Friday, 11 May 2018



EST. 2015.



By our Warwick Affairs correspondent, Delia Probes.

Shocking reports have reached us here at the Warwickshire Gazette and Post of a sick cannibal preying on the praying community in the area neighbouring Nuneaton. Nuneaton itself has long been stigmatised for the attraction it holds for both bankrupt restauranteurs (and others from the catering industry who failed miserably) and, no less ironically, anorexic support groups. Now, it has proved itself the controversial capital of Warwickshire again with the discovery of the half-eaten remains of a nun outside a church on the outskirts of the town.

The gruesome discovery was made in the early hours of yesterday morning by Alan Snoopins, a retired traffic warden from Coventry, who was on holiday at the time.

‘I woke at the crack of dawn, yesterday,’ Mr Snoopins, 70, said. ‘The toilet in the B&B was blocked, so I decided to go for a walk. I was about ten minutes away from the B&B when I saw a church that looked pretty. Only, on closer inspection, I discovered it was anything but…’

To his horror, on the pathway leading to the church of St Botolph’s, in Credence Lane, Mr Snoopins saw a pack of Alsatian dogs fighting over the remains of a nun.

‘To my horror, I saw a pack of dogs, Alsatians they were, all fighting over this poor nun’s dead body.’

Nauseated, Mr Snoopins immediately alerted the police.

Det. Chief Inspector Alan Mason praised Mr Snoopins for his public-spirited response to what he described as ‘an atrocious end to a nun.’ DCI Mason, who heads what, is now a murder case, has issued the following statement:

‘Thanks to the public-spirited actions of a retired holidaymaker, police are now investigating the suspicious death of a nun, found by the holidaymaker being eaten by a pack of dogs. The dogs themselves were quickly ruled out as the prime suspects in the case as forensics revealed the time of death as some hours previous to their unsightly feast. Further clues point to the perpetrator possibly being male, with a fixation about nuns specifically, or uniformed women in general. Most disturbingly, the number of bite marks on what remained of her body that could not be blamed on the dogs could suggest she was cannibalised.’

The nun has been identified as Sister Veronica Barnacle, from Coventry’s Convent for the Piety and Purification of Our Lady’s Humble Servants. She was aged 55, and believed to have been visiting Father Brawny McGuigan at St. Botolph’s to discuss an inter-diocese funding of a local charities event.

Father McGuigan’s reaction to the police statement was one of ‘complete shock and the deepest revulsion.’ He simply ‘could not imagine,’ he said, ‘what type of monstrous being would do such an appalling thing to a sweet little nun like Sister Veronica. Despite his vocation, Father Brawny spoke of his incredulity over the news. ‘It’s hard to believe, I pray to God for help in understanding the depravity of such a person’s warped psyche. Killing a nun’s bad enough, but then eating her? I pray to God this sick man doesn’t make a habit out of it.’


Saturday, 31 March 2018


We’ve all heard of someone who’s ‘afraid of their own shadow,’
But, out of the blue, frosty Hugh knew his shadow lived in fear.
Hugh first had a clue from how seldom his shadow would appear.
Even the brightest, sunniest conditions hardly made it clear.
Hugh hated feeling in the dark about it,
Not knowing why his shadow wasn’t bringing up the rear.
He’d read somewhere that vampires had no shadows,
Or was it they weren’t reflected in mirrors (which he was!)?
In any case, Hugh couldn’t even stand the sight of blood,
Let alone consider developing a taste for it.

Besides, he didn’t really believe in vampires, what could be as daft?
A shadow that was scared, he thought and very nearly laughed.
To take his mind off things, usually Hugh liked to read,
But Hank Marvin’s autobiography: ‘A Shadow of My Former Self,’
Disturbed him with its title; he worried about his mental health.
Approaching forty, Hugh had no illusions about his future life,
Middle-aged with mental health issues, he’d be unlikely to attract a wife,
And probably he’d end up left on the shelf, which,
He reflected bitterly, would atleast have a shadow!
To give credit where it’s due, one wonders how much is owed to Hugh,
Insightful and weird, it appeared his insights were limited to his weirdness.
After a close shave with madness, he decided to grow a beard,
This covered his chin but not the fact he was weird.
Collage/drawing by Julian Cloran.




