Pangolin News Flash

Acclaimed bear hunter, Weevil Boreholes, has mysteriously vanished whilst on a trip in Yellowstone National Park. His mobile phone was left at the scene of a grizzly bear death, with only one photograph on it (see below). Anyone who can offer any information as to his whereabouts or last movements, please contact the Park Rangers on +1 307-344-7381 as it is feared he may be the victim of a poucher.

Great News! Secretary of State for Education visits Glossop Museum of Pictures an' That!

Michael Grope, Secretary of State for Education, has paid a visit to Glossop Museum of Pictures an' That - his main focus was the educational programme, and he's given us his customary level of encouragement.  Exciting day for the Museum indeed! The kids who were there as part of the Heritage Day had a great opportunity to try out the vintage weapons in a real life situation as they clashed with the minister's army, before continuing their potato prints based on the work of Henri Matisse. The final score was 5:3.

There was face painting for the under-fives.

Pangolin Gossip

 Pangolin Award Winner, Gertie Balloons, has just caused scandal by dressing up in a bin liner with holes cut in strategic places and wiggling her ass in public. The ass has been impounded by the RSPCA, but this has not deterred the singer/actress/model/brainless sleb as she promotes her latest album, Norks on the Wild Side.

Gertie Balloons' 'scandalous attire'

Balloons (20, 30 or 48, depending on who you believe) is particularly keen on the new phenomenon known as 'Twonking', where you make movements suggestive of acts normally carried out in private - such as cleaning out your ears with a cotton bud, and removing crab lice.

She then posted pictures of herself on the social networking site, FaceFlannel. These caused consternation partly because of her scanty attire and partly because she is known for having a body type tending towards the spherical, and the offending photos were far more of the hourglass type. Significantly, her face isn't visible, and the rumour mongers think it isn't her at all.

One of several controversial FaceFlannel
pics - is this Gertie at all?

Or has she used a stunt double?

Drawn from Life

On This Day...

Fifty Years Ago

Reunited with their families were a young couple from Cornwall who had left their respective homes in the early hours of Sunday with the intention of eloping to Gretna. However, two days of train delays and missed rail connections soon turned high spirits into frustration, recrimination and anger. Finally, engineering works on the line at Didcot caused the unnamed pair to re-think their future. On reaching Birmingham, they travelled home, in separate carriages.

Sixty Years Ago

It was reported that Government boffins working in Wiltshire had achieved an extraordinary breakthrough that could profoundly alter our understanding of the laws of physics. Pending the outcome of talks at the highest level, no further details could be supplied at the time of writing.

One Hundred Years Ago

Archaeologists in Wiltshire were forced to abandon work on a site near Salisbury when excavations of three barrows and an underlying henge failed to yield the hoped-for signs of treasure trove. Blaming grave robbers for the absence of precious finds, team leader Fortinbrass Hudspole declared the site null and void, ordering that it be ploughed over and re-instated as farmland.

Pangolin Poetry

Tracy’s bed and Damien’s shark

Left the punters in the dark.

Is it Art or a bit of malarkey ?

“Who cares ? It sells !” said wily old Saatchi.

View from Civic Hall

As our seasonal revels fade from memory and we crawl towards the cool respite of Autumn, it falls to me as Council Leader to reflect on the wonderful summer we’ve just enjoyed. The town festival went so well that the incident with the runaway traction engine has been almost entirely forgotten and work will soon begin to rebuild the war memorial flattened during that terrible accident, along with the wall outside the town hall, the corner of the police station, the Putney childcare centre, Uncle Bob’s Hot Dog stand, and the east wing of the hospital. Civic engineers estimate the damage will cost us £2.5 million, though we are delighted to report that the festival did raise nearly £750 towards our new swimming arena.

On a more upbeat note, the winner of the tombola was ticket 287. As yet, the prize remains unclaimed. So, if you do want to win a meal for two in the company of Mr and Mrs Edgeshaw, the town historians, find that ticket and prepare yourself for six hours (or five courses, whichever is longer) of the finest municipal tales!

