Election Special

New in Special Features
How Simon Sharp Got His Predictive Poo






The Big Fight
Finally, the election is upon us. It is a straight fight between the incumbent Member of Parliament, Sir Wilhelm St. John Charlemagne II and the John Horn Silver Mine union leader Mr. Liam Fox. In an unprecedented move the voting has been thrown open to Hornstown Herald readers.

To help you make your choice each candidate has written a few words to persuade you of their efficacy as a member of parliament.

Firstly, Mr. Liam Fox, 50.

Liam Fox
Photo: Van Vechen

We are the people of Green Hills. We tend the grass, feed the wildlife and contribute in a real way to the spirit of the land. Yet for too long now the privileged classes have controlled our lives. We the working classes toil under the yoke of capitalist oppression. It is a cloud that forever rains on us. We need to rise up and shout out loud, “I am a free man, or woman. Hear my voice.”

A vote for Liam Fox is a vote for truth and justice, fairness and compassion; a vote to protect the very bread on our tables.

The bloated capitalist Sir Wilhelm St. John Charlemagne II does not represent us, he represents himself and his friends. He uses his power, and government funds, to throw exotic drug parties and pay off innocent young women he has tarnished and spoilt. He once went so far as to lose the entire roadworks budget for a year on an obscene bet with a semi-naked pre-operative transexual. He is the antithesis of decency. His kind of decadence and indolence has no place in 21^st century politics.

Each vote for Liam Fox will push Charlemagne closer to a lasting egress.

You deserve better. You deserve respect. You deserve a real voice. You deserve Liam Fox.

And now, Sir Wilhelm St. John Charlemagne II.

Sir Wilhelm St. John Charlemagne II

I, Sir Wilhelm, knight of Green Hills, avenger of the weak, lover of the meek, promise the voters of Green Hills more money and more sex.

How will I accomplish this promise?

With tax cuts and a later start to the working day.

Take a family like Mr. and Mrs. Pill. The Pills are your average grubby working class couple. Mr. Pill toils away at the Panchestor Sanitation department, and earns a pathetic 300 Green Hills pounds a week. Mrs. Pill stays at home mentally abusing their three children. Both the Pills are becoming more and more unappealing as the months pass so no one wants to attempt a dalliance them.

I will make them beautiful again. I will make you all beautiful. Imagine how much better you would look if you had a lie in every morning and time for an agreeable shag every night – it's good for the skin and the soul. Imagine how much more attractive you will feel with some extra money in you pocket. Imagine a place where everybody is, as the Romans say, “Post coitum anima tristes est” - ah, what a beautiful sadness. We would all hug and sing along to The Smiths.

God bless my opponent, Mr. Liam Fox, but he is a small man with reasonable ideas thought up beneath a cloudy sky. I am the light, I am the one, I am a leviathan of joyful wonder.

A vote for me is a vote for regular copulation, a healthy complexion, and some rather pleasurable vicarious living. I will not let you down.


Message From The Editor. 
Dear reader, please do not forget to use your voting privilege on the top right of the page.

Pongo is free

Pongo

Pongo the orang-utan, arrested for the murders of Sarah Churchlikka and Violet Phipps, has been released from Panchestor prison without a stain on his character. Acting Inspector Wayne Duckery said, “After extensive investigating it turned out that Pongo had a water tight alibi, he lives in a cage in a zoo.”

Pongo on Holiday
Landscape: S. Thompson

Pongo has received counselling from pet psychiatrist Polly Slackcloth (32) after a failed suicide attempt with a banana skin. Ms. Slackcloth said, “Luckily for Pongo the banana skin makes a poor noose. We have only had eight hypnosis sessions, and we have already found that in a previous life Pongo was Charles de Gualle.”

We all wish Pongo a speedy recovery.

