The Charlatan Tales Volume 2

THE CHARLATAN TALES Volume 2 by TimSimon What began as a rambling correspondence between two elderly expatriate school-boys has now grown into a fullblown saga. And, like all good sagas, the second volume includes plenty of lust, greed and mystery. Well, a lot of lust anyway. For new readers, (where have you been?), we include a brief update on the next page. The authors: After spending far too long pursuing our careers, each of us has ended up in central Brittany, France. Tim (ex-teacher and wine merchant), working on his clay sculptures and Simon (ex-MD of an advertising agency) sharing his life with water-colourist Catriona, lecturing at business schools and writing, so far not for profit. A shared instinct for the ridiculous inspired us to begin this correspondence, which many friends have encouraged us to publish.

INTRODUCTION If you share our passion for the exploring the silly side of life, Python, Spike Milligan, Peter Cook and Humphrey Lyttelton, this could be for you. If you aren’t British, you probably have no idea who these people are. All you need to know is that they are the great heroes of what we call ‘Very British Humour’. The Charlatan Tales all began after a mildly alcoholic lunch party with friends at Tim's home, when a message was sent to him by Simon, on behalf of the Scientific Corroboration Advisory Ministry (SCAM), questioning Tim's "outrageous" claim to have spotted 50 species of bird in his garden. Tim's response on behalf of the Society of Devotees of Feathered Friends (work it out yourself) launched a regular correspondence which has 'growed and growed'. Here's your chance to meet Wing Commander Algernon 'Biggles' Buttocks Brown DSO, VC, ASBO and Bar (who may also be the legendary super-spy Q), his faithful PA Virginia 'Busty' Waters, the Reverend Gerry Gropem and the other residents of the village of Charlatan-cum-Quickly, as well as the late Sir Peter Scott, someone posing as Bill Oddie and someone else posing as Delia Smith. The ‘Pope’ also crops up from time to time. Not forgetting an army of commando moles. It's all given two aging gents a lot of pleasure. Second childhood? Schoolboy humour? You name it. It's all here.

VOLUME 2 - The story so far for new readers The mysterious ‘Q’, who some people believe is really Wing Commander ‘Biggles’ Buttocks Brown, has been training an army of Breton moles to infiltrate the corridors of power. Acting under the secret code name of BUM, the Breton Underground Movement has bribed millions of people in order to sweep to power in the European elections, financed entirely by sales of their own cookbook and a fat cheque from a famous TV chef. Meanwhile, a strategically important consignment of marmalade has been lost with the sinking of the legendary ‘Good Ship Venus’ – the star of the world’s rudest comic poem - and her captain Master Bates. There’s a lot of other stuff too, but you will pick it all up as you flip through the pages Enjoy. Tim & Simon [email protected]

BUM NOTES A charitable tax evasion scheme funded from the proceeds of marmalade production, mole racing and the manifestly excessive expense accounts of several British Members of Parliament

Mrs Marge Bates The Good Ship Venus Memorial Association Charlatan-cum-Quickly Dear Mrs Bates On behalf of our Chairman and Trustees, it gives me great pleasure. Phew! That’s better. Sorry about that. Now where was I? Oh, yes. I am pleased to inform you that, thanks to an unexpected cash injection after our highways supervisor Mr Richard Turpin redirected a Securicor van, the committee has agreed to make a substantial (big) donation to the memorial to your erstwhile (last) husband and the crew of ‘The Good Ship Venus’. The sum of 40 zillion Zimbabwe dollars at today’s market rate of £14.12.6d to the Euro or 1,365 Patagonian Zlots, should be sufficient to provide the widows of the deceased with a magnificent erection in your back garden and a nice cup of tea to help them to calm down afterwards. We do insist however on a number of conditions before the money can be handed over: - Full international publishing rights to the Master Bates Single-Handed Manual of Ocean Navigation to be granted to Buttocks-Brown & Smutt Inc. - The name, nickname and pedigree registration number of every mole on board to be added to the tomb of the unknown mole in the church of St Ringo in East Molesey. - A rousing chorus of the “Eton Boating Song” (rugby players’ version) to be included in the order of service at the dedication ceremony. - An international boycott of Tierra del Fuegan counterfeit marmalade. When all conditions have been complied with, our bankers Conmen Brown and Darling will be instructed to send the funds to you. Please note that for security purposes the cheque will be drawn on our Finnish sister company, the LappDancing Club of Helsinki. Q has asked me to make it clear that any further contact from Senor, or even Signor, Capone must be reported to H-Q without delay. In the case of gunfire (Mr Capone prefers shooting a violin case), please ask your fellow widows to aim below the waist and to destroy the evidence. Yours snivellingly,

U Heap Esquire, Secretary, at your service

EUROPEAN ELECTIONS JUNE 4 Revolutionary new party enters the lists. BUM candidates pop up everywhere. “We intend to undermine the establishment” says Euro President-Elect Q. “Tell your friends to vote for change, to support their BUM on June 4.” “Up the BUMs!” Sir Paul McCartney, composer of the BUM official anthem ‘Mole of Kintyre’.