Turning to council business, I today instructed the town’s engineers to look again at the potholes which local cyclists brought to our attention at the last council meeting. Cyclists are always prone to exaggerate about the size of our potholes but I accept that those on High Street are considerably larger than the national average. Sadly, the search for cycle club member, Mr George Leadbarrow, has now been called off after he fell into the pothole on Sandshaw Drive, Bareman Road, and the Cricket Club. The good news is that after the recent heavy weather, the Cricket Club has asked permission to rename itself The Angler’s Club and they are now accepting membership applications to fish the pothole which the council have graciously voted to name Prunefield Lake. I am, of course, delighted by the honour, as well as having more proof that the short termism I introduced to borough planning is again showing long term rewards.

Next month, we should have some exciting news to report about the closure of our library. I know there has been a lot of local anger about this necessary cut in council provisions but I believe that will be more than alleviated by the news that we’re already in advanced discussions to convert the old reading rooms it into a beauty salon and tattoo studio. As I’m sure it says in the good book: where there was knowledge, let there be light! Ultraviolet light, fully compliant with The Sunbeds (Regulation) Act 2010 and costing only £4.50 an hour and brought to you by the good people at Prunefield Healthcare (‘The skin of a ninety year old, today!’™).

Thought for the Day, from Justin Webly, more or less Arch. of Cant.

Hullo,

When I showed the rough draft of what you’re about to read below to the young man with the wire in his ear, he threw his hands in the air and said, “Archie (his amusing nickname for me) Archie, you can’t go public with this. They’ll have your guts for garters! Look at the embarrassment you caused for some of Mr Osborne’s friends when you had a pop at Wonga. I’ll tell you Archie, straight up, one or two of them were muttering about getting rid of this turbulent priest. What’s turbulent mean, Archie? So scrap it, eh? Write something nice. Something about flowers and trees and birdies and how grateful we should be to God for them.” 

Then he screwed up the rough draft and ate it.

So here I am, tucked secretly into one of the gardener’s wheelie bins, since my hiding place behind the organ was discovered. Its pretty cramped, so the writing might be a bit wobbly.

Anyway, what I wanted to comment upon is the dire situation in Egypt. What’s going on there is ammunition for those who say that religion causes more conflict than peace, and I have to admit that they’ve got a point. What’s needed in Egypt is a far more relaxed and laid-back approach to Belief. Same goes for Northern Ireland. Being a Catholic or a Protestant does not mean that you are compelled to hurl lumps of concrete at the Police. And if marching about wearing silly bowler hats causes – now what’s the word? Yobs. That’s it. Yobs to hurl lumps of concrete at the Police, stop marching about in silly bowler hats. I mean, its not the coolest of headgear, is it?

The need to be cool in Egypt is even more pressing because there, if voters or yobs feel obliged to hurl concrete at the authorities, namely the army, the army will shoot them and they will become dead. 

That’s what armies do.

I really don’t know where I’m going with this, and it was at this point that the young man with the wire in his ear ate the rough draft earlier today. And I have the most excruciating cramp in my left leg. I’m afraid I am forced to abandon this missive and exit the wheelie bin. If I raise the lid slightly I can see there’s nobody coming… must get this to my carrier pigeon… need to rock the bin a bit to tip it over…am now crashing sideways, covered in mulch and earwigs, whilst thinking desperately, what would Jesus have done?

A Letter from Dragvonia (we don't get too many of those)

Dearly Mr Pagnolin,

                                     Onkel Bippi is here and  bring always you greetings from Dragvonia House of Carton to all cartonists with in our heart love.

Here in Hose of Carton all we are beliving in power of carton not guns. Dragvonia have many guns and many cartonists. Sometime more, sometime less, depend on Secret Police.

                                        House of Carton invite you enter Dragvonia House of Caarton Grand Carrton Contest. Please to chose one of below subjec.