What A Pudding

Bishop Bishop

Father Farrell in Offending
Hitler Guise

Father Farrell has been exonerated after a sacerdotal trial led by Bishop Bishop the visiting bishop from Saint Columba's Cathedral in Magna City. Bishop Bishop found the priest to have been unwise, but well-meaning. In summing up Bishop Bishop said, “Farrell is a self-destructive delusional with an unhealthy obsession with archaic and ill researched catholic practices, but at least he doesn't fiddle with kids. He has promised to stop dressing as Hitler, bellowing blasphemous and pornographic profanities and carrying a sword, so he is forthwith reinstated as priest of St. Jude's.”

Father Farrell completed his first mass this Sunday. There were only 7 complains, and that was put down to vegetarians not wishing to try Father Farrell's new version of the body and blood of Christ. Father Farrell said, “I thought the congregation would applaud my timesaving upgrade to the Eucharist, but it turns out that not everyone is a fan of the black pudding toastie.”

Don't Do The Hokkicokki

The Hokkicokki Dance of Death
outside Panchestor Town hall

On Tuesday Panchestor High Street resounded to the whoops and hollers of the over a thousand angry Hokkicokki Indians. The Hokkicokki were protesting at what they see as an exploitation of their labour and ingenuity by the Duke of Panchestor.

Big chief Long Fish said, “We are slaves. While heep big Duke kisses the Green Hills Pound asleep each night, we kiss thorns. We toil and create and deliver our goods to the forked tongued one. He gives us blankets and charity. We guard the Yellow Ravine from death eyed interlopers, heep Duke gives us surplus meat stock. The Hokkicokki is not a donkey to kick and scorn. The Hokkicokki is a noble man.

Big Chief Long Fish

The Hokkicokki Indian lived in splendid isolation in the secreted and secure Green Hills for many thousands of years before the arrival of John Horn and the inevitable influx of further prospectors keen to stake their claim on the rich minerals buried just beneath the surface of this verdant land. From that time on the honest and decent Indian was pushed to one side, abused and ignored until their numbers had dropped to thirty-four. Only the forethought and kindness of the present Duke's father, Olaf Nettlewich, in the mid-twentieth century, gave the Hokkicokki back their pride and a corner of Green Hills to call their own.

Yellow Ravine
Carleton Wstkins

Now there is a thriving community of two and a half thousand Hokkicokki living on the far side of the hills in and around the Shiny Birches of Wilson Thicket. The indians make a living from the birches. They run a sustainable woodland and use the birch bark for lightweight canoes and birch tar. The wood is used in veneers and furniture-making for it's attractive graining, and the sap is used to make the lethal Hokkicokki birch brandy, a dangerous firewater popular with the kids of Magna city that gets one drunk from the legs up without affecting the male libido.

There is a rumour around the county that last winter a stranger was found unconscious in the Yellow Ravine. The stranger was near death. The generous Hokkicokkis nursed him back to health. People say that this stranger has been advising the tribe on there rights and the real value of their goods. It is said they call this man Dances With Words.

A trainee spokesperson for Lord Nettlewich said, “We ain't taking no sh*t from those indian mothers. If push comes to shove we will cut them off at the knees. Yes, that's the way it is, mofo.”

The News From Beyond

Mr. Fry

The news from around the world in as little time as possible brought to you by misanthropic malcontent, former FRY director and historical Artie Sim.

Bipolar brain box, Stephen Fry has been pencilled in as one of the judges for Simon Cowell's latest televisual infestation, The EXtinction Factor. Each week a selection of endangered species will audition for the judges and the most winsome and lovely animal will have it's habitat protected. The losers will vanish from the Earth.

Angela Merkel
With Winnie Mandela

The Duke of Panchester has sent a fact finding mission to Germany. The team will evaluate the possibility of obtaining a debt bail out from the alluring Angela Merkel.

In an exclusive interview the Duke said, “We do not have a fiscal deficit, but if the Germans want to throw their money away we are happy to help. That Merkel can bail me out any time.” The Duke has been looking for a new wife since the Duchess died in a freak carriage accident 10 years ago.

