News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 31st March 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – 31^st March 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

·         

     1. Security has been massively tightened in Bromham today, especially by the side of the brook, for the annual pooh-sticks race under the footbridge.  Police are conscious of the fact that last year’s event was disrupted when a protester waded into the middle of the stream, and almost collided with one of sticks.  The race had to be restarted, and television coverage by the Bromham Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) was delayed. 

·         2. Bromham Parish Council was thrown into political turmoil this week when David Willybanned announced that he is to resign from the Council to take up a post as head of Thunderbirds (International Rescue) in Trowbridge.  He has refused to serve under his brother, Ted Willybanned, who defeated him two years ago in a closely-fought leadership contest to head up the Carrot-Rooters’ Action Party (CRAP).

·         3. For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Easter

Easter

Is there a reason why it’s called Good Friday?

Why shops are closed

And there are restrictions

On what we may buy

Or where we may be permitted to go?

Is there a reason for the Easter Bunny?

Or for the sales of chocolate eggs

And special cards and flowers

Through marketing campaigns

For this Public Holiday?

And why does everything have to stop?

Simply because a man died upon a cross

In Palestine two thousand years ago

Up there upon a hill

Alongside common thieves?

And why is it a moveable feast?

To fall upon different dates each year

Determined by the modern Church

To suit some liturgical calendar

And yet fit snugly round a week-end?

And why these restrictions on our lives?

Why must we endure this wait

Of three Christian religious days

Before the resurrection

Of normality once again?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Good Friday?

Good Friday?

So what's all the fuss about? If it's a Bank Holiday, then fair enough.  But it's a Public Holiday, which is different, apparently.  This is another example of where normal, secular life has been hi-jacked by the ages-old religious agenda.  My local swimming pool is closed for the day (and again all day on Monday), even though this is the very time when most people are on holiday, and actually want to use the facility.  The shops and supermarkets will all be closed on Sunday, although the swimming pool will be open. Why? What is the logic behind this?

This is Europe in the 21st Century, where the vast majority of people are not religious, or don't hold religious beliefs. It's not the superstitious world of Palestine 2000 years ago. I happen to be an atheist with, I think, some fairly good scientific reasons for not believing in God.  Some people are agnostics. Some people are religious, although not Christian.  Some people claim to be Christian, yet never go to church, read the Bible or pray. Doesn't this mean that a tiny minority of deluded people, through the apparatus of the Christian Church, are effectively dictating how modern life can be lived?  Aren't they interfering with my (reasonable) freedoms?

I don't have the interest or the energy to sit and argue with Christians.  I happen to think they are deluded, but it's their choice to believe in a jealous, angry, game-playing deity. I have no desire to deny them their rights to believe what they believe, or to practice their ritualistic mumbo-jumbo in Church buildings.  They can do what they like, along with those who believe in voodoo, druidism, Zeus, and all the others. If that's how they want to waste their lives, it's up to them.

But why do I have to accept that they dictate how normal commercial life operates?  Don't make any sense to me.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Beer & Cheese Bread

Recipe for: BEER & CHEESE BREAD

Ingredients:

• 4 tsp sugar
• 2 tsp dried yeast
• 450ml/ 16fl oz brown ale, at room temperature
• 520g/ 1lb 2½ oz strong white bread flour
• 320g/ 11oz wholemeal flour
• 200g/ 7 oz cheddar cheese, grated
• 75g/ 2½ oz parmesan, grated
• 50g/ 2 oz powdered milk
• 1½ tsp salt
• 1½ tsp mustard powder
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 2 tsp fennel seeds
• 1 egg, white only, for glazing

 Method:

1. in a large bowl, dissolve the sugar & yeast in the brown ale & set aside for 5-6 minutes
2. in another large bowl, mix the two flours, cheeses, powdered milk, salt, mustard powder, eggs & fennel seeds
3. add in the beer/ yeast mixture & mix well with your hands until if forms a soft dough
4. using floured hands, knead the dough on a clean, floured work surface for 20-25 minutes until smooth & elastic (if the dough becomes too dry, add a little warm water)
5. divide the dough into two loaves & place them on baking tray(s)
6. using a sharp knife, score the tops of the loaves with a criss-cross pattern
7. cover with a clean damp tea-towel & leave for two hours in a warm, draught-free place until the dough has risen & doubled in size
8. preheat oven to 200C/ fan 180C
9. when the loaves are ready to cook, brush each with the egg white
10. bake for 25-30 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown

 What else you need to know:

1. great served with a hearty soup

Fairy Chimneys

Fairy Chimneys

Within these river valleys

Hewed out through the riven landscape

Strange bony fingers

Reach out upwards

Irregular, pointing at the sky

Columns of sandstone

Protected from erosion

Of wind and weather

By the basalt boulders

Now perched precariously atop

Here they sit like hats or caps

Extended mushroom shapes

Tall structures amid the tuff

Crooked, twisted, leaning

Top-heavy stones

That seem to defy gravity

Balanced high up in the air

Waiting for that moment

When the pillar at last collapses

Rocks raining down

To the ground beneath

A fairy chimney no longer

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Spiced Poached Clementines

Recipe for: SPICED POACHED CLEMENTINES

Ingredients:

• 12 clementines
• 5 tblsp maple syrup
• 2 cinnamon sticks
• 6 cloves
• 500ml orange juice

Method:

1. place clementines in a bowl & cover with boiling water
2. leave to stand for ten minutes, then drain & peel, pulling away all the skin & pith, but being careful to keep the fruits whole
3. place whole fruits into a pan with the maple syrup, cinnamon, cloves & orange juice
4. bring to the boil, then reduce heat, cover & simmer gently for 25 minutes
5. remove fruits from pan with a slotted spoon & place in a serving dish, allowing to cool
6. meanwhile re-boil the remaining liquid & boil rapidly for about 10 minutes until the liquid is thicker & reduced in volume
7. pour over the clementines & allow to cool completely.  Chill in fridge before serving.

 What else you need to know:

1. you can add a little alcohol to the liquid to add some zing
2. best served with yoghurt, crème fraiche, cream or ice cream

That Takes The Biscuit

That Takes The Biscuit

They say a drink’s too wet without one,

And that’s not just a piece of somebody’s wit,

Cos when you settle down with a cuppa tea,

It’s no good without some sort of biscuit.

But finding the right kind can be tricky,

And there’s some myths need de-bunking,

Cos if it’s the wrong consistency,

Then it’ll be no good for dunking.

It’s got to home-baked and British,

Cos those foreigners can be a bit potty.

If you’re not careful it’ll be Amaretti,

A Florentine or a biscotti.

The Flap-jack, Cereal Bar and Blue Riband,

The Club, the Domino and all of that,

These fancy types are all very well,

But they don’t measure up to a Kit-Kat.

But you’re surely asking for trouble,

If you start off with chocolate in fingers.

You see, it melts off in the hot tea,

It covers everything, and it lingers.

Any kind of a sandwich, can be a real bitch,

And an Oatcake’s insufficiently hard,

And a Jaffa Cake’s a bit of a fake:

So’s a Garibaldi, called a Flies Graveyard.

People go to grand cities, to find a McVities,

To find Mis-Shapes, (those biscuits in bits),

To be daintily fed, on slices of Shortbread,

Or crackers with cheese, sometimes called Ritz.

You’d be knackered, with any kind of cracker:

You’d not want to suck, on one of those TUC,

Might even be safer, with some kind of wafer,

But a Bath Oliver’d give you no luck.

Of Ginger Nuts and various Cookies,

Their supporters would sing a grand tune:

Of Marie, Butter Pecans and Fig Rolls,

The Jammy Dodger, the Coconut Macaroon.