[1] “ Funy Side of Ethnic  Cleansing”

[2] “Tesco Wages Poor But They Love Me Anyway”

[2] “ Miroslav Grolbutzikov is Animal”

[4] “ What To Do With Mental Patients”

Please to send to me at sectreting adres : Avenue T34 Tank

                                                                                  Skrib Nodol 12786397

                                                                                   Dragvonia.

First Prize; Golden Flak Jacket of Fun and 37 million viggis

Second Prize; 10 million viggis

Third Prize; A Big Kiss from Onkel Bippi

Also, Peoples Prize, decided by Secret Police.

Pangolin Poetry

Eons ago, on the walls of Altamira,

Worked cave painters Ted, and his squeeze, lovely Vera,

All jokes were visual, as they toiled day and night,

These graphic pioneers hadn’t a clue how to write.

Episode 5: Bloatmingle is tormented by searing flesh and burning thumbs

Previously on Bloatmingle of the Yard...

A female person, quite possibly a woman, has been identified as Dorothy Aileen Knickerthwaite. She was discovered apparently deceased behind the counter of her own corsetry shop - Dorothy Knickerthwaite's Corsetry shop.

Chillingly, she was observed to be grasping a note bearing the words "TOMMY NO-NOSE DONE IT". The story continues...

“Curses!” gritted Bloatmingle. “I knew it! Tommy No-nose eh? You know what this means, Spiggot?”

“Erm, well, erm, are we looking for some cove wivaht a hooter Sir?” suggested the tubby P.C.

“Of course not!” snapped Bloatmingle, relighting his pipe. Beryl’s Old Shag, normally a splendid smoke and recommended by men of action throughout the Empire, did not react well to being wet through. Soon though, thanks to Bloatmingle’s powerful lungs and muscular lips, clouds of blue smoke filled the room.

“Don’t you see, Spiggot? That note is a ruse. A damned cunning one at that.”

“A ruse, Sir?" asked the puzzled bobby. “But surely if it says the No-Nose geezer done it, we should go and nab ‘im?"

Bloatmingle sighed. This boy wasn’t destined to be a high-flyer.

“No Spiggot, we shouldn’t,” explained Bloatmingle patiently. “Tommy No-Nose doesn’t have the brain, the fiendish guile for this. He’s just hired muscle. Poisoning corsets is simply not his game.” 

Bloatmingle paused, surveying the room with his steely blue eyes. “No Spiggot, this is the work of someone far more deadly, and far more cunning, someone who has given me the slip more times than I care to remember. That note is a forgery, Spiggot, written by none other than…” Bloatmingle paused, partly for effect and partly because Old Beryl’s Shag was well alight now, as was Bloatmingle’s left thumb. 

The ace ‘tec sprang across the room to the sink, extinguished his thumb, turned to face Spiggot and the other two bobbies and said three words – three words which caused all who heard to blanch and visibly tremble…“Doctor Hercules Peasemold!"

"Dr Hercules Peasemold!” echoed the assembled bobbies except for Spiggot who said, “Dr Percules Heasemold”, conversational Spoonerisms being his forte.

“Yes,” said Bloatmingle, his razor sharp brain processing all the facts, a feat impossible for lesser men. “Hercules Peasemold. Who else would lead us on this apparently inexplicable dance but him? He loves to torment and challenge the Law of the Land!”

 At that moment, Constable Spiggot, fumbling in the pocket of his uniform, held out a small portion of squashed meat and potato pie. “’Ere you are Sir, you deserve this – what with processing all the facts wot lesser men couldn’t and everything.”

Bloatmingle accepted the humble gift, realizing that whilst Spiggot was as thick as pig shit, his heart was in the right place.

Bloatmingle sprang to his feet. “Right”, he said firmly as he deftly set fire to his left thumb. “This is what we’re going to do!”, his words muffled by the hiss of water on hot flesh. “Spiggot – you check whether Mrs Knickerthwaite is actually dead. Fittock, you and Whatsisname – organize a car and draw two service pistols. We are going calling!”

