Church Newsletter

Dear Reader,

Wednesday 20th saw the plucky hunters take on a most frigid evening in March ‘King of the Months’, but the scent trail hung close to the ground which led to a satisfying outcome for many.

Lord ‘Henry’ Snowdon began by setting up a quasi-erotic flashing booth at the Diving Boards. As the East London Under 25 synchronised swimming team never showed up Henry had to make do with The Golden Heart skateboard B team (reprobates and retirees). Flashing thus took place, but the usual Jacobean stomp-slides were replaced with CP Sparkean board-misses, J Davison tail-nevers, Little Mattean finger-pointers and B Hullean earth-shakers. The A team cast off and suspected rapper B.R.A.D. once again failed to see the point in failing to point his board correctly, and landed bloody everything like a Man-Am on Wang.

At the far end of the arena Wurzel Bragg dutifully warmed up his varicose veins for later attempts at ‘A Modern Trick’. It will come as no surprise to you, dear reader, that he ultimately failed. He is after all, one of us.

Camera shy new boy ‘old boy’ Baker skated around with hungry puppy eyes and legs with admirable pop considering his declining years. This writer also saw him perform a quick-nosed manoeuvre later that eve for which he made his fortune, firstly in RaD, latterly on myskateordie. IMAGINE WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN…  Sorry, caps lock stuck on this typewriter. I long for a way to automate the processing of these words, using an electrical Difference Engine of some kind.

The scent split the group across the city, distracted by architectural follies in which many a trap lay for unsuspecting country folk. Lord Snowdon and the Earl of Brinkworth took up the reins with a inclined display of stylery in front of the Polish Builder’s Association. Metal met marble in a clash of the titans from which only the victor could emerge victorious, displaying the ultimate futility of using multiple cliches in one sentence.

Towards high moon the huntsmen reconvened in an underground shelter, probably a Roman badger sett of some ilk. High entertainments were had by most, hare-like leaps and cat-like balances betwixt a platform of extra hardened mud. Then at a local hostelry, with multi-tasked aural arrangements, cheap ales were quaffed in the name of coaxed muscles, weary limbs and naturally-formed dopamine.

Despite the apparent unfairness and flowery inaccuracy of this account, I trust the reader understands that the church newsletter has a limited print run and must appeal to ALL the village, churchgoers AND otherwise.