken at The Fox, Mole Catchers sung and sing-out finished, Woodborough happens.

Two brilliant back-to-back gigs at Nag’s Head and Four Bells. With the previous two pubs already in the locker, this makes four of the best, four of the very best, Plough Plays I’ve been fortunate enough to be part of and, from mardy beginnings, the best single Plough Play night I’ve ever had.

Somewhere in the middle of it, I discover a CD in my dripping pan, placed there by Peter Millington. On it, I discover an interview CRAPPPS recorded for BBC Radio Nottingham back in 1996.

And there’s Paul on it, and some of the current team, captured in history. And listening to Paul talk it’s like he’s in the room again, egging us on, drumming into us the importance of what this is, and what it means, and why his wish is that this great tradition is kept going.

I’m bowled over when he talks about one day handing over his part to a younger man. He was seventeen years a devil in 1996 and thirty-two years a devil when he last appeared in a Plough Play in 2011. When he first performed as Beelzebub in 1979, his replacement was just five years old, a schoolboy who would one day grow into a soft, southern jessie from West Sussex, writing about his wonderful hobby on the bus.

Moving On

Paul Prior Calverton Echo Tribute 350x391The Plough Play was an enormous part of Paul’s life. It was so important to him, in fact, that he asked to be buried with his Beelzebub costume when he went. Pat Hemstock, vicar of St Wilfrid’s Church in Calverton, ever the voice of common sense and reason, determined they should fold up the costume next to him rather than have him wear it. Paul needed a chance at St Peter’s Gate and being dressed as the lord of darkness wouldn’t help.

Paul was buried with his costume bar one item, mind – the leather pouch, which I now wear with pride on my belt, was his. Paul wasn’t a man of pomp and ceremony. He was never one to make a fuss. But we both understood the meaning of that private, misty-eyed moment at the Admiral Rodney in 2011, last knockings on the Saturday, when he passed that pouch to me, shook my hand and wished me luck. Paul would play Beelzy again, but never in a Plough Play – his last outing as Beelzy was in a St George’s Play in Woodborough on Royal Wedding day, 29 April 2011.

Five years later I’m Beelzy in my own right and I’m wondering how I’m going to make it another twenty-six years, just to keep up with Paul.

Health permitting, I have one wish.

In something like 2050, when I’m deep into my seventies, I want to be looking into the eyes of a younger man and handing him a leather pouch.

And I’ll know the fellow when I meet him.

For all I know he’s just started school.

Me – a romantic?

Absolutely.

But, you see, this is in my bones now. It’s part of who I am.

Also, I made a promise to a jolly old man. I fully intend to keep it.

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