Viking Gloom

Along with millions of others, I was well and truly sucked into the vacuum of depression which was The Killing. Normally, I'm a butterfly viewer. I never know what's due on, but somehow, this gloomy, subtitled, humourless detective story set in a city where its always dark, usually raining and run by corrupt politicians who'd make our expenses cheats look like sweeties really got to me. All the main characters had gloomy baggage, unfulfilled dreams, and Copenhagen seemed bursting of bent types intent on doing people in. In the dark. In the rain. In ski masks. The Killing made UK crime dramas look like Carry On films.

I'd been aware of the long standing Wallander series but hadn't ever seen any. So the impact of The Killing was really unexpected. Its led to me doing what I'm beginning to think is a Bad Thing. No, nothing remotely illegal honest. Nothing questionable in the freezer. But I've started reading Scandinavian thrillers. It began with The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Very dark. But that was only at the top of the cellar steps. Since then I've trudged through several. And they do trudge, these 'tecs in a cold climate. They have diabetes, no friends, and alcoholism. And they keep coming, these names with little dots over the Os... Bib Bobsson, Stog Stigursson, Nobbi Bume... made those up.... Trouble is, they are SO well-written, even after translation. SO much better than the usual suspects like the very dreadful James Patterson who has sold 103 trillion books in Glossop alone. But tonight it stops. One last hot bath session (all my books are waffle-shaped) when I'll find out who's been knocking off myopic elk-herders, then that's it. 

The end. 

What then? Well somebody bought me book-form Les Miserables. That'll do nicely for a bit of light relief.

British Exiles at Large

Well, here we go! In these chilly times, how many of us have not longed for warmer climes?  The Pangolin investigates. No paid-for travel gurus here folks. Oh dear me no! Just the frank opinions of ordinary working or not people about extraordinary places. Dave’s Big Society let loose around the world.

First off, but not necessarily in that order is FRANCE, profiled here by Gary Purseglove, 17. A student at the Jet Harris Academy, Walthamstow, Gary is specializing in House Raves 1985-97 and lists his hobbies as hangin’ and that innit.

“I bin to France it was a school trip it was cool like on a ferry thing. The French wot we saw were cool an talked real cool like on telly Mr Finch took us to art gallrys and that I got Matisse on my iPhone and Gaz Pinnock got off his face. He was sick on the ferry and got suspended.”

Thanks, Gary.

SPAIN has long been a second home to thousands of Brits looking for that sun –soaked lifestyle. Says Mrs Pauline Glint, one time resident of Glossop, Derbyshire... "Graham and I had been regulars at the Sol at Feungirola for years. We loved the homey atmosphere and English food and all the other English folk there although there was one Welsh couple who got up our noses but then they weren’t English were they? Anyway,when Graham retired from Grommets UK, we decided to sell up and move out here. There was nothing to keep us in the UK when our Amanda was off our hands and Laddie had passed over so we signed up for a one bed Maisonette with communal pool every other Wednesday and window box. That was ages ago and its still not finished. We get the bus down to see it sometimes – its behind the brewery that’s just been built and Pepe who’s in charge says it’ll just be a bit more manana then we can move in.

It’s a bit frustrating, but we’re cosy enough in the tent and still pop into the Sol for the bingo on Tuesdays.”

On This Day

Six Years Ago

Two members of Rolling Stones Tribute Band Strolling Cojones were released by Sussex Police with a caution, having been found in possession of suspicious substances that could be passed off as counterfeit drugs. Items confiscated included 3 small sealed paper wraps marked Travelodge, containing white crystalline matter identified in laboratory analysis as sugar. Also removed was one Mars bar long past its Use By date.

Eight Years Ago

Signs of economic downturn brought the threat of fresh redundancies to workers in the East Midlands employed in the bicycle wheel components industry. Unions representing all links in the supply chain voiced solidarity in the fight to save jobs. Members of the Guild of Brakefitters called for an immediate halt on plans for cutback, while colleagues from the Handlebarmakers’ Union said the industry was being steered in the wrong direction. Spokespersons for the Alliance of Rimforgers and Hubwelders stated that they were diametrically opposed to what was happening around them, adding, ’we’re all in this together.’

Fourteen Years Ago

A small but loyal band of members gathered for the Annual General Meeting of Wolverhampton Whalewatch to review sightings and reports for the previous year. There were no sightings in the previous year.