Harlot & Strumpet Solicitors to archbishops, popes and others of confused sexual orientation Cheap rates for hermaphrodites, transvestites, Americans and people who wear red socks 13, Sheath Street Charlatan-cum-Quickly Devon U Heap of…… Address unknown Sir, or maybe Madam Your recent letter to our client, Mrs Marjory Olive Bates, has been passed to us for attention. We are sorry to have to inform you that Mrs Bates will not now be requiring an erection in her garden in the quaint Devon village of Charlatan-cum-Quickly. Sadly, dear Mrs Bates passed away suddenly and somewhat messily last Thursday night. She had only recently contracted Mol-e-cular Wart Syndrome, a debilitating disease of the upper and lower crucible – first diagnosed in Sheffield in the nineteen sixties - which, as you may know, also affects the rectum and the antecedent ventricularis rendering the sufferer persona-non-grata at dinner parties. She had unfortunately contracted the disease during the annual pole dancing competition held at the Charlatan-cum-Quickly Polish Club. It was here that she had met and danced the night away with a certain Polish count, Count Vladimir Dimitri Slobalot, who had, unbeknown to Mrs Bates, smeared marmalade on the pole just prior to her taking her turn with the device. It is not known whether Mrs Bates contracted the Mol-e-cular Wart Syndrome directly from the marmalade, which has since been found to have been Tierra del Fuegan counterfeit marmalade; Count Vladimir Dimitri Slobalot, a known marmaholic; or from her dear and late departed husband Cyril, who had been arrested on numerous occasions for breaking and entering marmalade factories in search of a cheap peel. The funeral will be held this coming Sunday at the Charlatan-cum-Quickly Women’s Institute. The Vicar, the Rev.Gerry Gropem has asked that all female mourners come scantily clad, as a mark of respect to the Rev.Gerry Gropem. In view of the foregoing, we trust you will now waive the conditions listed in your letter as a prerequisite to handing over the money and just send a cheque to: Señor, or Signor if you prefer, Alfredo Capone at the above address. Finally, you may be pleased to hear that Count Vladimir Dimitri Slobalot is now safely behind bars of most pubs in the area, having successfully kicked his marmalade habit. Graspingly yours

Mary-Frank Llack-Danglies

Emissions Parish newsletter of Charlatan-cum-Quickly and a few other centres for the strangely obsessed Editor: Quite Rev. BeseechinglyHumble, ex-Bishop of Broadmoor

May 2009 Volume 143, Issue 12

ERECTION BIG DISAPPOINTMENT The news of the sudden demise of Mrs Margery Olive Bates from Mol-e-cular Wart Syndrome has put an untimely end to the prospect of seeing a rare (these days) erection by sculptor laureate Tim W on the Charlatan-cumQuickly skyline. Widow Bates had commissioned the artist, famous for such examples of ‘rude art’ as Maurice the Mole-catcher, to design a memorial to her late hubby, single-handed seafarer Master Bates who went down, in a manner of speaking, on the Good Ship Venus.

Emissions understands that Mrs Bates planned to place Mr W’s ‘Tarquin the Todger’ in full view of the Ronnie Biggs community hall and to use it to train her collection of Breton moles to fly underwater.

Inside this issue:

The vicar of Charlatan, the Rev. Gerry Gropem, interviewed wearing a rather fetching taupe and orange cassock, trimmed with lacy fronds, breathlessly expressed his relief. “This has always been such a peaceful village, where people with widely differing tastes and odd personal habits have lived in harmony without drawing attention to ourselves. A sculpture by Tim W in our midst would have attracted hoards of sight-seers including, heaven forbid, French people.” Mr W, during a break from campaigning for the ARSI-NG Around party, said that his work is very artistic and 100% organic. “And I can assure you, from personal experience, that my erections are not at all tasteless.”

There’s nowt so queer as folk – Ed.

