GOD ...WHAT GOD?

 The existance of God is a question long pondered over by Man since the beginning of time and cognitive thought, it is a question argued over and dissected by the greatest thinkers and Philosophers of all the ages.
 Faith is a concept that some critics have argued is opposed to reason and indeed the breadth of opinion in regard to the epistemological validity of faith is vast.
On one extreme is Logical positivism which denies the validity of any beliefs held by faith , on the other extreme is Fideism which holds that true belief can only arise from faith, because reason and physical evidence cannot lead to truth.
Well blow me down when Lackey junior came screaming into the pub last night claiming almost incoherently that he had found God in the cupboard under the sink.
Apparently he was reaching for the Mr Muscle Sink and Plughole Unblocker that he periodically pours down the sink as a precautionary measure as he has a habit of pissing in the sink as if its a urinal, when he felt something that he describes as furry.
Now! , logical thought would assume that he had found a rat or mouse, certainly something of the rodent family but Lackey seems to think it was Gods beard.
We tried to explain to him that the image of God with a beard was purely a Renaissance idea of Michaelangelos etc but Lackey is convinced it was God and who are we to argue.

BURNIN' and a LOOTIN' RURAL STYLEE.

The riots down in that there London made little impact here in Lower Sprockett, although Big Boy Magoo hired a minibus from Carters Pantechnicons ostensibly to go to Currys and PC World in Tottenham but they only got as far as The Flatulent Donkey in Upper Middenhurst where they stayed until closing time and then had a mini riot by the statue of Gordon of Khartoum consisting of Lackey Junior covering his face with a scarf and peeing in the fountain.
Quite frankly this happens most weekends anyway and Police presence was kept to a minimum as Pc Bloodfish of Middenhurst Constabulary was otherwise occupied sunk to the nuts in a Shetland Pony called Fat Susan.
Magoo had promised me an IPad 2 from Currys but i had to make do with a postcard of St Mary by the Pissoir, the renowned Gothic church and lavatory in Daverell St Leonard.
Disappointed to say the least, it doesnt even have Wi-Fi.!

PHONE HACKING, THE ENIGMA MACHINE AND CHIPS.

Pa Gutteridge whilst mushrooming in Chandlers Copse with his Vietnamese pot bellied pig Monty looking for the legendary 23 feet truffle, long rumoured to dwell neath the moist undergrowth came across a working model Enigma 3 circa 1943.

After he'd dragged it to the pub by a rope tied to the back of Rusty Bess his old tractor, we all gathered around it and after pronouncing it very interesting we all went for chips although Lackey junior had a Jamaican Pattie.

Barleymow Cranmer reckons we could use it for phone hacking, i cant quite see how, unless we threaten to bash Hugh Grant over the head with it until he gives us his ansafone pin.

The Enigma machine lived up to its name for quite a few days as we were buggerred with what to do with it, eventually we decided to re-bury it and lo and behold on so doing found the legendary 23 feet truffle which we sold to crater chinned jock Tv chef Gordon "Fuck off" Ramsey, he paid us £125.000 which we have donated to the Lower Sprockett Crochet and Knitting Circle.

They in turn have gone en-masse to The Maldives ostensibly to study Crochet Patterns of The Indian Ocean , lets hope they bring back something nice.

 

PETER FALK IS DEAD.

 He`s dead.

We were only talking about Columbo the other night in The Dog and lo and behold the next day he was dead, not that us talking about him actually led to his death you understand, it was just a coincidence.
Lackey junior seemed to think they were the worst "whodunnits" ever , we tried in vain to tell him that the whole idea of the programme was that the murderer was identified first and the plot was seeing how our one eyed sleuth solved it but Lackey was having none of it.!
Apparently Lackey The Man , Lackey juniors father used to watch it covering one eye up, so that he could`nt see who Columbo was talking to and in that way turn the programme into more of a mystery.
Sadly Falk suffered from dementia in the last few years and did`nt even know who Columbo was, it would have been interesting if he had made a couple of episodes as a cuckoo bananas dementia sufferer drooling over his raincoat and such.
Anyway Quincy is still alive so fuck him.!

EGG + CHIPS = BEANS.!

 Old Rosie in the village cafe was aghast t`other morning as Big Boy Magoo forewent his normal fry-up and asked for muesli and a glass of orange juice.
When pressed on the matter he said he had seen a tv programme stating that too much fried food gave you genital warts and worse still the only way to get rid of them was to have mockney wideboy chef Jamie Oliver remove them with a nutmeg grater from his range of handy kitchen implements.
Not being a fan of the fat pretend italian, Big Boy has sworn off the grease and is on the fibre.
Rosie fearing that takings would dramatically fall has taken to frying the muesli in pork lard and it would seem that peace has been restored to the village with both Big Boy and Rosie happy with the compromise.

