Tilebury Events - What's going on and how'd it go?
Love and war
So! Lots happening. Is this open warfare? Or concealed love? All's fair in love and war. (I never understood what that was supposed to mean. But never mind, one the advantages of being an airhead is that I don't have to work out where silly sayings come from). Anyway, seems there's a strange whiff in the air of gunpowder and aphrodisiac.
Firstly the war bit. My aunt has been visiting lawyers! Looks like that inheritance I'm not getting won't be worth much once the legal fees have been paid. Some poor cat's home is going to remain a poor cat's home.
But worse yet, the reason for the soldiers of the law is that she's trying to muscle in on the Harbinger. (Put that way it sounds dangerous - what is a harbinger? Don't Harbingers have swords?) Anyway Auntie Doreen reckons she can get herself appointed editor. That would be the end!!
Come on people! Stand up and make yourself heard. I know my aunt. She would make this paper boring. You know my aunt. You know she would make this paper boring.
There would be details of coffee mornings and lots of advice about blackberry crumble. You saw that drivel about the BBC filming. You can imagine the crushing blather about the Beautiful village competition. Don't let her do it!
Sixty days to save ourselves. The race is on.
And in case it helps you to take sides against her, I can reveal a little bit about that love triangle I was talking about. The one with Andy Cornelius at it's apex? Well, it's time for my revelation - number one. All I need to say is Auntie D with Alderman Andrew Cornelius in the garden of Thansell House with rose and wandering hands.
One who is interested in literature. One who is divorced.
Wouldn't Auntie D love to know? He, he!
The other love triangle shall remain a secret for the moment. From what I can work out, it is fast disintegrating into a fight triangle. Best keep my nose out of it for the moment to avoid it needing to be reset by a plastic surgeon I cannot afford (as I can't even afford a car despite all my hard journalistic work).
They hurt. Do come. Over a dozen ladies in the class now.
The battle of the bands
Yep, its official - we have two decent bands in the village. May day was a total wash-out so everyone, but everyone, was trying to cram into The Ship (my pour little ribs got terribly squeezed in the crush) to avoid the biblical downpour. (Needless to say there was no dancing around the fire or the maypole - except for some rather drunken rain-dance after midnight, but that is best veiled in misty history - the mud will never come out of my skirt. Certain boys showed the advantages of pvc trousers and bare chests and the disadvantages of long hair - but that's another story).
Well Jimmy was playing and boy was he good. And he got Mel up on stage and they did a duet, which was lovely but, although I love you deeply Mellie-wellie, its probably best you leave Jimbo to sing alone on the CD. Commiserations to Star Struck. You've been beaten by a better lady (even if she does have a questionable singing voice)
And then there was Cold Shoulder. Brilliant - like a kind of cross between Metallica and Jake Bugg. So that's where you guys were when the rest of us were stupid enough to attend maths class - you were learning the guitar. And I love, love, love to see a girl on the drums. Sock it to them Veve! Louder, Louder, go go, Wah Wah, Bah, no no no, woah, baby no baby go! Wah Wah, Ba, Wah Wah. I could get into this.
And Something slithery in the state of Denmark
Strange reports of snakes. Anecdotal I admit, but frequent. Little things sliding away suddenly down drains. Movements in the corner of our eyes. Cows stolen in the fields, a shortage of mongooses (mongeese?), Indian Fakirs wandering through the village with empty baskets and hungry eyes...
Okay I made that bit up. But rumours are rife (as rumours tend to be, when they are not whispering).
Love you all.
Articles from other months are linked from the side bar.
Please address all communications for the attention of The Editor, The Mews Office, Market street.
We have a box at the post office for ideas and notes.