“Draw pistols sir?” asked Fittock. “I can only do them side on. I’m no good at perspective.”

Bloatmingle sighed, grasped the phone and did it himself. At that moment, with a screech of tyres, a Police Humber pulled up outside. “Well done Whatsisname” called Bloatmingle and beckoned the two constables on board. As they settled themselves in the Humber’s roomy interior, the driver turned and handed Bloatmingle two black Webley service revolvers. “Excellent!” shouted Bloatmingle above the roar of the Humber’s powerful engine. “Slight tappet chatter and something of a small end knock there," he thought, but there was no time to address that problem.

Instead, he shouted to the driver, "Number 37 Dead Man’s Wharf, and step on it!”

Latest acquisition by Glossop Museum of Pictures an' That

Pangolin Science

Why DO slugs climb up garage walls? Dr P J Whimbrel and a team of people in white coats with torches and rubber gloves try to find the answer.

Dr Whimbrel:

“Well, its something which has puzzled me for years. Is there something desirable on garage roofs ? Is it a competition? Are garage walls in Slug World like mountains are to humans? Do they climb them because they’re there?

First, we took a garage wall, being careful of course, to prop up the remaining structure so as not to alarm the householder when he or she returned.

Back at the laboratory, having rebuilt the garage wall, we placed it in situ under powerful electric lights which we switched off so as to reproduce night time conditions. During the preceding two days we had collected 32 slugs. These varied greatly in colour and size, but all, we noticed with interest, were covered in what appeared to be snot. This in itself was a minor breakthrough because, as we all know, slugs do not have noses. 

Using our rubber gloves and our torches, my team and I took four slugs each and placed them at the foot of our garage wall.

At first, nothing happened. Then I realised that shining powerful torches on them made the slugs think it was daytime, and as we all know, slugs do not climb up garage walls during the hours of daylight. I immediately ordered my team to turn their torches off. No sooner had the laboratory been plunged into darkness than we all heard what can only be described as snotlike noises coming from the darkened garage wall. Using a MkIII Directional Noise Detector I realised that the noises were moving upwards at some speed. I swiftly ordered that the powerful electric lights be switched back on. At the same instant, through my Directional Noise Detector, I heard what seemed to be tiny screams followed in quick succession by soft squidgy impacts.

You might imagine our shock when we realized that whilst we had provided these loveable creatures with a garage wall to climb up, we had failed to offer them a garage roof. As a result, every slug in the experiment had fallen to its death.

Sadly but quite properly, there is to be a Government Enquiry now, forced by pressure from the Animal Rights lobby. I can only offer in defence of my team, the fact that we were in uncharted territory. If after the enquiry, permission is granted to continue this area of research, my team and I will know that in future we will need a whole garage to work with.

All Mimsy were the Borogoves

“When the Prime Minister asked me to become Secretary of State for Education I was overjoyed. I had long felt that the education of our youngsters was in the hands of a bunch of arty-farty namby pambies and that it needed sorting out pdq.

Let me make this perfectly clear, I have nothing against Art or Drama, Dance or Music, but my own education (and my academic qualifications speak for themselves) was thankfully free of such pastimes. They were, as they should be, optional. For example, everybody knows that only a very small percentage of people can draw, and that’s fine, but it is unfair and counterproductive to force all pupils to study perspective, shading, cross – hatching  etc., when they could and should be honing their arithmetical skills.

Consequently, I have made certain alterations to our National Curriculum and now really important subjects will take their rightful places in the hierarchy of our teaching and learning strategies. All the arty stuff will be optional. This will achieve two important objectives. Firstly, it will ensure that all pupils will gain a sound grounding in Maths, Science, English, History (preferably English) Geography and Divinity, whilst optional Arts subjects will provide relaxing time and facilities for any pupils who disrupt or who cannot cope with core subjects. 