Anne Widdecombe
With Norma Major

Meanwhile, Rupert Murdoch has entered a Buddhist monastery in the dark hills of North Wales (left of England). Murdoch said, “Guess what's in my bag.” Murdoch has been joined by his sister, Anne Widdecombe, who is suspected of working part-time with an elite unit of dogmatists. Anne Widdecombe is reported as saying, “I'm only here for the beer.”

Max Merry's Survival Techniques

No7. How To Eat Beaver

The Ravishing Narcissus Beaver

Some say beaver is inedible. Some say you can only eat it if there is a 'R' in the month. Green Hills own natives, the Hokkicokki indian would say it is a delicacy and an aphrodisiac. I say it will keep you alive until help comes.

I was once trapped in a cave on the far side of Lake Doris in the middle of winter. I had lived on snow and lichens for 18 days. I felt weak and disoriented. Even though the winds still blew and the storm raged I ventured out in search of meat. I knew what I was looking for – I was looking for beaver.

I found the dam surprisingly quickly considering the covering of snow and followed an inlet upstream to the lodge. I then slipped my hand with delicate guile through the water to the subaqueous entrance and wiggled my finger provocatively, mimicking the Green Hills river slug – beaver can not resist river slug. The beaver struck. Oh the pain, the exquisite pain. I tugged hard, but the beaver just sucked and gnawed, pulling me deeper into the entrance. I am not sure how long I was locked in mortal battle with the beaver, but just as I was about to let out my last cry, I heard the beaver gasp and out popped a plump female. I struck her repeatedly with a rock until she was dead.

Lake Doris in the Summertime
Photo: Lidingo

Back at the cave I started a fire. After making an incision I slipped my good fingers beneath the fur and caressed my hand along the still warm bloody flesh.

A note to anyone who wants to try this recipe – it is important to remove all the rancid fat from the meat and avoid breaking the castor sac (it will contaminate the meat).

That beaver soup kept me alive for 3 days until help came. I will always remember how that zaftig female saved my life, and despite having to have my finger amputated, thereafter I have always loved and respected the beaver.

Ask Agnes

Agnes Skillet, Hornstown butcher and friend to all of Green Hills gives readers the benefit of her wisdom. Get the advice you need in a trusting environment and retain your anonymity.

Dear Agnes,

Mr and Mrs Nancy Reagan

I have a problem. The thought that out there somewhere was mad Mullah, Osama Bin Laden (54), made me feel as if every sexual experience would be my last. Now the Americans have go and shoot him dead I feel no jeopardy, I can no longer summon an erection let alone muster a discharge. My wife says I should think about all the other Al Qaeda operatives packed to the gills with TNT waiting to jump on me, but it is no good, I miss that lovely long beardy face.

Dear Mr. Plint

My brother, Keith, had a similar problem after Ronald Reagan passed away. I tried many cures before I found the right one. Keith responded favourably to swinging on garden gates. In your case I would suggest ring and run therapy. The pure exhilaration of making it back up the driveway before someone answers the door will soon rejuvenate your potency.

Simon Sharp and his Predictive Poop

Sometimes I rush to the toilet with excitement knowing that some divinatory doo doo regarding the big race at Kempton (England) will pay for my next holiday. I drop my pants and settle into position with joyful expectation, but no, what is this? The anticipated leathery log accompanied by the reassuringly smelly fizz of success is no more than a particularly awkward fart.

All is not lost, I can, sometimes, read a fart. This is why I always carry a recording device. I will spend a happy morning replaying my latest flatus, noting the timbre, clarity and rasp; the surge, quintessence and abatement of the blown prophecy. In this particular case the initial surge was a pure G# two octaves below middle C, followed by a rattling drawn breath and then a final four second burst of a fluttering top C. From this I was able to recognise the sign as a steam train drawing out of a station.

Baker's Bakery Big Bap Bonanza

Mr and Mrs Baker
in Happier Times

Mr and Mrs Baker of Baker's Bakery are drawing a line in the sand and saying no to the recession. Edith and Ernest Baker have now made their baps even bigger, “Look, bigger baps” said Edith Baker in an exclusive interview.