Mrs Marge Bates on one of her better days

STOP PRESS Are you on fire? The Fire Brigade has to respond to over 3 fires a year, so don’t waste their time having them make unnecessary house calls when you can go to them. If you’re on fire, visit the fire station, 14 Sheath Street, where you will be extinguished after a short waiting time.

“A Vote for BUM is a Vote for Posterity” says Pope His Cheerfulness ‘Pope’ Hans Rotenweiler has come out (?) and lent his (athletic) support to the radical BUM party in next week’s European elections. Speaking exclusively to Emissions from his summer palace in Scunthorpe, the wholly (sic) father explained

why he had changed his allegiance from ARSI-NG Around. “Q’s BUM candidates feel more like my sort of chaps”, he said. “I can’t quite put my finger on it but I get a kind of a tingle when I am close to them.” A spokesman for ARSI-NG

Around expressed dismay. “Typical”, he retorted. “No wonder we won the war, and the World Cup.” Q was unavailable for comment. “Bugger off”, said his new PA Mary-Frank. Polling opens at the Polish Club in Charlatan at 8.30am.

“Glug, glug”. Bill Oddie’s last words by AN AylingSparrow

2

Tierra del Fuego tests nuclear device

2

Consignment of marmalade sandwiches arrives in darkest Peru. P Bear reports

3

Cottage to let: one wall finished, roof by late November

3

Riot at Scrabble tournament. ‘Mole hill’ will be 2 words in future

4

Non-alcoholic washing up liquid launched

4

Quiz corner: •

Should Muffin the Mule be a criminal offence?

•

Who is the real Q? Who cares?

•

Last week’s lucky number: 5

•

Name 6 kings of England called George. Big prizes.

T he League for the Removal of Pol itical Pros tates

European Election News ARE THE BUMMERS AT IT AGAIN Has BUM gone too far this time? Why did their leader Wing Commander ‘Biggles’ Buttocks-Brown throw a jar of marmalade at the Queen? And just where did he get the marmalade? It has been suggested that it was the counterfeit marmalade currently flooding the European market; the very same marmalade that has caused untold deaths from Mol-e-cular Wart Syndrome. And it is common knowledge that the Wing Co has vested interests in Tierra del Fuego ...the source of this dangerous commodity. Indeed his mother was a sheep shearer and orange grower there until the sinking of the Good Ship Venus

brought her untold riches. And as a recent interview with the Wing Co. revealed: he always carries a jar of marmalade in his brief case, a fact vouched for by his onetime bird watching buddy, the late Bill Oddie, whom you may recall went down with the Good Ship Venus. That the Queen is an old flame of the Wing Co’s would also seem to lend weight to the argument that he was piqued when she threw him over for the Brigadier, and for her temerity she ended up with a jar of real Seville Orange marmalade in her lap!

The Wing Co on a beach in Tierra del Fuego on a sunny day

How the Wing Co expects people to vote for his BUM party is a mystery. Especially considering how the writer of their lousy anthem ‘Mole of Kintyre’ Mr Paul ‘McCartney has quit the party in favour of joining the new and upcoming reformist party of ARSI Members.: ARSI-NG AROUND

Busty Waters In Nude Swim Scandal Busty Waters, secretary to Wing Commander Biggles Buttocks-Brown of BUM party infamy, was this weekend spotted skinny dipping with sexually-challenged friend Mary Frank Llack-Danglies of Harlot and Strumpet, His Holiness the Pope’s solicitors. The Pope was shocked by the news and took to his bed without even saying

‘mass-ter-bate’. The prelate is well-known for his views on skinny dipping, intending during his reign as Almighty God’s Minder to implement a total worldwide ban. Claiming scientific evidence for its negative effects on the rhythm method of swimming, he says: ‘Skinny dippin’ ain’t what it was when I used to do it in the

Rhine’ or something like that (our German isn’t very good.) Busty Waters, meanwhile, says she couldn’t give a toss about what the Pope thinks. She’s resting all her hopes on BUM ‘s success in the coming elections. Upholding the need for skinny dipping in public takes pride of place in their manifesto.