Of course, Head Teachers are the final arbiters here and some may feel that their finances are such that they cannot provide these optional pastimes. So be it. Nevertheless, English schools have a long tradition of after-hours clubs and I can see Art, Dance, Drama and Music clubs springing into life in our schools nationwide, run by our traditionally dedicated teachers. Let me stress that I see absolutely nothing wrong with a bit of painting. It is an excellent hobby. It is relaxing, and provides perhaps, fertile mental ground in which the seeds of long multiplication may take root.”

Pangolin Obituary

Ethylene Bunce (4/12/1930 - 29/7/13)

Ethylene was a keen watersportswoman, and a key figure in the development of submarines - an environment to which she was often confined for her own safety.

Her habit of giving drums, out-of-tune whistles and other antisocial musical instruments to young children made her extremely unpopular with parents, though the local asylum in her home county of Staffordshire did gain an extra 24 inmates due to this intervention.

Her one surviving relative, who has asked not to be named, remembers her chiefly for being very damp but insisting on kissing him as a child. "It was like being the bottom of a saucepan assaulted by one of those panscrub things.  You know the ones - spongy on one side, like a brillo pad on the other, and they tastes 'orrible".

He is now an outpatient.

Letter to the Editor

Dear Mr Wuss,

                               

I should like to complain most strongly about the often downright depraved use of English on your so-called humorous blog, The Pangolin.

                                 

The only part I read regularly is the Archbishop of Canterbury’s Thought for the Day which is often most perceptive. Incidentally, you spell the Bishop’s surname incorrectly.

                                 

But my concern is with the parlous state of the English mother tongue, including as it does these days, words like “fracking”. That our senior Churchman be forced to use such suggestive terms is disgraceful. The Pangolin is not alone here. Other magazines within easy grasp of children or those of a delicate disposition freely use words like ARSEnic or TITtilation or wHOLEsome and I was shocked to read the other day, in Estate Agents’ Gazette, about young couples being on the BOTTOM rung of the housing ladder. The writer made things even worse by saying that he liked to keep aBREAST of developments.

                                    

This casual use of words liable to inflame the passions of the weak-minded could well lead to a population explosion. I look forwards to your response.

I am,

Yours sincerely,

Fanny Nipple (Miss, 48)

My dear Miss Nipple,

Your concern about the passions of the weak-minded is totally understandable, given a surname like yours. Heaven only knows what you must have gone through at school. Indeed, thirty years after the event, the sniggering of horrid little boys still echoes over the Mendips and can be heard as far away as the Shetlands on a clear day.

Rest assured that we will in future be discouraging the Archbishop from discussing contentious issues like BUMpers, PRICKly heat and BOOBy traps. Another ornithological article, concentrating chiefly on the woodCOCK and great TIT, has already been rejected by our censoring team. The latter consists of a small bunch of worthies; 'Big Dick' Boner, Cherry Bush and John Thomas Muff.

Feel free to get in touch with them.

Yours,

Steve Wuss

Thought for the Day, with Justin Webly, more or less Arch. of Cant.

Hullo,

          

Justin here, and on this bright summer’s morning I take a few minutes to reflect on what for me and my lady wife have been a tumultuous few months.

           

It seems that in no time at all I have come from being a humble, high ranking Churchman – and before that a humble high-ranking financial expert - to being ultimately responsible for the spiritual welfare of millions. And of course with that have come many changes. As my lady wife said when we first set foot in the Palace, “Struth, this’ll take some dusting!” – not that we haven’t always shared humble domestic tasks – but now we have a small army of helpers headed up by the indomitable Jocasta and the ever-present young man with the wire in his ear. These two advise and support me as I go about my public duties and often counsel caution in the face of my sometimes impetuous desire to expose and cast out the wicked. As Jocasta so wisely observed after my denunciation of the very dreadful Wonga usurers and the like, “Bloody hell Archie (her rather engaging pet name for me) you’ve opened a can of worms here!” And so it came to pass that she spoke the truth and several public figures were compelled to ditch their Wonga interests. 