Holden on to a Hero
Sir Holden Strumpet, Green Hills poet laureate, is back again, and this time with what he believes is his greatest work. He has devoured and digested Herman Melville's Moby Dick and then, from his very core, disgorged a trilogy of poems as an homage to the book.

In an extraordinary exclusive The Hornstown Herald proudly presents the first part of, what will surely come to be called, The Holden Dick trilogy.

Breach Your Last To The Sun

There she breaches, there she breaches. Edith

Tosses herself salmon-like to heaven,

Churning herself into a furious speed.

Her milky thighs boom her entire bulk

Into the pure element of air.

She is a mountain of dazzling foam.

There she breaches, there she breaches. Edith

All at once seems combinedly possessed

By all the angels that fell from heaven,

And as she bears down on me I suspect

supernatural agencies are at work.

I disappear in this boiling maelstrom.

There she breaches, there she breaches. Edith

Rises with her utmost velocity,

And I draw towards the closing vortex,

The ever contracting circles she makes,

Creamed into new milk round her marble trunk.

I never think, I only feel feel feel.

There she blows, there she blows. Mrs Baker

is shrouded in a thin veil of mist.

She is ubiquitous and immoral -

Eternal malice are her whole aspect.

But now her way has begun to abate.

Breach your last to the sun, Mrs Baker.

For Sale

Vinyl dancing trousers, 32L.

They have become a little too tight

in the Paso Doble.

£16.78 or nearest offer.

Pan 4765

For Sale

For sale sign.

Unwanted gift.

£5 or will exchange for two tone

braided silk whistle lanyard.

Pan 9438

Wanted

Time Machine.

Must go backwards and forwards.

Lenny Tramp

Pan 9487

Lost

Attacking midfielder.

The beguiling and beautiful Lenny Tramp

was last seen wearing an enigmatic smile

and little else.

£100 reward for any information leading to his capture.

pan 3210

Editorial

It is all very well to free Pongo the orang-utan after all these months in gaol, but no one in the police force had the good grace to consider the psychological effects on this peaceful, shy primate. Yet after Acting Inspector Duckery attended a suspected break-in at Max Merry's World of Taxidermy, the inspector claimed £2200 in compensation for mental torment in the workplace. The bloated fool ended up settling out of court for an undisclosed sum (£150, a bottle of Hokkicokki brandy and a packet of fags). Pongo is finally getting professional treatment thanks to an anonymous benefactor (Lilith Glasscock).

I would like to thank Sir Holden Strumpet for giving The Hornstown Herald the exclusive debut of his wonderful poem, Breach Your Last To The Sun. A little bird tells me that if you have the willpower to trawl through a copy of Moby Dick you will find that every line is within the weighty tome (give or take a word), and is a direct reference to the whale. We at The Herald say life's to short, but I am sure some eagle-eyed and otherwise idle reader will pick up the challenge and a copy of Moby Dick.

I read the article about the Hokkicokki Indian with interest and concern in equal measure. I have a funny feeling about the one called Dances With Words – my sixth sense tells me we have met before and we will meet again.

Enoch Bentley

Next Week

The launch of the all new Word Competition

Mrs Baker reviews the latest in christmas decorations.

And an exclusive interview with someone very famous.

The Monkey Football Special

Life Apes Literature

Pongo takes Max Merry for a walk

Pongo the Green Hills Zoo orangutan is behind bars tonight after being arrested by Acting Detective Inspector Wayne Duckery for the murders of European soprano Sarah Churchlikka and international movie star Violet Phipps. Pongo was arrested on suspicion of murder and taken in for questioning on Tuesday afternoon. Last night after three days of intensive interrogation Pongo broke down and signed a confession.

Acting Inspector Wayne Duckery

According to secret Herald sources (Max Merry) Inspector Duckery was in the Panchestor Arms late on Monday night when he overheard two men discussing the Edgar Allan Poe story, 'The Murders in the Rue Morgue'. In the Poe story the great fiction detective, C. Auguste Dupin uses his analytical skills to deduce and prove that the killer of Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter was in fact an ape. The discussion excited the Police chief. It has been stated by more than one Panchestor Arms regular that Duckery had been in the pub since five o'clock that afternoon and was at least three sheets to the wind.

