Churches to donate £4,488,890.63 to Local Rehab Centre

The Glossop Council of Churches has had a whip-round amongst all its congregation, the staff of local shops, the manager of Betfred and even a couple of cider drinkers on a park bench, to raise funds for St Lightfinger, the local rehab centre for kleptomaniacs.

Reverend Mudskipper (St Botolph's) explained to The Pangolin that they were sick and tired of the centre's residents being kleptomaniacs in the local area. "They've had all the tiles off the roof, all the hymn books and even a jolly good go at the font - which was a bit worrying because that's actually carved out of a stalagmite growing in the Lady Chapel.  What we're hoping is that either this generous sum will cure this bunch of wankers, or provide proper security so they can't get out.  You can buy a lot of manacles for over £4,000,000.63".

The manager of St Lightfinger, Persimmon Crump, was unavailable for comment because someone had nicked his trousers.

Some more Pangolin followers...

...Though they're too shy to add themselves to the list on the right hand side.  OK, that and the Pangolin staff couldn't be arsed to make up fake contact details for them either.

Anyway, our new found friends are none other than the Glossop and Crump Fell Silver Band
(left to right)
Oh, and the gentleman seated, far left, Mr Oswald Fannie, isn't a member of the band and merely sat down for a bit of a rest.
Where was I... ah, yes...
(left to right)
Bloke in topper – Sir Edgar Ffinch (patron), Harold Cramp, Claude Cramp, Billy Cramp, Freddie Mountjoy, Tom Bowler, James Bowell, Alfred Grone, Humphrey Minge (second topper), Arnold Pantleg.

Oswald Ferrett, Moses Halfacre, Cornish Complin, Rupert Sneeze, Bertie Funknettle, Thomas Newt, Jamie Diggle, Harry Testicle, Albert Gloopwood and Jeremy Bum.

Septimus Cramp, Bartleby Fiddlestick, Penry Fotherington-Thomas, 'Whiffy' Lavender, Gwydr Penfossil, Germain Silverfish, Walter Kronk, Seamus Dugong, Bobby Lemmings, Julius Phart and the little one, whose name nobody can remember but who smelt of wee.

(With kind permission from Denis Dowland)

On This Day

Twenty Years Ago

Villagers took to the street of Poltriddle in Cornwall to celebrate Mouldy Thursday with the traditional marching band and throwing of pasties. There was face-painting for the children.

Eighty-Two Years Ago

In a wireless broadcast to the nation Professor E M Stroab of Cambridge explained, with some amusing examples, how study of the Social Sciences could directly influence our plans for the economy and future approaches to government spending. Thus, it was possible to extrapolate from present-day social trends underlying changes that might have profound consequences for manufacturing and the import of raw materials. He could imagine a day, for example, when hats might be worn in public only on formal occasions. Instead, all men and women, regardless of class or gender, would put on a cap when leaving the house. This was the kind of brave new world that the entrepreneur of today should already be planning ahead for.

Thirty Years Ago

Members of the Keep Britain Untidy movement were out in force around Peterborough and surrounding countryside, putting on a show of litter to brighten every verge and hedgerow. At an awards evening held in the Civic Centre car park, prizes were given to top distributors in each district and the prize-wrappings released into the air.

Jury dismissed after Judge chews his own foot off

A Jury at the Old Bailey were dismissed today when the Judge simply gave up in despair.

The trial concerned one Cindy Spanker (62), who was accused of shoplifting three cases of Havana cigars and an inflatable rubber dolphin after her husband Ronnie (28) was arrested with them in his pocket and denied all knowledge.  She is pleading 'Not Guilty' on the grounds of marital coercion.
"My Ronnie's such a tinker", she pleaded. "He threatened to hide my pile cream if I didn't take the rap. That, AND let all the pigeons out of the flat."

Justice Fergus Thumbs (124) was getting jolly fed up with the silly questions pouring forth from the Jury;  while jurors are generally encouraged to improve their general knowledge and moral probity by asking questions of wise and learned gentlemen, it transpired that they had arrived at the Central Criminal Court by accident, thinking that they were going to be extras for a broadcast of 'Rumpole of the Bailey'.

Justice Thumbs was seen hopping from the Court muttering that he'd not seen anything so ridiculous since 'Today in Parliament' and 'The Muppets Show'.  The questions he particularly objected to were the following:

• Why are you wearing that stupid wig?  Anyone can see it doesn't fit you.
• Are you allowed to say that the defendant's a nutjob?
• Given the large number miscarriages of justice in British legal history, should we just settle this one by a toss of the coin?
• Have you got a 50p piece? (please refer to previous question).
• Where's the lavatory?