Pangolin Country Walks

With the ridiculous price of fuel forcing us to leave our shiny motors at home and public transport awash with Mr Cameron’s dreadful commoners, The Pangolin’s Rural correspondent, Diana Totter, poet and muse takes us on the first of a series of carefree strolls through our oft overlooked backwoods.

No 1. Glossop to Glossop via Strainer’s End and Big Nob. 6.2 miles. Going, easy, but with smelly bit near Stackdung Farm.

Leave Glossop on the A319. After four yards, turn left at the Haiwai Five O Tanning Centre into Poke Lane where little has changed since the fire of 2009. After 300yds look for a stile on the left whilst avoiding eye-contact with a big lurcher outside Scrap-R–Us. It is not dead. Mount stile. Note excellent view of back garden of No 47 Poke Lane. In good weather, resident Mrs Marion Feelie usually gets her kit off and doesn’t mind gawkers.

The hedgerow path rises gently through Stackdung Farm where you’ll often get a cheery “Sod off !” from Wilf Cramp who took over Stackdung way back in 2002, specializing in particularly pungent manure which he markets to other local farmers as a rambler deterrent.

Stackdung lane then takes you directly to the by-pass hard shoulder. Turn left again and its an easy five mile amble along the by-pass with its interesting selection of cars, vans, lorries and tankers, all going like the clappers because Glossop Council ditched its radar cameras months ago, to our starting point, the late Victorian but now sadly closed public conveniencies in the town centre. Look out in the last few hundred yards for Big Nob, bouncer at the Sultry Kow nightclub, who will be taking a late afternoon constitutional on his way to meet friends at The Pangolins Head public house. This popular watering hole stands less than 15 miles from another licenced premises, The Gummer’s Arms, built in 1843 to help slake the thirsts of local envelope sealers. 

But as this is nowhere near Glossop, further details are irrelevant.

Will Lottery Ticket Evasion cost the Exchequer Millions?

The Pangolin can now reveal that Blagalot, the company that manages the weekly Lottery, has doubled its ticket price from one to two silver pennies.  This is putting a great deal of pressure on working-class households, especially those thick enough not to realise that they can secretly NOT BUY Lottery tickets - and get away with it!

Yep - you read it right!  The Lottery isn't like HMRC, who can take your money away from you before it even called you 'mother', or pursue you across seven seas using supernatural means and sniffer dogs, if necessary, to reclaim its revenue.  

The Lottery hasn't yet got the resources to police their money collection, so we all need to get away with it while we still can.  

J P Bumblethwaite (not his real name) of Flimwell smugly agrees: "Why, I've spent absolutely zilch on Lottery tickets for the last five years, and I've won just as much money as them next door and their annual Lottery bill's going up to 234 silver pennies.  Mind you, I do like people to think I'm doing my bit, so I sometimes lurk near the Lottery counter in Morrison's and look menacing."

The Office for National Statistics said inflation figures would not be affected by the move, as Lotto spending is not included in the basket of goods it uses to calculate the rate.  No, they'll be using falling revenues from betting on horses, dogs, pigs and pangolins to do that.

Fugitive Pangolin now Back Home Again!

The more perceptive among you will have noticed that no new posts have appeared on The Pangolin since, er, the last one.

This is due to the fact that Murgatroyd - founder and mascot of this online organ - had gone missing!  The place was searched, pockets turned out, the sofa was dismantled and mostly put back together again, but the eponymous Pangolin was nowhere to be seen!

He's just turned up.  Apparently the office next door had a rather fine termite infestation;  it hasn't any more, and Murg's 10lb heavier.

Pangolin Science: The Effects of Music on Plant Growth

They're a funny breed, scientists, what with their grubby white coats with biros leaking into the top pocket, bald heads and nhs spectacles - that and the way they used to attach polygraphs to plants.  They've been telling us for a long time that music has a beneficial effect on plant growth, so we conducted a survey to see what our Pangolin readers had to say.

Tobias Pumblechook of Stechford isn't so sure.

"Someone told me that playing music to plants makes them grow better, but it's a load of poppycock.  I've tried talking to plants and got only abuse in return, too.  Why, I was making encouraging whoops and shrieks to my vegetable patch, and even playing it highlights from the William Tell Overture - when my neighbours called the police.  The psychiatrist they called out told me to stop being a stupid pillock, and then made me walk home.  I thought I might do better with indoor plants, but I'm damned if I can get my herbaceous border into the living room.  Once again, the so-called experts get it wrong!"