Now I don’t want to stand here and Hob-Nob,

About Oreos and Wagon Wheels:

For it would seem, that like Custard Creams,

Each of them turns into goo and congeals.

  

Crispbreads and Mini Cheddars ain’t the thing,

It’d even be neater, with a Ryvita.

Oats and nuts, just ain’t got the guts,

But a Digestive’s a world-beater.

It can be Nice to have a Rich Tea,

A Lincoln, or a Morning Coffee,

But a brown Bourbon, would be frowned upon,

And can’t match a Digestive for toffee.

So taking all into consideration,

My conclusion’s more than suggestive:

Just forget every other kind of biscuit -

You know where you are with a Digestive!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

News From Bromham Dateline Sunday 24th March 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – 24^th March 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

·         

      1. The treasurer of Bromham Parish Council delivered his much-anticipated budget speech this week.  There was a lot of technical stuff we didn’t understand and a lot of blather, but when the cat-calls had died down and the smoke had cleared, it appeared that the beer in the Social Club and The Wounded Ferret would be a penny a pint cheaper.  The PC account is still over-drawn at the Royal Bank of Bromham by £7.42.

·        

      2. The Bromham Jubilee field is to be converted from a lonely, windswept grassy common into an all-standing one million capacity all-weather stadium.  Bromham Casuals have signed a 99-year lease on the field, and will begin playing there from the start of next season, when all the conversion work is completed.  The work will consist of installing two benches in the existing dug-outs, fixing proper nets to the existing open goal-posts and putting a lick of new paint on the changing-room pavilion.  Bromham Casuals’ Supporters Association were send to be “under the moon” at the great leaps forward taken by their team.

·        3.  For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Dervish

Dervish

Beneath the Earth we sit quietly

Hushed in this hollowed-out cavern

Facing the empty central circle

And shiver in the dimly-lit space

Anticipating the Dervish ceremony to come

Until four figures enter, heads bowed

Black-cloaked, hats like tombstones

Devout, focused

They begin to play their instruments

Improvising, building to steady, hypnotic rhythm

Calming, clearing the very air around them

Until the semazen themselves arrive

Arms at first criss-crossed

To testify the unity of God

And intone the Qu’ranic eulogy to the Prophet

Their delicate first movements

Salaaming carefully and exactly

Performing the mystic sufic rite

Describing the spiritual journey

Towards perfection

And of man’s submission of ego

Annihilation of self to his revered God

And ascension towards an ecstasy

The very rapture of being

Then the black cloaks cast aside

Revealing the ego-shrouds

The white skirts of Mevlana

And, slowly, the turning itself begins

Revolving right to left around the heart

Turning ever-faster into whirling

Like the blood around the body

And the protons in the atom

And their own steady orbit around the space

Arms now spread widely open

One hand pointed up towards the sky

The other back down to Earth

Connecting God with Man

Eyes closed in concentration

Heads inclined upon their shoulders

In the spirit, in the moment

Submerged in love

The spinning circulation

Frenzied for a while, then finished

Before returning silently to their cells

For further contemplation

And quiet meditation

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Fast Fruit Chocolate Pots

Recipe for: FAST FRUIT CHOCOLATE POTS

Ingredients:

• 50g/ 2oz dark chocolate, broken into small pieces
• 250g mascarpone cheese
• 2 tsps orange zest
• Fresh fruit/ berries/ compote (e.g. cherries, blackberries, currants)
• Shortbread fingers (to serve)

 Method:

1. melt the chocolate in a small bowl over a pan of hot water
2. cool slightly
3. in a bowl, stir the chocolate into the mascarpone and add the orange zest
4. spoon into small pots and chill
5. when ready to serve, top with the prepared fruit/ compote
6. serve with the shortbread fingers

 What else you need to know:

1. this is SOOOOO simple to do!
2. any fruit will do, but something soft with juice works best