Justice Thumbs was last spotted in a small café just round the corner.  It looked as though he had been crying, and the waitress was trying to console him with a raspberry lollipop.

And here's a nice, mellow, gardening piece

(We craved and begged for permission from Andrew Birch from this one. )

Porno-Pang Revelations Dangerous

...writes Pangolin’s Social Affairs Correspondent, Wilf Conks.

It's not Wilf Conks, obviously. I made that up. You can’t go using your real name with this sort of thing, can you? Anyway, you might imagine my distress on reading the filth just published on what, up until now, has been my favourite blog.

Pangolin has always been, for me, a rich source of intentionally meaningless drivel as opposed to the meaningful drivel put about by the Government. It seems now that this organ is going the way of all flesh, featuring as it has, carrots with willies. These images serve to confuse adolescent minds and indeed, several cases of young people involved in “veggie-shagging” have been brought to my notice.

Adolescents are strange alien creatures possessing a very high degree of suggestibility. Despite having access to centrally heated homes, they prefer to loll about in the freezing cold in ‘bus shelters drinking cider and spitting.

Unless the type of morally questionable material made available on Pangolin recently is removed, and never repeated, parents may soon find their sons and daughters shacked up with a turnip. Or worse, a sexually deviant cabbage. An immediate return to the sexual mores of old is needed and I offer my own, very typical experience as an example.

Many of my generation owe their controlled sexual awakenings to Country Dancing, an allegedly joyful activity once common throughout the land in the austere days after the Second World War. My primary school possessed a gramophone, several records, a relatively large assembly hall and the educative services of Miss Finch, a diminutive (except in Certain Areas) but enthusiastic Country Dancer. At least once a week, my class gathered together in the hall where Miss Finch unleashed upon us The Circassian Circle, or the awesome, nay terrifying, Long Eight, accompanied by insistent tunes which can best be described as “Diddley, diddley, diddle dee dee (rpt)”. Every session began with a solo demonstration from Miss Finch who, by dint of Nature’s Lottery, had a formidable chest. The Long Eight is still seared into my mind, involving as it did swift springing side-skips the length of the hall to a rising crescendo of Diddley-diddley diddle dee dee.

And back.

Gravity and momentum made this a terrifying sight for young children and I was not alone in suspecting that Miss Finch had concealed under her stylish Arran sweater a struggling black market piglet.

Of course, this was not the case, and it was only a sotto voce comment from Mr Hardcastle, the Deputy Head, known to all as “The Ferret”, and who always seemed to be passing down the hall during Miss Finch’s demonstrations which encouraged pennies to drop in my little mind. Mr Hardcastle went “Phwoarrrr” under his breath just as Miss Finch bore down upon him prior to executing a vigorous about face and bouncing away again.

Then a bell rang and we did Geography.

So perhaps I don’t blame The Pangolin for its recent moral descent. The fault lies in our education system and its lack of Country Dancing. A deep rooted fear of substantial female chests, Arran sweaters and The Archers theme have kept me free from the terrors of sexual deviance for many years.

Pango Porn... or should that be Porno Pang?

Hundreds of you have written (mostly in green ink) about the lack of pornography on The Pangolin.  You arrive at this site, lured by promises like 'UK Magazine to Publish Nude Photos of Several People' only to find that nearly all the people have kept their clothes on.  Not only that, but their clothes consist of plus-fours, Sherlock Holmes style capes, wellington boots and camiknickers.  And that's just the blokes.

Sally-Ann Twatt (74) from Eastrington, Goole, is a typical moaner:  "Eeee... if I'd known that all I was going to be treated to were photos of earwigs, pictures of dust from a looney bin and small ads from people who look like they've escaped from t'looney bin... why, I'd sooner have cleared out ma understairs cupboard!"

Andrezj Hankipankiewicz (13) of Tooting is similarly unimpressed: "Write more, thats all I hаve to say. Literally, it seems as though you relіed on the videо tо make yоur роint. Υou obviouѕly know what youre talkіng about, whу wаѕte your іntellіgenсe on just posting vidеos to уour weblog when you could bе giving us something enlightenіng tο reаd?"

This one baffled us, as there's nobody on The Pangolin staff who knows how to work a video.  He must have been referring to that one of 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' which Murgatroyd found underneath the sofa cushion that time.