LAGER IS FOR QUEER CHAPS

The other night four of the boys from the neighbouring village came bold as brass into the Dog and Tampon, obviously all heads turned, apparently their pub "The Cowards Retreat" was having a refurb.
"Bloody refurb" cried Big Boy Magoo, the only refurb our pub sees is when they change the bloody sawdust.
Anyways this motley bunch of inbreds ordered lager, old Madge found four bottles out the back covered in dust and cobwebs, although for all these cleft palette throwbacks knew about beer she might just as well have pissed in the bottles. Old Pa Gutteridge got round to telling us about an article he`d read in The New Scientist that he used as toilet paper in his back outhouse, stating that an independant analysis of various lagers had been conducted at the University of Greene King.
It seems that the three eminent Professors Fuller,Smith and Turner have discovered a link between lager consumption and homosexuality.
Seventy men of varying ages and social background were fed differing quantities of this pisslike liquid and sent out into the high street and shopping centres of Britains main towns and apparently came back with purchases such as mascara ,handbags and celebrity gossip magazines.
After a day or two the same men were given the same quantity of ale and this time they came back with briar pipes, chunky knit cable sweaters and classic car magazines.
Proof positive say these learned men, that lager is for queer chaps.

MIDGET ALERT

All residents please be on the lookout for three midgets last seen loitering close to the water fountain on Ducketts Lane.
They appear to be armed although not fully and are deemed to be somewhat spooky and are known to freak you out, if like Pa Gutteridge you are fond of the pipe.
Although childlike in size they are apparently adult in thought and deed and can quite easily bring down a gazelle in full flight although i might be confusing them with something i may have seen on a David Attenborough documentary.
Even so, please be careful if approached and bear in mind if sexually aroused that although they are over the age of consent and thus legal it is frowned upon in decent society.

SUPER DUPER INJUNCTION

 Over a few pints in the Dog t`other night Old Clarkey told us about an assignation he had back in the fifties with froggy sex kitten and all round hornbucket animal rights activist Brigitte Bardot.
Apparently it was a full blown affair lasting over a month, Old Clarkey was working on a yacht in the South of France as a waiter when she fell for his charms.
It transpires that last week confronted with a large vets bill for his sheepdog Albert, Clarkey tried to sell his story to the Lower Sprockett Weekly Shopper for £41.17 + vat and a bottle of Cillit Bang.
Upshot is Old Leatherface Frog hears about this and slaps one of those Supercalifragalistic Injunctions on the local rag and Old Clarkey.
He is now furious and cant wait for her to die.!!

SPROCKETT WOOD

Crikey!. Big Boy Magoo came running into the Dog t`other evening claiming to have seen witches in Sprockett Wood as he walked to the pub.
He took this shot on his phone and to be fair he seemed more disturbed than usual.
He was shaking and after a brandy or three he settled down and told us he was taking a short cut through Chandlers Copse when he happened upon a coven chanting spells, they turned and saw him and he just ran like the wind.
Old Pa Gutteridge said this sort of thing was very common in the old days when folk had no television and perhaps their tv had broken down and they were bored, doesnt seem like much of an explanation to me but Pa Gutteridge has had half of his brain taken out and Lackey Junior knows one of the nurses up at Cottage Hospital and she reckons they took out the good half.
Anyway to put Big Boys mind at rest, myself. Lackey Junior and Brewster Cocknocker the church warden hastened up to Sprockett Wood to have a gander but we only got as far as the War Memorial on Field Way when Barleymow Cranmer poked his head out of the window of his cottage and was sick over the hydrangeas shouting "your mother sucks cocks in hell".
He says he was only re-enacting his favourite scene from The Exorcist but it gave us such a scare that we abandoned the mission and went back to the Dog.
I think Witch finding will have to wait till another day, perhaps some things are better off left alone.

BLOODY EUROVISION

Its Eurovision again, ding a dong every hour when you kiss a flower, some Romanian gypsies were seen skirting the edge of Lower field and Old Clarkey let off both barrels and thought he`d winged one of em`but they had armour on made from layers of the Big Issue but i digress, once again this great nation of ours famed for "Puppet on a string" and other worthwhile ditties will once more be humiliated by the slavic horde voting in unison.
The glory days of Lulu are behind us i`m afraid, there will be no more "Congratulations" for the likes of Peter Pan of Pop Cliff (chicken neck ) Richards, Ma Clutterbuck of Gurneys Farm said she saw him live on stage in 1933 at Nuremburg wearing a Nazi uniform and a Charlie Chaplin moustache but i think she must be confusing him with someone else.
Big Boy Magoo reckons not only is everybody in the Eurovision Song Contest gay but any one who watches it is also gay.
I for one will be watching it, tucked up with a large bag of Mrs Patroon`s finest Afghan heroin and a bag of Revels.Come on Blue.!!