Friday, 9 June 2017

Digory Polyp

As something of a lounge lizard—atleast in the eyes of my friends (many of whom are no strangers to the wearing of monocles)—I’m the sort of chap who’s occasionally given to the speaking of his mind from the comfort of his own abode. With or without the lubrication of an after-dinner snifter, a cut glass in my hand, I stand in my dressing gown and give the television a sound dressing down. If I’m sufficiently incensed, for example with a news item just broadcast, I’ll recline in my favourite armchair or adopt a seat of pine to opine, addressing the TV set secure in the knowledge that it cannot answer back. A sense of self-satisfaction instils a warm glow in my chest with the certainty that I will always have the last word. Of course we can all sound off in the privacy of our own homes (or in the shade of our gardens, if we wanted to be like critical gnomes) but without an audience, where is the potential for doing something positive in the world?  This is why I have decided to share here, in the modest hope that my words might serve as a form of, hopefully inspiring, outreach.

  I have explained that I sometimes stand to rant, other times I sit; I am spoilt for choice for chairs living (as I do) in an extremely well-furnished, large house with numerous rooms, chandeliers, oil paintings and gold-framed wall mirrors, but—I digress. I was going to say I am in no way limited to chairs from where I express my feelings and cares. No, in fact, I have a mahogany coloured sofa of which I am extremely fond and enjoy sitting there while speaking aloud on my own. The sofa belonged to a distant aunt of mine who died falling off a camel in Egypt. There is a picture of her in an oval shaped silver frame on a mantelpiece somewhere and I never pass it without gratefully associating her with the sofa of which I am so fond. I’ve lost count of the number of satisfying rants I’ve aimed at the television from auntie’s aesthetically pleasing (and extremely comfortable structure, ideally suited for repose). Suffice to say, on numerous occasions I have relaxed on said item of furniture and felt uniquely supported—more, I have felt regal almost, as if the sofa empowers me much the way a king feels sat on his throne.  I’m sure by now I’ve successfully conveyed my attachment to my sofa and furthermore, I hope, added convincing reasons to validate the attachment. In any case, until next time.


Saturday, 31 December 2016


The artist who was obsessed with Cilla Black
Took up residence in Drusillas Park where, night and day,
He produced images of the late Scouse singer—even in the dark!
Like many artists, commercial success eluded him,
But he found recognition of a sort becoming widely known as the man
Who drew Cillas in Drusillas, for sport.

Cilla Black enjoyed a long career,
Singing less often as time passed,
But always grinning from ear to ear.
The red-headed warbler who ended up presenting the TV show
‘Blind Date’
Was typical of the mediocrity the critics love to hate.
No bad reviews diminished her popularity even the slightest bit,
One can always rely on the British public to cherish the tritest shit.

For the fixated artist of Drusillas, Cilla was an idol second to none.
Although, ironically, the park was visited one day, by
Billy Idol, after a nun.
The artist’s adulation, pouring his heart into his work
Indicates how channelling his obsession saved him from going completely berserk.
Until, one day, he took his own life with precision and a palette knife,
Which he used to carve the initials: C. B into both of his carotid arteries!

Rich Seamfinder.


The artist, Haberdashery Mullet has died at the age of forty. He had taken his own life using a palette knife to gouge out both his carotid arteries. His body was found in the early hours of Friday morning in the grounds of Drusillas Park, where he had lived and worked—obsessively producing mixed media images of Cilla Black—for over twenty years.

