Notices #2

Missing

Nurtured by wildlife enthusiast Marge Lammaries, her two Great Tits had been regular visitors to the garden of no. 44 Sipping Rise. They were last seen on the morning of Monday 27th November.

“I’d been cleaning my box in preparation for a web-cam that Bertie Spellend is going to install for me,” explained Mrs. Lammaries. “My Great Tits usually just seem to be sitting in front of me, but when I looked down, they were gone!”

Mr. Lammaries, a keen twitcher, was shocked to hear of the disappearance. “Mick, my husband, had been in his shed crushing his nuts and bagging his seed for the winter, so he never saw nothing,” said the deflated part time geriatric nurse.

“I just hope they haven’t flown over the back field to Frock Cottage and been eaten by Snatch,” said Mick Lammaries. “Sister Foundly’s Shorthair has a dreadful reputation,” he added.

Marge Lammaries is anxious to know her Great Tits are OK and urges anyone with any information to get in touch.

Sister Foundly's Inner Piece #2

Dear Parishioners,

How it touched me inside to receive your input, in response to last week’s sad story of internet pornography.

Many of you couldn’t believe the shocking things I had to report, so I’ll be sending the weblinks out to you all via email.

Stimulating too were some of the discussion points you have written in with.

I was particularly taken with one suggested topic, that of ‘inter-familial relationships”. What a wonderful phrase, I thought, and one which I vowed to use more often. We are all one big family, and the relationships between each one of us are what bring meaning to the world.

Only the other day I happened to be paying a visit to Father Ruckable, that dashing young pastor and acting abbot of Mitzmaid Cloister, the only mixed abbey in the country.

Whilst having dinner with him in the great hall, I mentioned the subject of “inter-familial relationships” to the Father, and he found the matter most stimulating.

He said that the monks and the nuns of the abbey practised a very cold and reserved manner one unto another, a habit instilled by the previous abbot, and one he was keen to overcome.

Indeed as I looked around the great hall I perceived that the monks and nuns were not looking or even speaking to each other, and felt sorrowful that this sacred house lacked so much the warmth of human intercourse.

Feeling my sack under the table (I had been Christmas shopping earlier that afternoon), I hit upon an idea. ‘Why not share out a little wine?’ I suggested to Father Ruckable, handing him a bottle of champagne. ‘After all, was not the water turned to wine, long ago?’

The Father thought this a super idea, and accepted. Taking his brut firmly in both hands, he quickly popped his cork. It foamed out everywhere!

Frowning at the Father’s mess, I teased open my rosé carefully, gripping with my thighs under the table.

The wines were passed around all the fellowship at table. After just a few sips, the atmosphere had thawed. Here and there a conversation started up as the brothers and sisters warmed to each other, and before long, tongues were wagging throughout the hall.

Another few glasses and all reserve had evaporated! I was amazed to see such confirmations of human intimacy, such ejaculations of intense affection that had been pent up for so long.

All around, people were opening up, making secret admissions to each other. Some pairs and small groups even rushed out of the hall altogether, no doubt to find somewhere more private to continue their intercourse away from the hubbub.

Everyone was enflamed with the spirit of openness. Even Father Ruckable showed a little pinkness around the head. Pulling back his hood, he asked myself and another nun if we would bare our souls to him in the vestry.

I am embarrassed to say that I do not remember everything that happened that night, but later on, back in my own bed at Frock Cottage, I felt a satisfaction deep inside that I had played a part and changed so many lives.

With blessings and glad tidings,

Sister Foundly

Bertie Spellend from Digital Stimulation

We're back cyber fans! This summer we took advantage of 3 months enforced closure to give Digital Stimulation a much needed upgrade. I can't talk about the incident, involving Frank Winnetically, that led to the police investigation and our subsequent period 'offline' ggrrr....... Just remember that not everyone using the internet does so for entirely aboveboard reasons. On to more positive things. Our internet cafe will be opening shortly, providing free wireless access to residents of Pranker's Wycke. Hope to see you in store soon!

Bertie Spellend

Jobs

The Jilly Chisholm Seminal Depository in Pranker's Wycke is looking for a General Manager.

To be the successful candidate in this challenging environment you will have a wide range of skills. An achiever yourself, you will find our labs brimming with the crème de la crème.