Mrs Veronica Quillet and friend

On Tuesday morning Duckery set his bloodshot, but determined eyes on Green Hills Zoo. Zoo Manager Veronica Quillet said “The first I knew of it was when that little fat nincompoop Duckweed [sic] stormed into my office without a by-your-leave and demanded the key to the ape house. He had young Officer Basil Scales with him so there was no hope. I mean Basil is a nice lad and all that, but he's only just finished with his mother's teat as far as I am concerned. If only that nice lesbian, Officer Lomax had been present none of this would have occurred.” Sadly Officer Lomax is on holiday on a Greek island in the North Aegean.

After obtaining the key to the ape house Duckery and Scales entered the building and began the search for Pongo the orangutan. Officer Scales explains, “I didn't really want to go in in the first place, but the boss was adamant so in we went. I wore gloves and kept a firm grip on my truncheon as my mum has always warned me about apes.”

Inspector Duckery continues, “I found the murderous villain cowering in the corner of the cage. I read him his rights and cuffed him. He did some very bad things in the back of the police van. Even then I knew I had the right man... monkey.”

Pongo and Derek
Photo: Dean Croshere

Many people in Panchestor are shocked by the arrest. Former rock and roll superstar Ricky Raccoon said, “I can not believe this is happening. Pongo is a close personal friend of mine. I have my lawyers on the case. I am planning a protest song, so listen out for that. It will be a bit like Bob Dylan's 'Hurricane' with a touch of The Specials AKA's 'Free Nelson Mandela.”

Pongo is married to Sukie and has three children, Bobo, Lulu and Derek. His wife and family are said to be dumbfounded, distressed and speechless at the news.

We will leave the last word to disgraced former Detective Inspector Dirk Sunburn who said, “I am working on an important case at present, but as soon as I have solved the meat thief from Skillet's Butchers, I will find the evidence that absolves Pongo of any crimes.

Beauty Tames The Beasts

Sir Wilhelm St. John Charlemagne II at work

The first day of the election campaign of Sir Wilhelm St. John Charlemagne II member of parliament for Green Hills County ended in a public disturbance and then a moment of beauty. The great man rode down Panchestor High Street distributing autographed photographs of himself and beer tokens. The photographs were not of interest, but the beer tokens kept the Panchestor Arms busy all day until it was realised that many of the tokens were forgeries. Bar owner, Bernard Higginbottom withdrew the offer after consultation with Roland Oliver, Sir Wilhelm's campaign manager.

Mr. and Mrs. Baker on their honeymoon

Mr Higginbottom said, “That little weasel, Oliver withdrew the offer of free beer leaving me with a pub full of angry drunks. I was going to call the police until I caught sight of the ringleader, a certain Inspector Duckery. Instead I called my good friends the Bakers of Baker's Bakery to come and help me calm the situation. Ernest tried to speak to the drunken crowd, but they would not listen, then out of nowhere a crystal clear note rang out. The sound got louder and louder until it was the only sound in the world. I've known Edna Baker since school, I was one of several boys who helped her with her biology homework, but I have never heard her sing. The notes became words and the melody brought hard men to their knees. She sang 'In Green Hills God Can Rest' like it had never been sung before. She sang it as if it was the first time the words and music had lit the air, filled a room and lifted a heart.”

The drunks walked out into the daylight singing the song and went home without causing any trouble. Farther Farrell declared this act a miracle and called for the beautification of Mrs Baker upon her death. Mr Higginbottom is suing Sir Wilhelm St. John Charlemagne II for non payment of his bar bill.

The News From Beyond

The news from around the world in as little time as possible brought to you by misanthropic malcontent, former FRY director and historical Artie Sim.

The views of Artie Sim are not necessarily the views of The Hornstown Herald.