  Born in Godalming in 1977, little is known of Haberdashery’s early years or schooling. He always claimed to be a self-taught artist and first came to public attention in his twenties, when the national media took an interest in his eccentric lifestyle, largely as a result of his run-ins with the police and law courts over his adoption of Drusillas Park as his residence and full-time studio.
  Although Haberdashery’s artistic career had all the hallmarks of a resounding failure in his lifetime, he was fondly regarded by many visitors to Drusillas. Now, his sudden death is likely to stimulate a revival of interest in his work from the art world. There are believed to exist in the region of 13, 000 mixed-media images of Cilla Black—the object of Haberdashery’s bizarre lifelong obsession—scattered across Drusillas Park.

  A spokesperson for the Saatchi and Yeti Gallery, in Soho, said: ‘If Cilla Black could accrue considerable personal wealth on the strength of her talents, it is not implausible to imagine that a series of works by a (soon to be) well-publicised, dead, destitute/eccentric, fetching a respectable sum in the wake of an aggressive marketing campaign.’

Haberdashery Mullet—artist and Cilla Black fan.
Born 24th of Dec. 1977—Died 16th of Dec. 2016.
Anji Noracull.

Sunday, 11 December 2016


The British Medical Association has issued a statement clarifying the position of ‘Doctors Against Diesel’ in an attempt to appease Hollywood star, Vin Diesel.

The BMA says in the statement that: ‘No one in the medical profession wishes to offend the famous actor. Their issue is an environmental one,’ it emphasises.
The statement follows rumours fuelled by unidentified mischievous elements seeking to capitalise on the macho actor’s potentially hurt feelings.

A spokesperson for a group who are currently speculating on the amount of concern Riddick star, Diesel may have as a result of a possible misunderstanding about medically qualified anti-pollution groups said: ‘Vin Diesel looks tough, but if he felt there is a group of British doctors who are against him, he might take it personally and suffer from lowered self-esteem.’
Sources close to Hollywood have indicated that the bizarre situation has cinematic possibilities. Perhaps the public will see a release in which ‘VD’ visits UK hospitals on a systematic killing and mutilation spree involving large numbers of doctors.

Sunday, 3 July 2016


Could one persuade Virginia Wade
To take part in a parade,
Clutching a suede purse with her lips pursed?
Wade played tennis sufficiently well to win Wimbledon once,
In 1977, the year of the Queen’s silver jubilee.
Up to twice a year, the Queen gives out various honours,
But surely there’s more satisfaction in winning titles—
Like Virginia Wade and Jimmy Connors.


If I had a £ for every time
I’ve heard fellow passengers,
On their mobiles,
Say: ‘I’m on the bus…’
I’d have burst pockets
And enough cash
To buy a gold-plated bus,
Which I could drive into bus queues
Of mobile phone users—losers:
Moaning about how late the bus is,

Who, when the bus arrives,
Still aren’t prepared for it,
Fumbling for their tickets or some change,
They look ugly, fat, stupid and strange.

Friday, 1 April 2016



A psychometric test to help you find out by Prof. Ess.

1) Your pet giraffe’s eating disorder is embarrassing your wife. Do you:

a) Take up domestic violence.
b) Move to Sweden with your giraffe.
c) Feign ignorance.
d) Wear clogs as noisily as you can.
e) Realise you’re not married!

2) At the cinema, the people seated behind you persistently lick the back of your head. Do you:

a) Ignore them.
b) Threaten them.
c) Pay them.
d) Masturbate.
e) Engage in an epic coughing fit and move to another seat.

3) A weird byelaw comes into effect forcing you to spend three days and nights in a corrugated iron shed on a strict diet of ginger nut biscuits and water. Afterwards, do you:

a) Assume an air of martyrdom and snap at ginger people.
b) Buy shares in Swarfega.
c) Launch campaigns to raise awareness of currently fashionable diseases.
d) Form or join a discussion group for people like you.
e) Feed your giraffe ginger nut biscuit crumbs.

4) When bizarre legislation compels countries to ‘share’ their most famous landmarks (for example: Cairo swaps its pyramids with New York’s Statue of Liberty) you one day find the Arc d’Triomphe outside your house. Do you:

a) Foam at the mouth in a fit of xenophobic pique.
b) Organise local street urchins to deface it with anti-Gallic graffiti.
c) Park underneath it.
d) Let your giraffe defecate by it.
e) Dress like Napoleon and wear a mad grin.