Importantly in our trust-based service, you must be open to client input and not tight-lipped in a customer-facing scenario. Our many busy periods mean you must be willing to lend a hand, and will be responsive and sensitive in such a hands-on situation.

Whilst not overly ambitious, you are eager to suc-
ceed. Perhaps most importantly in this intimate work-place you will enjoy being on the job and will communicate this positivity to others, letting them see the relish on your face.

Please apply to:

Wilma Spank
Sample Management
The Jilly Chisholm Seminal Depository
11-15 Hertinmer Square
Pranker's Wycke

Notices

Deaths
Regretfully we announce the untimely passing of Mat Bounter aged 52, who died peacefully after a short illness – rabies. Matthew, a taxidermist by trade, was a well-known character around Pranker’s Wycke and, despite his preservation methods not always being accepted amongst the wider profession, was never without work. He could always be found tool in hand in the back of his shop, bent double stuffing an old dog or mounting a pipistrelle.
Mr Bounter will not be sadly missed by his mother and two ferrets.

Gavin Haysecks Hurts Inside

Fole Hilling 32-7 Pranker’s Wycke

Pranker’s Wycke RFC player-coach, Gavin Haysecks, was close to tears yesterday as his inexperienced side suffered a thrashing at the hands of an impressive team from Fole Hilling.

"The shower room was a disgusting place to be," said Haysecks after the match. "We didn't just lose, we were beaten, and that really hurts."

The troubled coach praised Duncan Spash, his lightening fast winger, who opened the scoring by beating three players off before forcing his way in. For the majority of the opening 15 minutes however, Pranker’s Wycke looked far from convincing as the errors began to pile up.

Fole Hilling's ferocious pack soon surged over to bring the scores level, and then the humiliation began. "We just opened up our backs to a relentless onslaught," conceded Haysecks. "Their huge tackles just kept coming."

The start of the second half saw no let up for Haysecks's side, now trailing by 22-7 as the visitors continued to dominate proceedings. Within minutes, a combination of quick hands and a lovely toss ended in a spurt over the line for the Fole Hilling captain.

The Pranker's Wycke faithful who were waiting for a second coming were to be disappointed. "We gave them the opportunity and they finished us off once and for all," admitted the burly player-coach.

Broken and exhausted, the home team continued to make unforced errors, ultimately allowing Fole Hilling to slot one in just before the final whistle. “I have got to admit that was a poor performance, we will now have our routine debrief in the changing room, where I will get to the bottom of this," gasped a breathless Haysecks leaving the field. "We are a team; we all had our own parts in that performance."

"We will rise again, we need a victory, and we’ll pull one off together," replied Haysecks positively when asked where Pranker's Wycke RFC could go from here.

Sister Foundly's Inner Piece

Dear Parishioners,

For a few months I've been toying with the idea of running a weblog to offer spiritual guidance and comfort to my neighbours and fellow men and women of Pranker's Wycke. Goodness knows we need all the support we can get in this day and age where filth is the currency and degradation is seen as a virtue.

Why, only the other day after my new internet connection had been set up by Bertie Spellend, that nice young fellow who runs the computer shop on the high street, I began 'surfing' the 'net' as they say, and was confronted by the most shocking and abominable images I had ever seen.

The extremes of sexual depravity had to be seen to be believed, and I continued browsing them, trying to understand the despair that must have overtaken these attractive young men and women as they posed for the cameras in endlessly inventive and sinful configurations.

Feeling it my duty to plumb the depths of this dark corner of human experience, the better to understand these poor lost souls, I registered with a number of these pornographic image providers, entering my credit card details into the appropriate boxes on the online application forms.

Before long the obscene material was flooding onto my desktop, and I examined it for hours, forcing myself to feel what these misguided individuals must have felt as they performed such acts, one upon the other.

Spent and drained by the end of the evening, I shut down the browser at last. However the images continued to appear before my closed eyes, the naked bodies writhing in their own sweat; particularly some of the live performances that I had witnessed via a video feed. I had been able to initiate such carnal acts with a mere click of my finger on the mouse.

What sort of world do we live in, I asked myself again, where such devilry can be summoned with so little effort? I cleansed my computer, deleting the downloaded internet files and cookies, as Bertie had shown me earlier that same day, and prayed over it that the internet be delivered from evil.

I went to bed, wondering what new depths of shame I should encounter online the following day.

With blessings and glad tidings,

Sister Foundly