Cappadocia

Cappadocia

A hard slog up the climbing roadway

Through the Toros mountains

Where sedimentary formations

Gash their way up in bold zig-zag patterns

Into the forbidding landscape

Yet dwarfed by volcanic cones

Whose igneous debris lies scattered

Like forgotten playthings

Among the canyons and valleys

Isolated boulders amongst the scrub

Sparse trees and shrubs

Struggle in the high, dry climate

Amongst the stones and tuff-pinnacles

The ground itself crumbling and flaking

Between high rock-hewn promontories

Riddled like cheese

With holes and caves

Church-studded once

With frescoes and carvings

Sheltering not only monks and acolytes

But also the poorest people

Who eked a living from this land

And in this colour-bleached region

Basalt and sandstone

Are engaged in unequal battle

Pitted against unrelenting elements

Of driving desert-like winds

Which sand-blast every feature

Into deceptively smooth roundnesses

Revealing little of the harshness

Of this high plateau

This land-locked steppe

Where strong light casts hard shadows

Of the many pigeons

Which flutter here undisturbed

Small creatures in a vast landscape

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Turkish Delight

Turkish Delight

Into the Eastern lands of Anatolia

Hemmed around by ragged Turquoise coastlines

Through the narrow Dardanelles

Amid the seas of Black and Marmara

To Aegean and Mediterranean

Across the Bosphorus via Istanbul

No longer Constantinople, nor yet Byzantium

Sentinelled by soaring Aya Sofia

Once a church turned to mosque

Now monument and testament

To a long and bloody history

And inland a rugged landscape

Of ancient theatres and temples

The architectural artefacts

And stony remnants of many races

From warlike Hittites and their foes

Phrygians, Hellenes, Lycians and their ilk

Greeks, Romans, Kurds and Gypsies

Through many caliphates

And Ottomans of Empire

To the modern state

And legacy of Ataturk

Once, out of mankind’s nursery

In the basin of the Tigris and Euphrates

And unknown distant places in the East

Along the ancient silk-road trading route

Carrying cargoes of gold and precious metals

Opium, silks and spices

Knowledge and know-how

Astronomy and astrology

And mystical religions

Came the camel-trains

Calling at the caravanserais

To break their arduous trek

Towards their Western markets

And now the groves of fruits and olives

The piles of teas and spices

The gemstones and the carpets

The flocks of goats and sheep

And the colours, sounds and smells

Of Turkish tastes and flavours

In the bazaars and hamams

Assault the very senses

Yet can give no explanation

Of this modern ethnic melting-pot

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Putting My Marriage Out To Tender

Putting my marriage out to tender

There’s a problem with my marital contract

Something I didn’t spot with the licence

Which needs to be urgently addressed

For I’m not very happy

With the current “in-house” solution

Nor the present service provider

She’s so messy and untidy

She fails to meet quality standards

And most of my expectations

The normal service tasks of the household

Are rarely completed on time or on budget

And the provision of conjugal services

Has dropped to a bare minimum

It seems she’s completely lost sight

Of the modern service culture

So I’m putting the contract out

To competitive tender

To see if it can be done any cheaper

And performed more efficiently

By the private sector

Using more modern management thinking

And the latest up-to-date methods

As a key stake-holder

End-user, consumer and customer

I’ll provide a clear service description

For streamlined procedures

Using built-in performance incentives

And a level of profit-sharing

With payment strictly by results

Reducing expenditure year-on-year

And performing all tasks to a minimum standard

With full provision for holidays and sickness

This will be an initial three-month contract

With a view to future extension

For the successful applicant(s)

Who will be young and ambitious

And will need to demonstrate a strong track-record

In delivering these services

To a very demanding client

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 17th March 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – 17^th March 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

·       Several puffs of white smoke from the chimney of the Bromham Social Centre a few nights ago appeared to indicate that a new vicar for Bromham had finally been chosen after five rounds of balloting.  However, it merely turned out to be the burning of a wad of old betting slips which had been thrown upon the fire.  Habemus Errata.