Berlusconi and Bush
at urinal
Photo: The White House

Italian President, billionaire, philanderer and pensioner, Silvio Berlusconi, is to stand trial for making whoopee with an underage belly dancer, and for springing her from prison, and some other stuff. If found guilty he will be ravaged by a crack squadron of baboons. The belly dancer will not face prosecution as she has already suffered enough (mostly from having Berlusconi's wrinkled old widget inside her (allegedly [ed]).

David Cameron and his
mighty forehead
Photo: Remy Steinegge

British Prime Minister and repressed hairdresser, David Cameron admitted he has not got a clue. He addressed a group of doctors and nurses, and asked them if they had any ideas for the National Health Service (with my experiences of British doctors and nurses I find this highly unlikely. All they think about is biscuits, sex and the colour of one's sputum). In the end Cameron and his brother, Clegg (bed-wetter) decided to leave it for a while. “We are very busy at the moment”, said a source close to Cameron, “there are still plenty of ill-bred oiks to debase”.

President Obama "I want killer ants"
Photo: The White House

Barack Obama, leader of the free world, is girding his loins in preparation for elections. He told the people of America that he wants a billion dollars to start an ant farm populated by giant killer ants. A source close to Obama said, "Man, he can't get enough of them ants - he loves to pet their brawny mandibles."

Murdoch salutes the money tree
Photo: World Economic Forum

In Britain former Australian, megalomaniac and monkey fondler Rupert Murdoch has only just apologised for the telephone hacking scandal committed by his News of the World newspaper. Sources close to Murdoch say “He is happy to give out compensation because when he owns the whole of BskyB he will build an enormous death ray and vaporise all who have stood before him”.

Classifieds

Lost: Underlying sense of free will.

Pan 954

For Sale: Seagull in grey and white with black

wing tips. As big as a dog.

Ungrateful cat

£38 or will exchange for time machine.

Pan 841

Found: Ungrateful elderly long-haired tabby cat (pictured).

Collect ASAP.

Pan 587

Lost: Giant three legged chicken.

I only opened the gate for a second, and voom.

If seen do not approach.

Pan 453

Bishop Keeps Mum In Hotel

Bishop M. Bishop

Bishop Bishop the visiting bishop from Saint Columba's Cathedral in Magna City has arrived to oversee the sacerdotal trail of Father Farrell. As you will recall Father Farrell grew a toothbrush moustache and combed his hair over in the style of European author and dictator Adolf Hitler, then performed his Sunday sermon using a devil glove puppet, funny voices and scatological, blasphemous and pornographic profanities. The Father also drew his sword and made a fair attempt at chopping and slashing Saint Judes' parishioners.

Father Farrell said, “It was self defence. The f**kers were trying to kill me and eat my sweetbreads.”

Bishop M. Bishop has taken over the entire third floor of the Royal Panchestor Hotel and refuses to speak to the press, aping his great hero, football manager and children's entertainer Alex Ferguson.

Simon Sharp and his Predictive Poo

This morning I had to get up earlier than usual. My lower digestive tract was not ready – it would not wake up. I did manage a few gassy, spluttering rabbit droppings, but nothing of any consequence. When I got home in the late evening I felt leaden inside and listless outside so I smoked a cigarette and had another go on the toilet. This time a singular motion the size and shape of a lugworm slid out of my bottom. The first wipe revealed an etching of a mouse.

Holden Strumpet Again

After much criticism for the poem 'Ode to Mabel' (Published in The Hornstown Herald, 3 March 2011) Sir Holden Strumpet, Green Hills poet laureate, has asked us to publish this new poem to prove that he is more than just a dirty old man. Judge for yourself [ed].

Instead of a Memoriam

When I die, gather wood.

Lay me down on hot stones.

Let the flames engulf flesh.

Let the blaze bake my bones.

When I die, rally friends.

Talk of me through the night.

Stoke the pyre with my words.

Let it burn til first light.

When I die, quench your thirst.

Douse the flames, move debris.

Tear the meat from my ribs.

Plate it up, consume me.

Hornstown Town vs Panchestor United

Hornstown Town

The local derby between Panchestor United and Hornstown Town was abandoned after 56 minutes because of a mass streak by the entire crowd.