Delphinia Spragg from Pratt's Bottom couldn't disagree more.

"Not only can music make plants grow better, but I'm convinced that music can turn people into plants. My seventeen-year-old son, Crucifer, listens to some right crap through his headphones during both of his waking hours - and he looks more and more like a cabbage every day!"

Pangolin Guide to Wildlife

Pangolin researchers, led by the prominent zoologist Dr.Agnetha Grossli-Bentdottir, have long been concerned about increasing levels of public interest in wildlife. “These woolly-thinking do-gooders do more harm than good," says Dr Grossli-Bentdottir. “Constantly saving whales and building hedgehog tunnels is seriously upsetting Nature’s delicate balance. And as for these touchy-feelie sanctuaries which are springing up all over the place, soon we’ll be overrun with superannuated donkeys and cosseted pangolins.”

Hard words but necessary thinks Dr Grossli-Bentdottir. “In my native Iceland, when I was a child - if it had a pulse, we clubbed it and ate it and it didn’t do us any harm. Nowadays, Reykjavic (sic) is covered with Arctic Tern pooh caused by bloody wildlife enthusiasts putting anchovy sandwiches out for the little blighters. They don’t bother flying south any more for the winter. They just waddle about the place crapping on everything. Including our banks. And PLEASE don’t give me that old hogwash about plants and trees and flowers being wildlife. Can they walk, run, growl, squeak, fly? No, so how the hell can anybody be serious about something called Bladderwort or Ladies’ Nostril?”

Of course, opinions differ, and Ted Thump, Head Keeper at the Glossop Pangolin Experience says of Dr Grossli-Bentdottir’s comments: “Sounds like a daft cow to me".

So, in the light of these expert opinions, once again, it falls to The Pangolin to offer clear general pointers. The following Brief Guide flags up, in no particular order, what is Good Wildlife and what is A Bit Iffy.

Fieldmice are OK because they live in fields and don’t come indoors. Mice that do come in your house are Bad and should be squashed, gassed or poisoned. Same with badgers. If you discover a badger living in your house and it’s a bit wheezy, its probably got T.B. and should be kept away from any cattle you may have in your home. Friendly local farmers can always be called upon to sort any badger infestation.

Woodlice are very horrid and creep about underneath stuff. Ants are nasty too, as are slugs, tics,  wasps, bluebottles, magpies, pigeons, starlings, spiders, squirrels and when startled, Cape Buffaloes. Keeping a pangolin can help with some of the above, although tests have shown that pangolins don’t do well against any type of bison.

Sparrows, blue tits, robins, field buntings, Snapshott’s whimbrels, butterflies, hedgehogs and owls are all Good, as are fluffy little foxcubs, except when the latter stop being cubs, at which point they must be pursued by fat toffs on horses and torn to bits by fat toffs’ dogs. 

Swallows, swifts and house martins are all good because they make us go, “Aaah”, and dive about the place showing off, whereas rabbits, despite being furry and cuddly are not good because farmers say so. Moths are Bad because, as everyone knows, they eat our underwear. Seagulls should be killed on sight because they steal our chips.

Be advised that this can only be a very general guide. Space prohibits a more detailed discussion of this fascinating subject, and questions such as how do shags get through life with such an awful name and whether worms carry on wriggling in blackbirds' tummies after they’ve been swallowed whole, will be answered in a later issue if Dr Grossli-Bentdottir is ever released .

More edifying thoughts

On This Day...

Roving reporter, Rupert Besley, has delved into the extensive Pangolin archives - held in the basement of the Mappin Terraces at London Zoo - to take our beloved readers for a bit of a rolling stagger down Memory Lane. This was no mean feat as that worthy terrain is infested with emus.

25 Years Ago

Residents of Alma Terrace in the picturesque Hampshire village of Little Humping were plunged into darkness shortly before midnight, when a streetlamp bulb blew close to the junction with Sebastopol Road. ‘This is the second time in thirteen and a half months,’ said local resident Trevor Pidcock, 59, whose brother Norman, 61, had a similar thing happen to him in Argentina just over 12 years previously. Red-faced council officials were busy liaising with technical staff in a bid to solve the ongoing problem.