·       Meanwhile the People’s Communist Party of Bromham, in its bi-annual meeting in the Wounded Ferret, officially endorsed the “election” of its new leader for the next ten years, Xi Jinpiglet.  The entire Commisariat of five people stood and applauded as the new glorious leader finished his maiden speech in The People’s Hall, also referred to as the Ferret’s back room.  He spoke of the challenges facing the Shining Socialist Democracy of Bromham, particularly as the Communists are yet to win a seat on The Parish Council.  He denigrated existing councillors as “capitalist running dogs”, but was heard to apologise for the remark when he was forced to ask one of the running dogs to lend him a tenner with which to buy a round of drinks.

·       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Fougasse with red onion, tomato & rosemary

Recipe for: FOUGASSE (FLATBREAD) with red onion, tomato & rosemary

Ingredients: 

• For the bread:
• 500g/ 16oz strong white bread flour
• 7g sachet easy-blend yeast
• 2 tsp salt
• 1 tsp sugar
• 350ml/ 12 fl oz hand-hot water
• 2 tblsp olive oil
• For the topping:
• 1 large red onion, peeled and thinly sliced
• 1 tblsp olive oil
• 175g/ 6oz cherry tomatoes
• 5-6 fresh rosemary sprigs
• Coarse sea salt

Method: 

1. mix together the flour, yeast, salt and sugar
2. add the water and oil, mixing to form a soft dough
3. turn out on floured surface and knead for 5 minutes
4. put back in bowl, cover with a tea-towel and leave to rise for 1 hour
5. heat oven to 240C/ fan 220C/ gas 8
6. fry onions in the oil  for five minutes until softened
7. strip leaves from half of rosemary, chop & add to onions
8. let the onions cool
9. take the dough out (which should have risen to double its previous size), knock back and knead, incorporating half the fried onions.  Add a little more flour if too sticky.
10. divide dough in half and shape into two 25cm long rectangles
11. place onto a floured baking sheet & brush lightly with water
12. with a sharp knife, slash each dough diagonally, then three smaller slashes each side of the main slash
13. open out the slashes slightly, then press in the remaining onions, rosemary and cherry tomatoes
14. scatter flakes of sea-salt liberally over the top
15. leave to rise for 15 minutes
16. bake in oven for 15-20 minutes until risen & golden brown

What else you need to know: 

1. delicious warm or cold, dipped into fruity olive oil and/ or balsamic vinegar
2. serve as a starter or side dish
3. toasts really well, although the slices are quite small.

 

Beige

Beige

As I get to be another year older,

I think I’m starting to change.

My taste has gone right out of the window

In a way that seems spooky and strange. 

It all began with magnolia,

Other paint colours just seemed to gawp.

I could no longer stand any bright shades,

And I developed a fondness for taupe. 

I believe that it’s a rite of passage,

One you reach at a certain age.

Everything else appears far too jazzy,

And you get your first craving for beige. 

It used to be brown, the colour of ear-wax,

But the appeal of that tint’s started to fade.

What I was really looking for, I realised,

Was something matching my hearing-aid. 

It’s the same thing with clothing -

Attractive material now makes me retch.

I find I’m shopping for easy-care fabrics,

And trousers with waistbands that stretch. 

No-iron, sta-prest and things that are cosy,

And easy-clean, so long as it’s not green.

Slacks, wind-cheaters and cardigans,

In nice polyester, or in Crimpelene. 

I’m becoming an old person, I think,

I’m obviously reaching that stage,

Where I don’t care any more what things look like,

But where it’s important to be beige. 

I want a jacket with leather elbow patches,

And trousers with vents and with slants,

Anything that will hide the volume,

And the shape of my incontinence pants. 

I’m not looking for sex, but my reading specs,

With bright colours I’m near sated,

And it’s no longer the style, but the comfort,

Which is why everything I wear’s elasticated. 