The John Horn stadium was full to it's 1200 capacity for the eagerly awaited fixture. This in hindsight contributed to the problem as because of building work and rain all 1200 spectators were squashed into the Norris Green End – the only covered part of the ground.

Hornstown started the liveliest of the two teams with the graceful, bewitching powerhouse, Lenny Tramp, having two good chances within the first 20 minutes. After this initial period of excitement the game descended into a turgid mid-field battle of wills.

The second half started as the first had left off until the pivotal moment. Panchestor United's bruiser, Clogger Chopshop kicked the statuesque-yet-supple Lenny Tramp just outside the box with a scything tackle. The tackle resulted in athletic Lenny's shorts being ripped from his body.

Clogger Chopshop saves from Tramp

Hornstown Town's manager, Tommy Kite tells it his way, “I don't know what got into the bogging crowd, but a bogging glimpse of the beguiling Lenny's jockstrap drove them to bogging distraction. Next thing all bogging hell broke loose. I could see the bogging commotion from the bogging dugout. Without warning or prompting they all began to strip to their bogging knackers, then they ran on to pitch. There were goolies and knockers flying this way and that. Over a thousand naked bodies prancing about. Some of the streakers were taunting the players – waving their bits and pieces at them and shouting “how's that for a back pass”. It was all too much for lovely Lenny Tramp – he burst into tears.

“Then as suddenly as they had ran on the bogging pitch, the throng ran back to the Norris bogging Green End.”

The mass steak by the Norris Green End

And the match could have continued at this point if it had not been for a small dishonest element in the crowd. Referee, blacksmith and taxidermist, Max Merry explained, “When the last of the streakers had left the pitch I was ready to restart the game. My whistle was to my lips when I heard the most ridiculous commotion coming from the Norris Green End.”

At first it seemed as if the hordes had begun a mass orgy, but it soon became clear that the mob were fighting. One of the streakers who wishes to remain anonymous (Captain Horton Bladderack) said, “When we got back to the stand we were starting to feel the cold. Some unscrupulous bounders began grabbing other people's clothes – warmer, better quality clothes. Others were rummaging through the piles of garments looking for wallets and purses. A punch was thrown then everybody was fighting.”

The beguiling Lenny Tramp

Tommy Kite at work

Tommy Kite continues, “I looked up and all I could see were a bogging thousand writhing pink bogging bodies. At first I thought they were shagging, but then I realised the bogging cries were cries of bogging pain. Naked and half-bogging-naked people pummelling one another.

“All this was too much for dear Lenny Tramp. He stripped off and ran crying into the fleshy throng of fisticuffs. “Come back, sweet Lenny” I called, but it was too late.”

Acting Inspector Duckery walked out onto the pitch blowing his whistle and ordered Max Merry to abandon the game. Mr. Merry removed his clothes and ran into the crowd. It took Duckery and his officers over an hour to quell the trouble. There was one arrest.

Editorial

Acting Detective Inspector Duckery can be boorish, he can be a little slow, and he is without doubt a cheap bully, but I never realised he is a complete numbskull. Pongo the orangutan is a much loved member of the Green Hills community. Pongo is a good family man and does charity work. Yes, he did bite a zoo keeper in 2008, but it was proved that the keeper was pinching Pongo's bananas. Just because someone says something in a pub, it does not necessarily make it true.

I am sad to see yet another Hornstown, Panchestor match abandoned. As for poor Lenny Tramp, he is in Panchestor Mental ward at the local hospital insisting he is from another planet. What a sad situation for such a beautiful man – we all wish him a speedy recovery.

Next Week:

Horacito Garraway attacks cuts to Green Hills arts funding.

The Green Hills elections get under way.

And something very slutty and rude for the less discerning reader.

The Hornstown Herald is to start a sister paper called The Panchestor Chronicle. This new paper will run YOUR contributions. So if you have a story, cartoon, photograph, etching, poem or some other writing that you feel you want to share email it to:

panchestor@gmail.com

We look forward to hearing from you.