Volume 1, Issue 1 Dated, well, yes maybe

Inside this issue:

Delia Smythe reveals all about the Brigadier

2

Why Paul McCartney switched parties

2

Rev Gropem under arrest again

2

New party reforms mole hunting law

3

Q Associates in embezzlement scam

4

BUM candidates accused of bribery

5

Tai Chi enthusiasts lynch teacher

6

Special points of interest:


Page 2 Cookery for Alzheimer Sufferers with easy to follow recipes, with easy to follow recipes, with easy to follow recipes, with easy to follow recipes, recipes, recipes, recipes.
Page 4 Delia Smythe’s new wonder cod-piece for confused women
Page 6 Skinny dipping for fat people. How not to create a splash
Page 43 This week’s cryptic x-word in Swahili for the blind and hard of hearing

Euronary Tract News, laws and pronouncements from Emperor Biggles I, Supreme Commander of All-Europe, including the Vatican, the Isle of Dogs, Mornington Crescent and the colony of Tierra del Fuego

From Biggles’ bunker, next to the Gents, Charlatan-cum-Quickly, EU

June 2009 Volume 75cl, 40%

BUM kicks ass! The astonishing triumph of the Breton Underground Movement in the recent European erections (sic) has created a permanent wave of excitement in communities across the continent, from the transvestites of Charlatancum-Quickly to the poodle fanciers of Motreff. After several recounts, BUM candidates were elected unopposed in every country. All rumours of money changing hands and threats to expose other candidates should be ignored. Within minutes of the announcement, BUM leader Wing Commander ‘Biggles’ Buttocks-Brown, who had been holding himself in Readiness, a small village near Barnstaple, coroneted himself with one hand as His Arsiness Emperor Biggles the First (and only). In his inaugural dress, pink lace with a plunging neckline and matching jockstrap, the new ruler laid down his programme of reform.

* Tierra del Fuego has been annexed and will in future be known as Bognor Imperialis. * All nuns must wear knickers during steeple-chases. * Weekly Tai Chi exercise is compulsory for everyone under 90, including those who pass away before the end of the tax year. * The Breton Mole Army will reinforce NATO’s undercover forces. * The imperial anthem will be ‘Ode to Joy’, sung to the tune of ‘Nellie the Elephant’. * European Granny Knotting Day will be February 9th, the last remaining week of the year when the French don’t already have a ‘jour férié’. The Emperor was at pains (in pain?) to thank his key supporters, with a special mention going to his PA Commander Virginia ‘Busty’ Waters and her amazing cantilevered bra, Robert Mugabe for his generous sponsorship, planning consultants Baldrick & Co, and HRH Prince Charles for something or other.

The Emperor’s official portrait

BREAKING NEWS Pope vanishes after cookery scandal probe When the judges pronounced that the ‘Pontifi-cake’, His Holiness Pope Ratcatcher’s entry in the Squidgy Bits section of the Charlatan-cum-Quickly International Food Fair, was a close copy of Delia Smith’s famous Sticky Seconds Marmalade Surprise, the Pope’s face turned white. As he was dressed in his customary white outfit at the time, he actually disappeared without trace. An apparently disembodied half empty bottle of Châteauneuf du Pape was later seen clinging to a guy rope, singing a selection of Marlene Dietrich’s greatest hits.

The Inner Ruling Council: ‘The Wardrobe’ Nicolas Sarkozy – Minister for Short People Peter ‘Mandy’ Mandelson – Minister Without Scruples Gordon Brown – Minister for Ignoring Public Opinion Mavis Murgatroyd aka Master Bates deceased – Secretary of State for Campanologists, in fact anything attached to a rope The ex-Rev. Gerry Gropem – Chaplain to the Women’s Wrestling Federation, in fact anything in shorts

Emperor Biggles: the leg side of our new leader Relaxing at home in a powder blue peignoir beside the glowing embers of his rather over-cooked Sunday roast, the most powerful man in the world gave his first press conference. As he stroked his three Breton spaniels, each named after a member state (Stiffy, Floppy and Half-Mast), he answered reporters’ questions with refreshing frankness.

“How many frocks do you own?” “43, not including my regimental mess uniform.” “What kind of leader do you hope to be?” “Brutal, irrational but fair.” “Have you any unfulfilled ambitions?” “To be able to touch the tip of my nose with my tongue.” “Who do you admire most?” “The British generals in the First World War.”

“Who is Q?” “Arrest that man!” “What are your favourite hobbies?” “Mind your own f***ing business.” A true politician, a man with self-interest and insanity in perfect harmony, a leader to take us out of recession to who knows where?

Wear it with pride! The imperial coat of arms is now on sale at all good chemists (prescription only).