5) ‘Role reversal’ opportunities, which are broadcast nationally, are legally enforceable possibilities randomly allocated to individuals by a government computer. Every other minute, two people are chosen to ‘swap lives, circumstances, etc’ for a minimum of two hours and a maximum of two days. You are picked to swap with a cross-dressing traffic warden with a candy floss addiction. Do you:

a) Try and refuse on religious grounds.
b) Fake your own death.
c) Set up a series of murderous traps for the traffic warden and vandalise parking meters.
d) Make the best of it and attempt to learn and grow from the experience.
e) Research giraffe’s food allergies… Just in case.

6) Corrugated iron makes a surprise comeback becoming one of the bestselling, most fashionable materials in recent decades. In mint condition, a 6’ x 4’ sheet of corrugated iron can fetch as much as £300 on the black-market. When a dyslexic cretin leaves you a corrugated iron warehouse worth £500K in their will, do you:

a) Make materialist plans, your eyes glistening with greedy anticipation.
b) Design a series of corrugated iron giraffe shelters.
c) Surround the premises with powerful magnets to see what happens.
d) Recruit thousands of panel beaters to flatten your stock to see what it looks like.
e) Seek advice from an independent Unexpected Inheritance Advice Service run by recovering candy floss addicts.

7) If you had to spend 24 hours naked with a small lump of candy floss partiallycovering your private parts, where would you prefer to be:

a) Trafalgar Square.
b) In an irrigation canal.
c) Behind a veterinary surgeon’s practice.
d) In a field of irate bulls.
e) In a north-facing greenhouse.

8) If your teeth became luminous in the dark, would you:

a) Smile all the way home.
b) Paint yourself black all over and mime to popular songs every night.
c) Get into advertising… Toothpastes, etc.
d) Leave your teeth to science.
e) Hurl bricks at lampposts and grin maniacally beneath them.

9) After hearing that selotape is illegal where you live, you see your next-door neighbour using it. Do you:

a) Assume a non-judgemental air while secretly pitying them.
b) Report them to the appropriate authorities, after checking to see if there’s a reward.
c) Knock on their door and offer them alternative, legal forms of adhesive.
d) Knock on their door and run away.
e) Write a hymn that cryptically incriminates them and send 1, 000 copies of it to the Archbishop of Canterbury.

10) Which of the following would you most like to be?

a) The Pope, but incurably afflicted with a terrible stutter and an atrociously painful limp.
b) The best footballer in the world, but with horrific halitosis and microscopic genitalia.
c) The Dalai Lama, only to be perceived by everyone else as a facile candy floss addict.
d) Famous for surviving more accidents with corrugated iron than anyone else in the entire world.
e) Totally average in every way, yet capable of experiencing true and total euphoric bliss all day on every seventeenth Wednesday.

11) Empowered to do so, which one of the following miracles would you choose to perform?

a) Make smoking completely harmless.
b) Become immune to pain.
c) Restore Stevie Wonder’s sight.
d) Cure candy floss addicts through creating roles for them in giraffe shelters (made from corrugated iron).
e) Afflict Stevie Wonder with profound deafness.

12) If you were forced to learn another language taught by retired traffic wardens who were deranged on hallucinogenic mushrooms soaked in battery acid, which of the following would you choose:

a) Sanskrit.
b) Welsh (and then send insulting Celtic diatribes to Bjork).
c) Esperanto, sign language and semaphore: to be certain of ‘flagging’ down deaf taxi drivers’ cabs.
d) Any language, but always employ a broad Glaswegian accent while using it.
e) 18th century Polish to be spoken dressed as Chopin.


You’re a borderline selotape-dependant personality with repressed aversions to long-necked animals. If you carefully avoid the excessive consumption of candy floss and regularly focus on the marketing trends of corrugated iron, you may find a modicum of contentment in your life. Or, possibly, experience the feeling of belonging that is readily achieved by joining self-labelling groups (of socially-deficient people) of a comfort-swapping nature.