50 Years Ago

Scientists from around the world gathered in Denmark for the first test-firing of a new generation of ground-to-air missiles built entirely of Lego. The launch mission was aborted when two sections of rocket wing fell off in the opening seconds of final countdown.

5 Years Ago

The memorial service took place yesterday for Lady Eglantine Hart-Farquhar, late of the Bombay Rifles. Lady Hart-Farquhar, whose interests were listed in Who’s Who as tadpoling and kung-fu, was a distinguished poet as well as a crackshot with a submachine gun. Above all she will be remembered in the village of Farquharsgrove for her unusual outfits and her generous loan each year of the small field known as The Marsh for staging the village fete. A packed church joined in a hearty rendition of the final anthem, ‘She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain When She Comes’.

Edifying Thoughts as it's Sunday

The Pope was in the Vatican

Where the paint was all a’peelin’

He decided to do the whole place up

Michelangelo got the ceilin’

Plenty of folk dropping in... and out...

Please feel free to add your own comments, observations and feedback below. Our visitors' book has lines in it, of course.  Mr & Mrs Boaring of Pinner had written their comment on the loo roll.

Our Science Correspondent Dr P J Whimbrel reports...

Pleb sources close to Downing Street suggest to The Pangolin that David Cameron and Nick Clegg are soon to roll out a raft of proposals aimed at beefing up Mr Cameron’s long – awaited Happiness legislation. 

At a recent meeting with advisers and Eric Pickles, popularly tipped to become the UK’s first Happiness Tsar, Mr Cameron unveiled plans to install electronic thought readers in all urban conurbations.

“Look,"said the Prime Minister, “Let me make this perfectly clear. We want people to be happy, right? Psychologist johnnies tell me that having bad thoughts about something or somebody can make you unhappy, OK? So because this administration is like really in touch and down and dirty with all our brothers and sisters out there, my government and I are going to come down hard on people thinking bad unhappy-making thoughts.”

Mr Eric Pickles, accompanied by a large Alsatian spoke to waiting reporters outside the meeting, echoing his Leaders’ proposals. “Look,” he said. “ Let me make this perfectly clear, the electronic devices will be fitted to lamp posts or other lofty structures and will be tuned to peoples’ bad thoughts. 
In the first instance, they will be limited to folks’ bad thoughts about Mr Cameron, Mr Clegg, Mr Osborne and fat buggers with big dogs, but later their remit may be widened to include royalty, the Church, the U.S.A, the BBC and bankers."

At this point Mr Pickles introduced Frau Olga Goebbels (no relation), Technical Director of YM – MM (Your Mind is My Mind), manufacturers of the Happithink devices. Frau Goebbles said, “Ven der kleine box is detecting der bad thoughts about our superiors is send out der small not so painful taser blast. Undt zen der bad thinkings stop."

Pangolin’s religious affairs correspondent, Olwyn Goodfellow, tells us “The Anglican Church seem to be sitting on the fence with this one whilst the latest Papal encyclical urges local councils to be sparing in their reliance of the Happithink devices as taser blasts can have a contraceptive effect.”

Local Artist defaces Painting

Curator of Glossop's Museum of Pictures an' That, Dame Caroline Mouthful, was reported to be shocked beyond belief by local artist Aubrey Spanner's deliberate and admitted defacing of the Museum's recent most controversial acquisition, "Load of Balls" by up-and-coming painter Traci Omen (23).  Mr Spanner is understood to have handed himself in to the Police, claiming to be the Prime Minister and therefore able to do as he pleases.

"Besides", said Mr Spanner, "it is".

A Cut Above

It started, as these things often do, with strong beer. I’d got into the bath with a lit cigar, a huge air dried Spanish ham on the bone and a waterproof mobile smartphone, all of which I’d received for Christmas the day before, perched them on the bath caddy and started opening the beer that was in the ice bucket. Heavy Belgian, self-mugging beer. This was a premeditated beer/ham/cigar Boxing day double soak after a particularly grating family Christmas that involved other people’s children and not enough wine. (There never is.) 