Some of you have clearly given up in despair, like Norman Chatterly-Penguin (14) from Totnes.  "I will watch out for brussels.  Meanwhile,  check out my website: 'The House of Commons Unfrocked'."

Of course, such a concerted campaign from our readers is not to be ignored, so here's the first of what promises to be a fruity series of postcards:

Glossop Woman Finds Jesus!

Maxine Fishwick (27) was resting at home yesterday after the shock of her life. “It was the shock of my life”, said mother of three Maxine.

“We was just coming out of Aldi with the shopping an' that, and I noticed the boot of my car was open a little bit. My partner Duane is always fixing it.

When I opened it, there was a bearded man dressed in like a long nightie lying in it. I asked him what he thought he was doing and who he was and he muttered “Jesus”, scrambled out, and ran away.”

Father Brendan Ghastlie (48) of Our Lady and Everything Else church in Glossop commented, “Well, as they say, The Lord moves in mysterious ways, but I have my doubts about whether this was Jesus. The Son of God wouldn’t be seen dead in the boot of a ten year old Skoda."

Happy V D!

Some Pangolin Careers Advice

From time to time, some of us in the sock-pairing industry may be motivated to leave our jobs and go and find another one.

However, you will find that the next person you want to pay you for turning up several days in a row may want to ask awkward questions as to why you no longer wish to spend your waking hours acting as an introduction agent to errant items of hosiery.

Here are some things not to say, even if they're true.  They'll make the person interviewing you think you're a pillock:

• Fired (out of a large cannon)
• Injured on the job (see above).  But see also: http://www.irishhealth.com/article.html?id=2391.  If you can't be arsed to look it up, the article states that 'socks, vegetables, trousers and even leaves are a cause of serious injury and hospitalisation.'  However, for reasons of confidentiality, they are not able to disclose how 750 people were admitted to hospital following incidents with bath sponges, or how over 100 people injured themselves with tea cosies.
• Marital problems.  Especially, don't give details of where you buried your spouse.
• Arrested.  Unless it's for herding cattle over London Bridge without a licence.
• Frequently over six weeks late for work.
• Didn't get along with others.  Keep especially quiet about where you put the bodies (see 'marital problems').
• Low pay.  Yep, you need to keep quiet about the fact that the company you work for needed your bank details so that they could clear out your account to finance the Managing Director's penchant for naughty ladies.
  
  They'd never believe you.

… and now, In Our Time, with Evelyn Bagg…

Evelyn:

Thanks - today’s discussion focuses, as always, on an obscure dead person who hardly anybody’s heard of and of those who have, only three think is interesting. Let me introduce our panel – academics all and damned lucky to get any funding these days from that Philistine, Gove.

First, Emeritus Professor of, amongst other things, Yodelling, Dr P J Whimbrel. 

To his left is Dr Marjorie Sideways, acknowledged expert in early Greek string, and, finally, Dr Kurt Ekkelzkake whose exhaustive studies into the effectiveness of human saliva as an adhesive lead us neatly to today’s subject, Carl-Heinz Gruber the much-overlooked and some would say crap mid 20^th century composer. Marjorie Sideways, perhaps you’d like to kick us off….

Marj:

Well, yes, thank you – Carpericles was a 2nd Century AD hermit who lived, legend has it, in an empty yak on the southern shore of the Aral Sea, close to trading routes. He was notorious in that area for leaping out of the yak to shower abuse on passing caravans. The recently translated writings of Simon of Dyptheria suggest that Carpericles shouted things like, “Why don’t you f…”

Evelyn:

Excellent, excellent Marjorie – that gives us a real flavour of the man. Professor Whimbrel…

Marj:

Hang on – I haven’t finished…it was the writings of Simon about the mysterious Carpericles which inspired Gruber to write his first symphony – a haunting work which captures the peculiar acoustics which can only be heard inside an empty yak.

Evelyn:

Ah! Right, right, I see....

Marj:

AND he was the first western composer to use custard in brass instruments.

Evelyn:

Well there you go. I never knew that. Professor Whimbrel, you…

Marj:

AND he anticipated Cage’s 4.3 Minutes of Silence, by leaving the entire third movement empty. Hauntingly yak-like.

Prof Whimbrel:

Oh for God’s sake woman, will you stop blathering on. You’ve had your turn. Besides, we all know that Gruber was a shite composer!

Ekkelzkake:

Absolutely! Gruber voss a ver bad composer, musician and person. He deserves to be forgotten.