I’d rather be dead, than wear anything red:

In fact that would drive me to rage,

And I wouldn’t feel mellow, dressed up in yellow,

No – the only thing that’ll do now is beige. 

I’d put up a fight, never to wear white,

The loss of the rainbow I’m not going to rue.

I’m just same about purple or black,

And don’t even mention royal blue! 

No – it’s time to accept that time has moved on,

My taste has declined, and I’ve turned over a page,

So you can keep all shades and variations –

There’s only one colour for me now – and it’s beige.

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Fielding An Illegible Player

Fielding An Illegible Player

I thought at first it was just a slip of the tongue

A simple error that anyone could make

For as I spread the marmalade upon my toast

And heard him explain more about it

I understood what it was that he was saying

When he announced that my favourite club

Was to be punished by deduction of points

A reprimand and a heavy fine 

You see, they’d broken the rules more than once

And fielded what he said was an illegible player

Which made the breakfast table fade right away

And as the sports reporter’s voice carried on

I was transported back to the touchline

From where I’d watched on Saturday last

And where I’d sought in vain to spot the winger

His whereabouts being uncertain, if not obscure

I just couldn’t make him out at all 

The pass went out to him to run down the wing

In an attempt to perhaps defeat the off-side trap

But he just wasn’t there, and the ball went into touch

His position being indecipherable

His off-the-ball movement unreadable

He was totally anonymous in the game

Occupying a lacuna of space out on the right

An unseen presence, missing in action

His role in the side no more than a mystery 

Then the room came sharply back into focus

With the shelf and the radio all present

The toast soft and buttery in my left hand

My mug of tea gone cold and un-drunk

And the announcer now on a different story

Having moved on from the offence and the investigation

To the scores elsewhere in the league

I’m still not sure that I’d heard him quite right

But on sober morning reflection

I think he used the right word after all

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Casino

This poem is based on a true story and personal observation.

Casino

They’re coming in, the guide tells us

You can tell by their happy, smiling faces

They still have all their money!

We stop and watch the

Filled with Chinese men

The punters and the gamblers

Heading for the casinos

Brought here free of charge

To come and lose their cash 

And later in the day

We wander cautiously inside

Out of prurient curiosity

Across the sticky carpets

And through the gaming rooms

To see them huddled round

The dealers and the croupiers

At the carefully spot-lit tables

Not smiling now, but grim-faced

Eyes glazed in concentration

Wagering on the roll of the dice

The turn of a single card

Or the number on the spinning wheel

In games of blackjack, poker and roulette 

And though they know the odds

Are stacked against them

They see the pile of chips before them

Their stakes slowly shrinking

Yet still they chase their daily dream

Of that one big win

Trying out their latest System

To beat The House

And save them from their losses 

And in the casino’s entrance hall

We stare in wonder at the floor

Where bars of solid gold

Are set into blocks below our feet

As a reminder of the riches

That are beyond the grasp

Of these addicted losers 

And then we see them on the bus again

Being taken back to where they came

See them leaving, says the guide

Not so happy now!  He laughs

Their money’s gone, gambled away

With all their hopes, poor suckers!