The Daily Exposé All the news you never knew you needed to know

Biggles in the All-together Leader’s personal letters made public. Debate rages: Spin or Mole? Someone once said that there’s a fine line between genius and insanity. When you read the sensational batch of Wing Commander Algernon “Biggles” ButtocksBrown’s private letters that we are publishing today, you will know which side of the line our leader stands. They reveal an entirely different picture to the general public’s perception of the man who was self-elevated to the post of Emperor of Europe following his Breton Underground Movement’s (BUM) runaway (rigged?) success in the recent election. Rather than the secretive, unemotional, gloomy-faced fattie that appears on television, here is a man with a wide circle of friends in strange places, who is not averse to letting his hair and other bits down and who owns a quite extraordinary wardrobe; a family man who, despite his achievements, still remembers to ask Mummy for permission to stay out late. The air is thick with rumours about the confidential source of this leak. Is the Emperor trying to change his hard-line image? Is this a cunning way of stealing the thunder of “View from the Steeple”, whose recent inflammatory articles have sparked street protests. Or could there possibly be a mole in our Leader’s bunker? Clearly we can not reveal our sources but we do believe that it is in the public interest for us to publish the letters over our next few editions. All that we are prepared to say at this stage is “Naaaa-yah-boo-sucks. We got them first” to the rest of the international media. We have decided to print the letters in full, so that readers can draw their own conclusions about the writer. Hero or nutter? Innovator or perve? Man or beast? This is for you to judge. Please send us your thoughts. • Page 2: Letters 1 to 4 Emperor Biggles. Born on the remote Scottish island of Swollen Sporran, he was christened Wolseley Carburettor Brown by his car-mad crofter parents. After incessant teasing from his play school classmates, who for some reason found the name Brown WC funny, he changed his name by deed poll to Wing Commander at the age of four, because “it sounded scarier”. An extraordinary academic career followed, that included (or rather in his case ‘excluded’) 17 different schools before passing his Higher Certificate in Gratuitous Violence at the age of only 14. His success at Oxford (he still holds the record for assault convictions at Oxford assizes) led to his inevitable recruitment by MI5. With his uncanny ability to appear to someone completely different, he rose quickly through the ranks of the Really Sneaky Operations department. His legend grew when, successfully impersonating a competent Chancellor of the Exchequer, he directed the removal of his best friend from the house next door, took control of both houses and bankrupted the country, all within 18 months. Mystery surrounds the appearance of his hyphenated Buttocks. All of his dorm mates at public school have disappeared in bizarre circumstances and journalists who have attempted to find out more have found the lead removed from their pencils. The nickname Biggles is said to be connected with his large collection of colourful joysticks. Many people are convinced that Buttocks-Brown is really the semi-fictional super-spy Q, mastermind of the dastardly plots to assassinate Nicholas Parsons, President Kennedy, Harry Potter, and the Charlatan-cum-Quickly ladies darts team, all brilliantly conceived but all pathetic failures. We doubt whether we shall ever know the truth.

10 and 11 Downing Street London SW January 1st 2007 Mr Alphonse Capone Chicago, USA

My dear Al Please accept my apologies for not replying earlier to your letter dated January 1947 in which you relate how you faked your death in Alcatraz and escaped. I just don’t know where the time goes. Mother has been keeping a close eye on me, which has made it hard to stay in touch with old pals for the last few years. I was actually wondering whether you still have any of those special violin cases you showed me last time we met. You know, the ones with the “boys’ toys” inside. Not exactly violins, what? Nudge, nudge. It’s just that I was thinking it might be quite a lark to try a military coup over here. To be perfectly honest, since I scared away that soppy chap and his ghastly grinning wife from the house next door (what a pair of weeds, pretending to be all strong and powerful when we all knew how much time they spent at the hairdresser every week), I am getting a bit bored pretending to be Prime Minister and, well frankly, I need to have some fun. You can’t trust the army these days, always whinging about being under-resourced, whatever that means. So I thought perhaps my own private army. With half the country on drugs and the streets full of thugs on a Saturday night, it shouldn’t be too difficult to hire a few mindless idiots for the job. A couple of thousand should do the trick. Just let me know where I can pick them up and I’ll ask my friend Richard ‘I’m not a virgin really’ Branson to drop in when he’s passing. Thanks so much. Ciao. O sole mio. Just one Cornetto.