Evelyn:

Well that’s really opened things up. Professor Whimbrel, you were saying …?

Prof Whimbrel:

Yes I was, wasn’t I? Before I was interrupted by an expert on Greek string! Huh, Greek string! How bloody useless is THAT?

Marj:

That’s typical of you, Whimbrel – pouring scorn on the achievements of others whilst lording it in your college rooms yodelling. Wimpy Whimbrel! that’s what they used to call him you know – Wimpy Whimbrel, the Yousless Yodeller!

(sounds of mikes being scuffed and furniture overturning)

Marj:

Aaaagh!

Prof Whimbrel:

Uuurgh!

Ekkelzkake:

Vy iss der recordink not beink turned off? Der little red light iss still shinink. Also, Gruber interfered mit goats.

Evelyn:

Ah, well, now… nobody can say that passions don’t run high on In Our Time. Now that Professor Whimbrel has found his dentures and Dr Sideways her pills, let’s push on with Dr Ekkelscake’s interesting assertions with regards to Gruber’s work with animals.

Ekkelzkake:

Ja, ja, he vos ver interested in der vocal capabilities of der goats undt secured der verds off well-known songs to zer faces mit zer old-fashioned brown paper schticky tape vot you heff to spit on. Zen he would try to accompany zer goats on his gong.

Evelyn:

Fascinating stuff – absolutely fascinating, and I read here in your notes that whilst no recordings of Gruber’s goats survive, his neighbours reported a passable rendition of Handel’s Messiah from time to time. And with that, I’m afraid time’s beaten us so…

Marj (for it is she):

I’d just like to add that to the true scholar, Gruber was a pioneer. Only small closed minds could think him otherwise.

Prof Whimbrel:

How about a medium sized closed fist?

Pip, pip, pip, peep, pip. This is BBC Radio 4...

(With kind permission from Denis Dowland)

Pangolin Obituary

Benjamin Thrupp

14/2/1890 - 31/1/2013

Benji was an unusual cove in that he looked like this all his life; there are recorded instances of hairy uncles and damp aunts peering into his cradle and needing intensive counselling shortly afterwards.  He was well known for attending society balls and totally failing to get off with anyone.  He therefore leaves no direct descendants.

He is neverthless fondly remembered by all devotees of orange peel teeth, a cosmetic enhancement he pioneered.  The idea for his brilliant invention came to him one morning while looking into the mirror to pick his zits.

One of his favourite pastimes was to stick a teaspoon into an electric socket, which maintained his distinctive hairdo. Unfortunately a power surge in the kitchen at The Terrapins (his favoured country retreat) led to his demise and an increase in buildings insurance premiums in the Tadcaster area.

On This Day

Ten Years Ago

In her keynote speech to members of the Cliché Preservation Society meeting in Eastbourne, Chair Dorothy Parboyle issued a welcome aboard to all new recruits and went on to promise a roll-out of exciting new initiatives, all in the pipeline. At the end of the day, when all was said and done, conference closed with a dinner dance.

Eighteen Years Ago

Organisers of an illustrated talk in Hemel Hempstead, entitled ’25 Years of Polar Adventure’, were forced to cancel the event when the guest speaker, explorer Gritley Pococke, was unable to get to the Haberdashers’ Hall in the adverse weather conditions that prevailed.

Four and a Half Years Ago

For the sixth year running the Nudd Cup for champion grower at Bawsmore Horticultural Society show went to Trevor Nudd, who also carried off the awards for Largest Marrow, Longest Bean and Most Annoying Pillock on the Allotments.

Pangolin News Flash!!!

A warrant to search a property in Pricklebottom Terrace, Bude, was obtained from court following complaints by residents and business owners of a strong smell of skunk coming from there.  An illicit skunk farm, with an estimated street value of £100,000, was detected in two bedrooms and the downstairs bathroom.

Brian Cootiebiscuits of Bude Neighbourhood Police Team, said: "I was overwhelmed by the number of local people from the local area approaching local officers with their local concerns. It didn't take very long, and I found the right house", he wheezed.  "You could tell by the erratic behaviour of three pigeons and an earthworm in the front garden."

Apparently local schoolchildren had been in the habit of releasing the animals into local school premises approximately ten minutes before maths lessons, Monday - Friday.

PC Cootiebiscuits continued: “The supply of skunks has a huge impact on local communities and today’s find and arrests send out a strong message that Bude Police will act on every piece of information.  Our streets will be all the safer for not having all those schoolkids wandering aimlessly around not doing mathematics.”