Their faces hard and set

As they return to find more money

So they may come here once again

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Underdog

Underdog

Everyone said they had no chance

That they would surely lose

Against a better team

Of superior skill and guile

And of greater strength

That their outlook could not be hopeful

That they would surely be defeated

Outclassed, overwhelmed

And all their efforts overcome

And be badly beaten

Just for their impertinence

Of even daring to take the field 

And the bookies gave the poorest odds

Saying their challenge could not be rated

But every underdog may have his day

And turn the situation round

By finding those hidden reserves

That no-one knew they had

Springing the sudden surprise

And cause an unpredicted upset

Snatching worthy victory

From out the very jaws

Of expected defeat

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Badgers In The Garden

The Sett

Hidden by the corner of the path

On the rising ground

Where the mound runs into the bank

Are the newest excavations

The latest extensions to the scheme

The diggings being carried on at night-time

A nocturnal construction project

Creating a modern morning earth-work

Revealed by heaps of spoil

The crumbled soil deposited neatly

Outside the D-shaped hole

Which leads darkly down

By under-ground pathways

Into a dark, black home

A subterranean complex

Of tunnels and hidden chambers

Beneath the grassy surface

That provides protection from the cold

And a nesting-space for gravid mothers

Where, in future days

The curious heads of cubs

May appear blinking to the light

A small study in black and white

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 3rd March 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – 3^rd March 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

·       As the Archbishop of Bromham formally stepped down on Tuesday at midnight, the Church was left, technically at least, rudderless.  Whilst the convocation of Wiltshire Cardinals gathers in a Bromham pub chapter-house, in order to elect a new Highest Holiness, the Archbishop himself was whisked away by tractor, which circled the village in a final act of homage.  After he reached his retirement pigsty palace to the North of the village, the Right Reverend changed his shoes for slippers, hung up his crozier for the last time on the back of the door, and formally broke his seals of office (a set of silver inscribed vegetables).  Later that evening, the Archbishop Emeritus was found slumped in his chair, having fallen asleep watching the third box-set of Buffy – The Vampire Slayer.

·       In the exciting Bromham by-election of the same night, the turnout at the polling booth in the Social Centre reached the dizzying heights of 8%.  The by-election was caused by the resignation of sitting Parish Councillor Piglet Hoom, after finally confessing to the crime of goat-nadgering, and of trying to get his wife Vicky Hoom to take the rap of community service.  He has been charged with trying to pervert the course of animal husbandry.  The election was won by Peregrine Piglet, whose Workers’ Horticultural Organisation (WHO) party managed to hang on to the seat, but with a much-reduced majority.  The big surprise of the night was the strong showing, in second place, of the Bromham Union for Rural Practices (BURP), who have campaigned for independence of Bromham from the rest of Wiltshire.

·       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Birthday Boy

Birthday Boy

It’s funny how things can easily change,

How your view on life drops through the gears,

But your perspective can turn right around,

When you find yourself advancing in years. 

I remember the early excitement,

When I was just a very young boy.

The anticipation of birthdays,

Would bring weeks of advancing joy. 

How many cards and presents would there be?

When would my mother begin to bake?

How big and what kind of icing,

On top of my own birthday cake? 

Would there be a party and some treats?

With games and plenty of laughter,

A day that would stick in the mind,

And provide memories for long after? 

But things are all different now,

And I find my trepidation mounting.

After I’d got as far as fifty,

That’s when I really stopped counting. 

There’s no special cake I’m having today,

But if bought from a shop you’d need handles.

It would have to be a massive confection,

If there was to be room for all of the candles. 

They’d make up a blazing conflagration,

Of that you should have very little doubt,

And I don’t think I’d have the breath these days,

To blow every one of them out. 

I’m no longer sure this day’s all that special.

Why make such a fuss of today?

Yesterday had no unique features,

And tomorrow’s just an ordinary day. 

The few cards I get from those that remember,

Fall limply through my letter-box.

There isn’t enough of them to make up a pile,

And my birthday hopes are all mocked. 

I don’t want to make any bother or fuss:

It would be good to get a nice present,

For I don’t want to be forgotten quite yet,

Or just seen as an ancient monument. 

Once I hoped I’d die before I got old,

But you can see I’m not getting younger,

I’ve still got a great zest for life, though,

And for new things I continue to hunger.

And as I reflect on this anniversary,

And I head towards some veneration,

I begin to think about my own children,

And I’m talkin’ ‘bout my generation. 

So don’t give up on me too soon,

Just because I’m advancing in years.

I can still go down to the pub, you know,

Yes, I can still sink a few beers!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013