A VISIT FROM HORSINGTON



Shaven Horn

 The Horn paid us a visit to help us out with the drainage in Lower field t`other day, he had some fancy ideas that he brought up with him from Kent.
It basically boiled down to 2 rolls of Plenty and a J cloth to mop it up, not our our idea of drainage but there`s some funny ways in Kent.
We popped into Rosie`s Tea Shoppe (with an e on the end for the tourists), Horsington ordered a bottle of Scotch and a half pipe of Gum , he then swung from the mounted stags head and tried to grab hold of Rosie herself, Rosie being a black belt in Gun running pulled out an Uzi 9mm and offered him a zero survivability situation ,to which he rather wisely declined.
Then onto the Dog and Tampon for the session, Pa Gutteridge was holding court and took rather a shine to Old Horsington`s beard, likening it to a Badger he had gassed only the day before.
Big Boy Magoo came in about 9ish waving a Rabbit he`d shot, he was wearing a Fearne Cotton mask and asking people if they knew where the Pope was, as he thought he`d seen him up by End Cottage.
Horsington proclaimed himself Pope Finder General and rushed out into the night to hunt down Il Papa and save the village from the Papist threat.
Lackey Junior got up to sing a Pagan homage to the Jack o` the Green but fell over the prone body of Barleymow Cranmer who had pissed himself in fear at the Fearne Cotton mask of Big Boy Magoo.
Horsington returned fifteen minutes later saying the Pope had got away after shinning up a tree and saying a mass in latin from the top branch.
Old Madge behind the jump was screaming that her face was melting, Horsington started to sing Stranglers hits , amidst the mayham and cries of "walking on the beaches looking at the peaches", i glanced over at Mrs Patroon in the corner who smiled knowingly at me and tapped the side of her long nose.
It then dawned on me she`d been testing out her homemade LSD which she`d put in the cider barrel , what a night ! Horsington was discovered in the morning asleep on the grave of Colonel Merriwether our revered village patron and once Englands most notorious paedophile.
Horsington was wearing the head of a goat that had been hollowed out , and had cheese sandwiches pinned to his jacket in the shape of a swastika, we carried him to the train and waved him off, thank God he only visits twice a year.!

SHOW ME THE BODY

There seems to be some argument over the authenticity of the reports into the death of Osama Bin Laden.
Mrs Patroon of the General Store and Drug dealers in the village says she saw this man last week buying a Telegraph and a Snickers bar, only he called it a Marathon, Oh how we laughed !
Personally i think he looks nothing like Bin Laden, but then what do i know, ive been certified blind since birth and really dont know what the fucks going on half the time.

Crop Circles in the Lower Field

Old Clarkey from End Cottage came lumbering up to me tother day whittering on about strange goings on in lower field, he said he saw strange lights and a "mithering" and next day there were intricate patterns in the rape that could only have been done by visitors fron another world.
Now if you knew Old Clarkey like we all do you`d think he`d been on the opium again but Lackey Junior and myself hurried down to lower field and lo and behold there it was, the perfect outline of a man embedded in the rape, exactly the same size and shape as Old Clarkey and the remnants of a sticky wad of Opium laying nearby.
It didnt take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that the outline was indeed Clarkey who must have laid down in the field to smoke his pipe and fallen asleep and on awaking thought that aliens had made the outline, we didnt have the heart to tell him, so that night after he came out of The Plough we kidnapped him and anally probed him in Pa Gutteridges barn.

The Minogue Threesome.

Kylie Minogue and her sister Danii, strangely spelt with a double i (must be aboriginal) popped in for their monthly threesome with old Pa Gutteridge from Turners End Farm yesterday, we caught a glimpse of them as they drove through the village.
They are both much bigger than they appear on my 11"Eckovision black and white goggle box but then thats not saying much.
Everybody keeps saying i should get one of those new fangled colour sets but the way i see it, if God wanted us to have colour television sets he can bloody well buy me one.!
Barleymow Cranmer said i should get one for the Royal Wedding, i did`nt even know there was a Royal Wedding , too bloody busy what with Lambing and everything.
Don`t get me wrong i`m no bloody republican or owt but sod em`, ive no time for weddings, ive got to help Mrs Patroon split up the latest shipment of finest Afghan smack,heroin dont just sell its self you know.!

Back From Libya

Phew! Its been a while, but Mrs Patroon, myself and Little Joe from Top Farm have just got back from Libya.
Little Joe suggested going after New Year but he had`nt finished thatching the barn, thus armed with pitchforks and a generous supply of Mrs Patroon`s ginger cake we set off for Benghazi.
It took a few weeks but we finally met up with the rebel forces who instantly took a liking to the dried Angel Delight Powder that was our main sustenance.
Mrs Patroon soon rallied this ragtag band of freedom fighters and showed them how to make jam and they soon had a Victoria sponge to be proud of.
Little Joe trained them in the art of corn dollies and i soon had them artificially inseminating the local bull.
Apparently Colonel Ghaddafi was kicking up some kind of stink but frankly we was`nt worried as he is only a Colonel, if i was in charge of a Country i would at least make myself a General.
His army must be so shit he cant even promote himself.
We landed at Brize Norton and got the bus back, Little Joe had some trouble getting on with the pitchforks but luckily the bus driver was old Ma Wilkins` boy Trevor, he`s a good un` Trev and let us on for free.
Quick cup of tea, then down to the lower field for ditch digging, bloody drainage again.!
All in all a good trip and we feel that we really made a difference.