If you dream you are a giraffe a lot, you’ll have answered B mainly. You know your heart, have an unusually long, strong neck and cordially detest traffic wardens. You are a flexible, confident character unless of course you are feeling inflexible and lacking in confidence. You’re not gullible, don’t let anyone tell you that you are (if you are suggestible). You have what it takes to succeed in life, especially life at its most mundane. With the right combination of luck, inspiration and hard work, you could invent sophisticated new methods of torture for inflicting on traffic wardens kidnapped by people who mostly answered A’s.


If C’s are all you see as options, you’re a weak-willed, excessively compromising, potential candy floss addict. Your head probably often resembles pink confectionery on a stick. Giraffes sneer at you behind your back, which is invariably hunched like a furtive traffic warden’s. If you’ve made it into your thirties, don’t think your life’s going to get any better—it isn’t! Intensive self-improvement is your only (extremely slim) hope, but it’s entirely up/down to you… Nobody cares!


You are an attention-seeking, pervert impelled by self-gratification. You think: me, me, me, which rhymes with D, D, D, which is no coincidence. If you were less vain, you’d need to take a good look at yourself (but self-examination procedures are totally non-productive exercises for complete Narcissists). Naturally, no one is beyond redemption. They just feel universally shunned and derided, like traffic wardens with leprosy. Suggested course of action: Move next-door to a Jehovah’s Witness and look down on them.


You oddball, you! You think outside the box. Paradoxically, choosing mostly E’s ticks all of your boxes. Your maverick approach to life outfoxes your rivals. You’re a loner but you’re not lonely. You know your own mind and stick to it (without using selotape). If you were a traffic warden, you’d probably give a giraffe a parking ticket—it’s who you are! You’re used to sticking your neck out. You don’t get overwrought near corrugated iron and you can take or leave your candy floss. You will be happy, popular, able to be promiscuous if you so wish, smart and skilled at completing psychometric assessments with positive results. You do not loathe traffic wardens or pity weak candy floss addicts; live and let live you say, knowing you are better than they are anyway.


Friday, 25 March 2016




EST: Recently.

(Ed. Rich Seamfinder)



Residents in Gardner Street could be forced to move and relocate if a controversial scheme from the council gets the go-ahead. The scheme, known as ‘Residential Appropriateness’, suggests that only people with professions in keeping with their street names should be allowed to live in them.

Lars Throat, a Big Issue vendor in and around Bartholomews, where Brighton Town Hall is situated, spoke to Brighton News about the bizarre scheme and of how he first heard of it.

‘A lot of my customers work for the council. I don’t like to gossip but now and again you hear rumours or overhear snippets of private conversations. On this occasion somebody slipped the information in my pocket sealed in a plain brown envelope. It basically means that say you live in Gardner Street, you’ll have to do a job that’s horticultural or very closely related.’

But critics of the scheme have reacted furiously, anticipating serious problems if the idea is implemented. Barnaby Jones, a plumber currently living in Gardner Street, said, ‘I suppose anyone in a dead-end job would have to live in a cul-de-sac!’ Mr Jones is Chairperson of Gardner Street Residents’ Opposition to the Residential Appropriateness Scheme Committee.

The council were unavailable for comment. However, a regular customer of Lars (who asked to remain anonymous) pointed out that Lars’s example contains a vital flaw: ‘Lars is completely illiterate; otherwise he’d have seen Gardner Street’s missing the “e” that would make it Gardener Street. This sort of scaremongering spells disaster for people who don’t read carefully or pay close attention to detail.’

Lars, 47, is a Norwegian fisherman who claims he fell foul of the Scandinavian mafia after he refused to appear in a skin product advertisement. Fleeing to England in 1999, he was badly injured in a series of accidents with drains in London before moving to Brighton in 2008 where he became homeless last year.

Ian J. Narolc