Thursday, 11 August 2016
Dame Evadne was an early C20th century Olympian who gained two bronze medals in Club Hurling and Club Retrieval. The present Olympic Games under way somewhere abroad are a poignant reminder of Dame Evadne's altogether more amateur era.
Before her ennoblement, Evadne Thrust, as she was then, supported herself, first as a Stoker 2nd Class on the ill-fated SS Fortinbras (torpedoed, Leeds Liverpool canal 1917) then as part of The Strapping Lasses trapeze team with McFarter's travelling circus. In the days before drugs testing, Evadne often turned up to training clutching a crate of Hinchcliffe's Strewth Brown Ale.
Her marriage to fellow club hurler Sir Jack Manifold (1927) meant that Evadne had to retire. She was a far better hurler than Sir Jack and had no wish to embarrass him.
After Sir Jack's sad death, under the wheels of a runaway hearse in 1942, Dame Evadne threw herself into the Campaign for Noisier Hearses, becoming president in 1949, a post she held until her death. Police are investigating the circumstances of Dame Evadne's demise which apparently involved an electric milk float.
Wednesday, 10 August 2016
Cheepin Cheerful Chickens of Glossop has announced that it will be making gifts of free eggs to bald people of all ages, in a celebration of what it is to be hairless. The presentations will take place at an open day at the farm on August 19th. There would also be merchandise for sale, such as billiard balls, videos of young coots and bald paté.
Feminist groups have reacted angrily, pointing out that this favours gentlemen of a male persuasion and Sinead O'Connor, but the Cheepin Cheerful spokesman responded that there were no age barriers here and it was all to promote inclusivity.
"Why, I've visited a maternity ward," chirped MD Henrietta Fowler (74). "Not one of those babbies had a wisp of hair - and I bet they was evenly distributed across all the sexes! And they'll all be welcome here!"
Wednesday, 3 August 2016
To compile our annual list of the best places to travel in the upcoming year, the Pangolin team thoroughly and meticulously considers a variety of factors. Which under-the-radar gems are most exciting to our let's-be-British-and-show-how-shitfaced-we-can-get denizens? Which destinations are our Brexit Breakaway specialists fielding requests for?
Archibald Phutt (98) from Straddlethwaite, somewhere north of Watford Gap Services, shared his travel experiences: "Well I've never been out the country, and proud of it. Can't be doing with that foreign muck where they don't speak English like normal people - or was that Dewsbury? They don't even have proper money - what's wrong with pounds, shillins and pence?
We fought two world wars to keep 'em out and I'm not 'avin' them reds under the beds, yellow peril, wops and spics pinching my bottom while I eat me seagull 'n' chips!"
We asked him about his favoured holiday destinations. One eye got bigger than the other and he started muttering "Luxury. In my day..." so we felled him with a black pudding and nicked his false teeth.
For our five-starred holiday destination - enter Kylie Fishwick (22), our representative from Clacton, who explained that her passport didn't work any more now we're out of the EU Refeyendum. Especially as she'd lost it down a bog in Faliraki last year. She shared a photo of her fave hotel though.
"It's like, awesome, and when I come back from wherever I don't even need to get the key or try and remember where I'm staying the bed's just there. With a twin room like this you have a choice and you don't even have to get in the bed if you don't want. An' a dog come past and licked up all the puke!"
|Sunbed by day, crash-pad by night.|
Miasma Hotel, Chitterling-on-Sea
Don't miss our next issue:
A Seagull's take on Brexit. That Chekov bloke gets everywhere.
Tuesday, 26 July 2016
Hullo, Justin here...
Whilst I am aware that I often begin my thoughts for the day with cricket musings, giving rise often to Mr Hassan (especially) saying, “Oh no. Not bloody cricket AGAIN!”, I think the England team’s current performance in the second test against Pakistan certainly bears mention. Having been soundly beaten in the first test, the England batters responded brilliantly in searing heat to post a magnificent total, then went on to remove Pakistani batsmen willy-nilly. Mr Hassan made light of the oppressive heat, pointing out that a great- uncle of his actually melted in the Great Drought of 1910 just outside Nagpur. His point evaded me.
My lady wife and I did manage to get away for a few days gentle brass-rubbing, driving ourselves believe it or not in our Archdiocese-approved Mini with the young man with the wire in his ear following closely behind in his huge 4x4. We headed first to Clittery Ambo, deep in the Gloucestershire countryside, there to seek the church of St Mabel the Marginal with its famed twin tombs of Sir Clovis Clitter and his lady wife Clementine. Disappointingly, we found the village overrun with young people clutching Smartphones, playing something called Pokemon Go. After a distinctly moderate cream tea at the Jam ‘n ‘ Stuff cafe, we moved on and not ten miles further stumbled across St Alan’s in the Midden parish church, a delightful 15th century pile. Sadly, it was closed, but the ever-resourceful young man with the wire in his ear called a colleague, the vicarage was located and soon I was knocking on its door. Unfortunately, the vicar, a Miss Eugenie Bone, did not recognise me and refused to believe I was who I said I was. Then she called the Police. You might imagine the confusion this caused. What WOULD Jesus have done? However, the attending officer did recognise me, called The Rev Bone a cloth-eared silly old bat, saluted the young man with the wire in his ear, after sneaking a look at his Glock, and bade us be on our way.
So, I look forward to our Autumn break, and some better-researched brass rubbing ventures although my lady wife has expressed a preference for somewhere called Ibiza – or is it Ibitha – which sounds distinctly foreign. We shall see.
Tuesday, 31 May 2016
It goes without saying that I was, and still am elated by the performance of the England Cricket team, sparkling as it did with individual achievement of the highest order. Of course, detractors abound, sadly my lady wife amongst them, preferring as she does the relative violence and bloodshed of rugby. My Mr Hassan was also unimpressed, citing the difference in population numbers between England and Sri Lanka. The latter, he supposed only has “a couple of hundred folk in it”, adding, “and most of them is like, yer hunter-gatherers” Previous experience has taught me not to pursue debates with Mr Hassan. Nevertheless, I cherish the memory of Alistair Cook’s 10,000 runs and the lethal smoothness of Jimmy Anderson’s run up, culminating as it so often does in bails and stumps parting company.
But I digress. Like the rest of the country, the big talking point here at The Palace is the European referendum. Personally, I pray for an outcome which will make everybody happy and content, but my experience in business tells me that will not be so. There are deep differences between those who wish to remain part of Europe and those who wish to go it alone – ferociously so if Mrs Clench, one of our elderly Sunday School volunteers is to be believed. She is approaching 90, and Mrs Clench’s family was bombed out during WW2 and she has strong opinions about Germans. Like Mr Hassan, Mrs Clench does not listen to reason and believes that Adolf Hitler is in fact frozen, cryogenically preserved, somewhere in Argentina – ready, at the push of a button to spring back to life and “take over from that tubby woman what runs the place now”.
The young man with the wire in his ear takes a more realistic view. His first thoughts were that if you seek public opinion, those opinions will be rubbish. His second was that if the US administration thinks the UK should stay in Europe, then that’s what we should do because the US has bigger guns than us. I did point out that President Obama’s (I’ve shared Shredded Wheat with him) time was coming to an end and asked what on earth would the dreadful Donald Trump’s position on Europe be. The young man with the wire in his ear laughed and said, “Even stupid Americans wouldn’t vote that clown into the White House”. I confess that as he walked away, I thought I saw the glitter of doubt in his eye.