Whilst somewhat taciturn, the young man with the wire in his ear takes special interest in guiding me during public walkabouts, often steering me, via an uncomfortable but ultimately harmless pressure point in the small of the back, away from individuals he quaintly labels as “nutjobs”.

And so it is that I shall progress in my long black car with Police escort this afternoon to the tiny village of Balcombe in West Sussex where protests rage over experimental drilling by a company called Caudrilla – a rather clever play on words, I thought. I know about mining, and oil and the like, you see. I have been asked to go there by the local council which is anxious with regard to the numbers of protesters who seem anything but local - some travelling from as far away as Glossop, and who are equally anxious about Caudrilla’s intentions about the unfortunately-named mining technique – “fracking”. I’m really not sure that my presence there will be appropriate. I can see the headlines in certain newspapers now, “ARCHBISH HAS FRACKING BIG PROBLEM”, or, “CAUDRILLA HAS NO FRACKING BUSINESS HERE, says Archie" But as Jocasta points out, now that I’ve made such a fuss about Wonga, I can hardly ignore the depredations of incoming frackers, can I?

       

And its at times like these, hidden away as I am in a cubby hole under the Palace’s superb 18^th century dual action Thomas Tadger reedpipe organ, where the young man with the wire in his ear cannot look over my shoulder, that I ponder and wonder what Jesus would have done.

Toodle-pip!

Yours affectionately,

Justin

Terrorist raid in small village several miles away from Glossop!

Agents from the local Anti-Terrorist squad conducted a dawn raid on the home of Tobias and Melinda Squerp (both 72) of Mudskipper Drive, Pangolin reporters were told.

Authorities had been alerted to the fact that over a period of several days, the couple had conducted internet searches on 'bath bombs', 'egg timers' and 'explosive farts', which was enough to trigger suspicions in the minds of the chronically paranoid. They had also been observed to have read news items and even used the electric television to watch current affairs programmes, some of which had featured terrorist attacks, counter-terrorism measures and recipes for banana custard.

Tobias Squerp reports that they inspected his bathroom cabinet and kitchen cupboards, took away a packet of charcoal tablets and a pair of sturdy Dreadnought anti-flatulent underpants for further analysis, and subjected him to a thirty minute interrogation. They demanded to know the answers to some very embarrassing personal questions and also some betting tips for the 3.30 at Ascot. They drank several cups of tea but declined the offer of the bit of bread pudding which had been cooked in the bottom left hand corner of the oven.

Eventually they left the property on receiving the news that someone in another village several miles away had conducted an internet search on Magnum ice cream, and ballet (which they had mistyped as 'bullet').

The search continues.

On This Day...

Four Years Ago

Reginald Brumfitt, founder and chair of CHAIR (the Campaign to Have Armchairs in Restaurants), announced that he would be stepping down from his position at the end of the month. It was a decision he had reached with many regrets, after working for more than two decades for the improvement of seating in dining-out places, but felt let down by the lack of support on all sides.

Five Years Ago

Government-funded outreach workers were posted to remote areas of Fenland, Cumbria and the Quantocks to enable residents of outlying parts to take on board the benefits of digital radio, which would not be available to them for another 30 years, to share understanding and to come to terms with their loss in the waiting period and run-up to full roll-out.

Thirty Years Ago

A church in Soho played host to probably the best-dressed congregation ever, when stars of stage, screen and Savile Row came together to celebrate the life and work of sartorial supremo, Harold 'Binkie' Blowman. An engineer by training, Blowman left a lasting legacy to menswear in innovations to comfort and elegance founded on best scientific principles. First came the Sparta, a combination of spat and garter that deployed a cunning system of linked levering with adjustable cogs. This was followed by the pump-action collar-stud, the retractable trouser gusset and, memorably, of course, the quick-release cummerbund.

As the congregation rose for the final hymn, the silence in the nave was broken by the mingled sounds of twanging elastic, bowed whalebone and creaking starch collar, a fitting tribute to the doyen of men's tailoring.