The knife I was using to thinly slice the ham wasn’t thinly slicing the ham. Instead it had decided to clumsily saw off great lumps rather than those translucent sheets one sees in supermarkets. Time passed. Empty beer bottles joined me in the bath, bobbing around with clinky optimism. I started absent-mindedly looking through ebay on my new phone for sharp knives. With the customary impatience of a drunk man coughing in a bath I decided to bid on several of the knives that were “ending first” to ensure winning one. I felt like an extra Christmas present anyway.

Three days, total amnesia and a colourful hangover later something arrived in the post. I opened the package that afternoon and, baffled, unwrapped the sort of Bowie knife I’d only ever seen being used in knife fights by Richard Widmark in 60’s cowboy film. The blade didn’t look like there was anywhere on my body that I could stick it in without it sticking out the other side. I assumed it was a late Christmas present and I laid it on my bar where it dutifully busied itself in the task of cutting lemons for a large Tom Collins.

The next day another knife arrived from Thailand. This time I unwrapped a sheath knife so crappy that it had a plastic handle, wobbly blade and, clearly in a mix up in translation, had the words “shown actual size” etched on the blade. The lemons proved too much for it and so did pencil sharpening so I took pity and demoted it to cheese, which is the third lowest knife rank above paint tin then screwdriver (once you’ve broken the tip off with the paint tin.) The fog of memory began to clear and I looked into my bidding history. It seemed that I’d stupidly bid, won and paid for these knives whilst in the bath, £15 for the Bowie knife and £8 for “shown actual size.” What’s more there was another one on the way. It seemed I’d only paid £4.68 for it. I didn’t hold out much hope and continued writing enthusiastic and wildly exaggerated thank you letters.

Another three days later and the final package arrived. Nestled in white raffia paper was a knife made by David-Andersen the Norwegian jeweller. It had a smooth walnut handle, black leather sheath, silver fittings and a mirror finished folded steel blade. It was quickly rushed through the rank taking up Spanish ham duties where it sliced a piece so thin that, had I dropped it above a lit candle, it would never had hit the ground, much to the annoyance of the jealously glaring Leathermen.

Nowadays, David-Andersen sits at my desk ready to whittle a pencil end to a single molecule and because he’s an outdoorsy Norwegian knife I let him out in the fresh air and take him sailing or fishing whenever I can or he has the tendency to sulk. And the others? Widmark still cuts lemons on the bar without a word of complaint (Bowie knives are big but not very bright) and “Shown actual size” was finally demoted to screwdriver. The parmesan proved too much for him.

by Guy Venables

Sensory Garden

The Nature of Time

The Pangolin’s Science Correspondence Dr P J Whimbrel answers some of the thousands of letters and emails we’ve had about the nature of Time. What is it? Where does it go?

From Barry in Dawlish:

“What’s all this stuff about time running out? They’re always telling us stuff’s running out. Gas, oil, an’ it never does. OK there might be the odd queue but it never runs out does it? It's just there innit.”

And Mrs Jean Flambard MSc, in Bath.

“Surely time is the ultimate barrier linked as it is to the speed of light and velocities humans can never achieve".

Dr Whimbrel writes:

“Whoa Jean! Heavy, heavy! You’ve been watching Beeb 4 haven’t you? Maybe peeking at all that stuff coming out of CERN, yeah? But you’re probably right, OK? Besides, Godwit and Zyrcwzc’s work on time travel suggests that if we DID travel back and forth in time, our natural curiosity would really screw things up. I mean we’d fiddle, right? Who could resist getting Elvis onto a drugs rehabilitation programme or taking Himmler to one side and beating the shit out of him? Or having the final goal disallowed in 1966?”

(Pause here for Dr Whimbrel to have a bit of a lie down).

“And Barry – a practical chap obviously – you’ll be pleased to know that for years scientists have suspected that like gas and oil, this planet has vast reservoirs of time buried somewhere. Occasionally, operating a bit like volcanoes, a bit of time leaks out into the atmosphere through a vent. Some think that our very own Prime Minister is such a vent. Whenever he speaks, time seems to pass very slowly. 

But we’re a long way from being sure about this. Mr Cameron was approached some time ago by Dr Godwit to see if the PM has a vent. Ugly scenes followed with Dr Godwit being called an interfering Pleb and being made to give Mr Cameron his trousers back. Best I can do Baz. Time will tell.”

Wow. Dontcha love that Science! Next time we’ll be talking to Kate Rumble from BBC’s Slimewatch about why slugs crawl up garage walls at night. Can’t wait!