Biggles

The Bunker Next to the Gents Charlatan-cum-Quickly The Honourable Oswald ‘Tiger’ Shanker Chairman Sadly Drooping Golf Club Sadly Drooping Wessex

My dear George I am having a bit of a do at the end of the month to mark the 10th anniversary of having my leg-break rewired. I made rather a good joke at the last garden party about a chance to toast my amazing balls but Her Majesty didn’t seem to find it funny. Do you think she’s a bit past it? Anyway, the usual crowd will be there: Al Capone (he’s 109 you know, amazing), (HRH) Charles the Great Pretender, Denis the Menace, Roger the Dodger, the Lone Ranger, the laughing cavalier, the serious cavalier and the downright bloody miserable cavalier. Plus, to complete the ‘country frolics’ theme, a bevy of whispily-clad impressionist and renaissance beauties. So I was wondering whether you could see your way to lending me a few of your finest holes for the evening. I have this idea of a game of hide-and-seek, where the young men run around waving their four-irons, while the girls swing their Niblicks to attract their attention. Then we all sit and watch them playing off down the eighteenth from a safe distance. What do you think? Incidentally, I came across an old school chum of ours recently. You must remember him, Bunter W in form 4B. A rather fat cove with specs, even worse at arithmetic than me. Anyway, he turned up as chairman of one of those banks we had to buy last year. He walked off with about ten million, so I guess he got his giant fruit cake after all, what? And the crumpets to boot. If you’d phone my PA Busty, we can agree the details. Trust you are keeping well, shanking lots of birdies or whatever you golfing types do. Up the old school tie!

Biggles

FROM THE EMPEROR’S PRIVATE TOP SECRET OLIVETTI STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL

Chancellor Angela M**k*l Berlin Germany

My dear Lady or should I say Meine Liebe Frau Milch? Please excuse the confidential stuff but walls have ears, careless talk costs lives and mother keeps interrupting to ask where I left her claymore after I gave that beastly little man Berlusconi a close shave. I thought you were terrific at last week’s G8 summit. As nobody there spoke German, we didn’t understand a word you were saying but we certainly got your drift. And I must say you looked gorgeous in the powder blue diving suit, Elton John glasses and carpet slippers. Whoever suggested that you shouldn’t shave your moustache that morning got it dead right. I have been giving some thought to my own appearance and I wanted to ask your advice. Next week I have to attend the Pope’s coming out party at the Vatican. I always suspected he swung both ways. But I can’t make up my mind whether it should be the uniform of Master of the Grand Order of Mud Wrestlers, the Crimplene trouser suit or the green sari. Decisions, decisions. It’s tough being a super-hero. If you have any ideas or indeed if I could possibly borrow the leather outfit you wore at the post-summit ‘thrash’, I will be forever in your debt. Must fly, mother’s hotpot is coming to the boil. Be gut or if not, be careful.

Biggles

View from the Steeple “View from the Steeple” is a privately published newsletter for the residents of Charlatan-cum-Quickly and the surrounding villages of Sadly Drooping, Chirping Loudly, among others. The editors, Tim and Simon, have agreed to make a series of extracts from this bizarre publication available to a wider audience. In the interests of public decency and to show respect for readers whose Mums may not be happy if they were caught reading naughty things after ‘lights out’, not to mention the editors’ own reluctance to end up behind bars, the selected extracts have been vetted by several disgraced bank executives, public figures and former members of the clergy.

View from the Steeple: Special Biggles Exposé Supplement The Emperor’s New Letters His Aloofness Emperor Biggles 1 has denied that the so-called ‘private letters’ currently being aired by the gutter press, in particular the Daily Exposé, are anything to do with him, stating categorically that they are the work of SODOFF party members making what he sees as a feeble attempt to discredit him, his mummy and his mummy’s friend Alphonse. Questioned on this accusation, SODOFF spokesperson, Rudolph Reindear RN, quoted the Breton-Woods agreement in which moles may have been banned from inter-governmental spying, but were still free to haunt the bedrooms of the high and mighty…...and this is how the arguably defamatory information on His Preposterousness has come to the fore. In particular, quotes Mr Reindear RN, the Emperor’s mother’s association with Alphonse Capone is based on a factual account of the pair entering the Bootlegging contest under assumed names at the 1942 Chicago Olympics when, bizarrely, they broke the world Bootlegging record. They have been on friendly, if not intimate terms ever since. In fact, it is believed in some circles that Mr Capone is the Emperor’s father! If true, this would help answer the whorey (sic) question of why the Emperor wore quick-release Crimplene trousers at the Bishop’s recent ‘coming-out’ party as it is well-known that Mr Capone invented ‘Quick-release Crimplene’ as a way of escaping Eliot Mess’ Imponderables during the Prohibition period . Mrs Capone, whoops, Mrs Brown has, of course, denied any knowledge, carnal or otherwise, of Mr Capone and has refused calls for a blood test claiming Despotic Immunity and Freedom to Do What the Hell She Likes. Biggles, in defence of his mother, says: “My mummy isn’t a fibber sticks, so there!”