A 91-year-old man and a 13-year-old boy remain in custody for questioning.

From the Archives of Glossop Weed Museum

1. Bondage weed (convulvulus erotica)

This is also known as the Boston Fern Strangler, so called because it will cheerfully throttle everything in its path. That includes abandoned cars and careless houses. It’s got a very chequered history, of course. One example was recently awarded First Prize in a ‘Longest Weed Contest’ held by Cheadle Hulme W.I.; while its relative in Mobberley was awarded an ASBO!

The photograph below shows what happened during a rather careless 'Teddy Bears' Picnic' about five miles outside Buglawton, taken in about 1963.

Latest Exhibition at the Glossop Museum of Pictures an' That

Wise Gardening Worms, sorry, Words

Nissan McNightie of Peebles says he’s new to gardening but he’ll try anything once! He's written to us in a state of distress:

“Dear Pangolin Gardening Staff,

My potted plant fell over; I mean - the plant collapsed, leaving the pot standing. Then I noticed loads of ‘C’ shaped grubs in the compost. I find only having ‘C’ shapes really cuts down on the number of words I can make from them. What are these grubs, and how can I get more letters?”

Melinda, our typist who once typed a letter 'j' by accident in 1956 and hasn't typed anything since, was quick to leap to his assistance:

“What you have here are vine weevil larvae (Noraholius leafius). These dangerous little blighters will eat just about anything that grows in a pot – even your stew or risotto. All vine weevils are female, and as for virgin birth – they bring tears to the eyes of the Catholic Church! Although they’re ‘C’ shaped, put ‘em together carefully and you can make a little letter ‘A’, too. For other letters, including fancy stuff like ‘&’ and ‘@’ – you can’t do better than earthworms (genus Longthinslimius). They beat the so-called ‘Spelling Bee’ into a cocked hat! Or you could just buy a game of Scrabble.”

'I asked for a dog whistle'

On This Day

Thirty-Nine Years Ago

Details were scarce when it was disclosed that an unnamed member of the Yorkshire County Bowls Squad had defected to Lancashire.

Fifty Years Ago

Among the items sold at a church bring-and-buy sale in East Sussex was a small Monet. The study in oils, ‘Red Rose with Two Petals Fallen Off in Front’ was by Thelma Monet of Hurstwittering and sold for 1s 9d.

Twelve Years Ago

Search and Rescue teams from the Lomond area were brought into Glasgow to help find a group of women feared missing in Marks & Spencer. The party of three, described as experienced shoppers, failed to return to the car-park by nightfall, but were found next morning, wandering in a confused state close to a shelter they had scraped out between soft furnishings and lingerie.

"You know the rules, Hugo.  Piano practice first.  Then and only then may you go hangin' wid yo bruvvas in the bus  shelter drinking cider."

Dear Lady Violet,

I had heard that the Moonies offered a brainwashing service, but decided not to go for it.  My problem is not having dirty thoughts but, rather, a total lack of them.  Or any action in that department whatsoever.

I nicked a whole pile of pornographic magazines from under my brother's bed, and I couldn't understand any of it.

And who is St George anyway?

Yours in anticipation, 

Lettice Basilisk (Miss)

Pensnett

Lady V:  Dear Miss Basilisk,

Oddly, St George was a Moonie. He caused a dragon to have a fatal heart attack by showing it his bottom. At the time he had several boils. The lack of dirty thoughts is a state much sought by the majority of the population. Just count yourself lucky.

Dear Lady Violet,

Every time I go out for a swim, I get pursued by an irritating bunch of blokes in a Pequod.  They just won't leave it alone.  I've tried chomping the leg off one of them, but even that didn't put the blighter off.  

When will they get the message and just leave me be?

Yours,

Moby Dick (no relation to Spotted Dick)

The Sea

Lady V: Dear Mr Dick,

You are white and forty feet long. Get used to it.

Dear Lady Violet,

I recently put an advert on an online dating site.  In the bit where it said you had to describe your dream partner, I meant to put 'sporty type' and instead I hit the wrong key and put 'spotty type'.

Do you think I should go back and change it?

Yours,

Hubert Blenkinsopp

Sark

Lady V: Dear Mr Blenkinsopp,

Do they do sport on Sark? Isn’t it too small for anything beyond petanque? Boules to you. With a name like yours and your geographic location having absolutely no society worth mentioning, I should forget the flawless complexion thing immediately and just be grateful if any young gel, spotty or otherwise, replies at all.