The Old Capone Diaries At 109 years of age, Alphonse Capone finds it difficult to wield a Tommy gun, preferring instead the lighter more sophisticated Kalashnikov, although he claims not to have used one for some time as he is busy writing his kill-and-tell memoirs. It transpires that throughout his long and bitter struggle with authority Mr Capone has kept an incriminating dairy.

“It was the Doc” admitted Mr Capone at a recent television interview. “He reckoned I should drink more milk if I wanted to keep my trigger finger arthritis-free. So I got myself a herd of cows and employed Frank Nitty as a milk-maid, though he didn’t really have the legs for it. Anyway, that Eliot Mess always thought we was making booze and gave us all sorts of trouble. ‘im and his damn Imponderables!” Pressed to reveal more of his proposed memoirs, he confessed that in addition to a dairy he also kept a diary, although he admitted to sometimes confusing the two (which, one supposes, is understandable at 109), and wrote the occasional entry on a cow and tried milking January. Asked about his alleged relationship with the European Emperor’s mother Nancy Brown, he reached for a violin case and took out a diary. “My memory ain’t what it was” he said and thumbed through the pages until he came to the entry he was looking for. “Ah, yes” he said with a grin. “I remember Nan. Big woman with great legs and buttocks like jelly. We broke the Bootlegging record at some Olympics or other, you know?” He went on to reveal that his pet name for her was Butty, short for ‘buttocks’ and her wobbly bum, and that she called him ‘Big Willy’ for reasons he didn’t divulge. “We broke up when she fell pregnant” he said. “Bringing a kid up on a dairy farm was no good. So she went to live on a croft, whatever that is, in Scotland.’ It would appear not only that there is a strong possibility that Mr Capone is Emperor Biggles’ father, but that we can now hazard a reasonably good guess at the origins of the hyphenated Buttocks.

View from the Steeple 1

The Rev. Gropem finally meets his end The Rev Gerry Gropem, Vicar of All Sinners Church, Charlatan cum Quickly, one time contortionist with Chipperfield’s Circus, has finally found his way into the coveted Watney’s Book of Physical Feats. Last night at the Charlatan Working Women’s Club before an invited audience of loose and drunken women, he successfully met his end. It was, however, only on his third and final attempt that he achieved success at what the Society of Twisted Contortionists consider to be the most physically challenging of any of their recognised moves. Dressed in an orange leotard over a pair of snazzy pink and white polkadot tights, the Rev sauntered casually on stage while Mrs Ida Riley played ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ on the violin. Then, to shouts of encouragement from the boisterous crowd, he proceeded to bend over and peer diligently between his legs to the unalloyed delight of the ladies present. Unfortunately, however, while stretching further round the bend to see his end, as it were, he lost his balance and tumbled from the stage onto the laps of Mrs Ada Brightly and Mrs Iris Munch. After being helped back onto his feet, he proceeded to enact the same move again but bent over too quickly and ripped his leotard. Unabashed, and to the raucous and exuberant cheers of the audience he removed the offending article of clobber and gave the ladies of Charlatan something of an eyeful. The lack of any restricting garment, however, seems to have done the trick and the Rev. after catching sight of his end during the final stretch returned to the upright position to the appreciative hoots of the audience. Interviewed after the show, the Reverend said he was surprised at just how big his end looked from that vantage point. Mrs Riley, the organiser, said later: “You could see he’s got a lot of balls, I’ll give him that! I couldn’t have done what he did tonight.” The Rev is currently resting in the crypt of All Sinners where the cool stone floor is soothing his haemorrhoids.

Campanologist experiences a bit of a ding dong Campanologist, Mavis Murgatroyd suffered rope burns and abrasions during the annual Bell Ringers Ding Dong on Sunday. This year’s venue, Charlatan’s All Sinners Church, was the scene of the incident where Mrs Murgatroyd, a bell ringer for 65 years, became entangled in the bell rope and was hoisted upside down into the belfry where the bats took umbrage and attacked the surprised bell ringer. It is believed that the bats, normally docile creatures during daylight hours, were aroused by the sight of the good lady’s pink frilly underwear and attacked, it being widely known among circles of bat-lovers that the creatures find the colour pink a tad disturbing, somewhat akin to a bull and a red rag. Mrs Murgartroyd was treated for shock after her rescue by the fire brigade and allowed to carry on ringing.

Charlatan widow in scuffle at 19th hole Fed up with golf balls breaking the glass in her greenhouse, local widow Mabel Wrench chose a niblick from her late husbands golf clubs, stormed into the club house at the Charlatan Golf Club and took a swing at the nearest person she saw in a Pringle sweater. Not having played herself for a number of years and with a handicap of only 16 it is not surprising that she simply sliced her victim. It was said afterwards that the dive the gent so sliced performed over the bar was worthy of any Man U goalkeeper. But although he had moved like greased lightening to avoid the angry widow the poor chap sustained a severe blow to the head and can no longer recall anything about the incident or even who he is or where he lives. Consequently we are publishing his photo in the hopes that someone will claim him.

Sports Page Widdi-cum-Fare anchor throwing contest was abruptly halted today. “Someone tied the anchor with a granny knot” said last year’s anchor throwing champ, Sydney Chuckles. “Shouldn’t take me long to do a proper job” he added, sitting down with a fid and length of rope. The contest however was cancelled after Syd lost the fid and failed to secure the anchor. Charlatan Scout Group claimed the knot was a reef knot and intend to sue.

Mr Sydney Chuckles with rope and fid at the Widdi-cum-Fare anchor throwing contest. Mr Chuckles has won the contest 12 times, an amazing feat considering he suffers from Bladder Wrack Bulge – a disease common among anchor throwers.

View from the Steeple 2 Knot on your Granny! Competitors are now being sought for next year’s European Granny Knotting Day now to be held on February 9th instead of the 30th. (Previous winners, if they are still alive, need not apply). As with previous years, each Granny will be allowed two assistant male knot- tiers who should wear the standard issue leopard-skin posing pouch — with positively NO embellishing inserts! All Grannies to be knotted should be no younger than 87, exceptionally thin, very tall and extremely supple. Unlike previous years this year will see the introduction of an Agility Test whereby each Granny must demonstrate her agility by being tied into a) a bowline b) sheepshank and c) a half-hitch (clove hitches are not allowed). They will of course be allowed a warm up exercise as in previous years, this year’s being restricted to a simple reef knot. Any Granny who cannot extricate herself from any of the knots tied during the Agility Test will forfeit her right to snog the judges after the show, and will be wheeled unceremoniously to the nearest hospital to be undone. Interested Grannies should send photos of themselves in the nude to: Knot your Granny, Knotting Hill, Knottingley, Knottingham

Rev. Gerry Gropem attacked in cemetery Strolling through the cemetery at Charlatan’s All Sinner’s Church yesterday, the Reverend Gerry Gropem was surprised to see a flock of lesser spotted Scottish cuckoos. Initially amazed at such a wondrous and rare sight, the Reverend took advantage of his luck and encouraged the normally shy birds to flock around him by mimicking their call. His ruse worked and he was soon surrounded by the brightly coloured birds, but unfortunately covered in guano too. Undeterred, the Reverend stood his ground until the guano became thick and ultimately dried, at which point he found he could not move. Fortunately, Mrs Ida Riley, visiting her mother’s grave, happened to notice what she thought was a marble statute trying to move and became suspicious enough to call the police, who in turn called the fire brigade,

who in turn called the vet, who in turn called a stone mason, who took a hammer and chisel to the alarmed Reverend and chipped the now somewhat smelly man free from the offending crust. Ever alive to the possibility of generating funds for the restoration of the church steeple, the Rev. is now selling packets of dried cuckoo guano for 104 Patagonian Zlots, but refuses to be drawn on the question of why he was wandering naked in the cemetery!

Charlatan postman attempts Atlantic crossing in inflatable He admits to being unable to swim, which makes Charlatan postman Derek Smørgørsbørd’s attempt to cross the raging winter seas of the Atlantic Ocean in his 3-year-old grandson’s inflatable that much more of a challenge to say nothing of the fun he will no doubt have in the process. After failing in the world record attempt to cross the Sahara Desert in the very same inflatable earlier this year, a much drier and less threatening environment for sure, one wonders what exactly is driving the 47 year-old part-time mail-man to these extremes. Our reporter asked the devil-may-care man of the letters just this question. “Well” said Mr Smørgørsbørd, finishing the last mouthful of the soused herring he was having for lunch. “It’s like this”. And reaching for his Zimmer frame he got up and crossed the floor to the mantelpiece where he took down a framed photograph and handed it our reporter. “It’s the missus” he said with a grimace. And looking at the photo our reporter immediately understood what it was that was driving the poor man to his certain death.