Shawleynott's Blog

Shawley Nott Scream Club

shawleynott — Sun, 05 Sep 2010 10:04:11 +0000

“It’s no good being scared if you don’t scream properly,” says the President of Shawley Nott’s Scream Club. “Following a sighting of the Headless Horse Horseman (see 3 Mar), one villager screamed like a constipated otter. And after catching sight of the Brotherhood of the Headless Chicken (see 12 Mar), another hit such a high-pitched note that three bats dropped dead from the church eaves. It’s just not on. And what’s more, I don’t expect to arrive at a scene with a silver bullet in my revolver to find a villager disturbed by Nifty Briskflash standing naked in the bushes. Nifty shouldn’t merit a werewolf-type scream, no matter what he’s exposing. Anyway, I started the Scream Club, so that we could practice screams that reflect the nature of the distress.”
Apparently several villagers go to the monthly practice, although Enid Schwarzenhoppen has been banned for yodelling, since the Club is looking to practice screams rather than experience a cause of them.
The club secretary, Major Voyce-Box, has instituted scream grading, from grade one to five, based on pitch, duration and variation of tone. Cyril Tonnage has failed miserably to achieve any form of consistency, although his efforts have won him the role of Tarzan in the village drama society production of Tarzan versus Godzilla. Doreen Growler will be reprising her role as Godzilla, having seen off Mr. Trubshaw’s King Kong over three nights last year.
The Major explains: “When I hear a scream, I want to know why. A grade five is a vampire or werewolf threat, whereas grade two could be a witch. I did attend an incident last month when Sybil Primanpropper screamed to level three, which was because she’d found her husband wearing her clothes again. We forgave her, and having witnessed his appearance on arrival myself, frankly I’m surprised she didn’t go higher.”

Terrifying Birthday Tales (Part Two)

shawleynott — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 20:28:11 +0000

Further news relating to Ginger Pritchard’s birthday party (see 6 Feb). The Hide and Seek winner has finally been located, looking rather dilapidated after almost eight months in a coal shed living off small insects and a leaking water pipe. And Witchy Crumple (see 6 June) has apologised for presenting an enchanted birthday cake, which sprouted legs and ran off with the chocolate mousse.
There was some commotion when little Rosie managed to pin the tail on the donkey and the surprised animal lashed out with its hind legs. Mrs. Pritchard then did a drawing of a donkey, which was so bad the children re-named the game ‘Pin the tail on the half-camel/half-gorilla’. This was eventually contracted to ‘Pin the tail on the Camilla’.
The real donkey was used to give the children rides, although it bucked whilst carrying Smiffy Dunston, who was found in an adjacent field having landed in a pile of Farmer ‘Chemical’ Spillage’s ‘special’ fertiliser. Unfortunately Smiffy was up to his knees in it for several minutes, and now takes size 16 shoes. Dr. Grogg was worried about a small mole on Smiffy’s leg, but he removed it and it disappeared under his lawn. It must have come from the fertiliser because on release it was the size of a small badger.
We should also mention that the climax of the party was choosing the Best Presented Toad, a birthday tradition unique to Shawley Nott. The award went to Herman the Toad, whose owner had dressed him up as a Luftwaffe pilot.

Zombie Employment Agency

shawleynott — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 19:03:53 +0000

“I just got fed up with them hanging around the village, arms dangling lifelessly at their sides, and occasionally grunting,” explains village entrepreneur Mavis Haggle. “So I set up the Zombie Employment Agency to offer them jobs. Even dead-end ones. Which they’re rather suited to, actually.”
Mavis has a good eye for business, whereas some of the zombies just have a good eye. “I’ve tried to teach them to talk rather than to grunt or wail,” Mavis continues, “but invariably when they speak their teeth tend to fall out. Also, decomposition can be a problem. I shook hands with one of them, he left the office, and when I went to use my keyboard I realised that I still had his hand in mine. That was quite a shock I can tell you. When I let go, it scuttled across the desk and went for Possum, the office cat. However, we’ve managed to place three zombies as scarecrows, and one as a shop mannequin. Surprisingly, the majority have been employed as Customer Service representatives. Apparently they’re good at handling complaints, because after several grunts and no human reaction at all, those complaining just give up. The village bank has four.”
“For assistance, the council authorised members of the Shawley Nott Football Club to stand with shovels in the graveyard, so that the zombies could have some help getting through the turf. But a mix up meant the players thought themselves a line of defence, and as the ‘living dead’ rose they smacked them over the head. I don’t want to expand on the zombies action, but afterwards most of the first eleven could dig a trench to their rear by bending and straightening their knees. You can’t say zombies don’t have a sense of humour.”

Oh Village Sage….?

shawleynott — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 15:52:32 +0000

Every ten years our Village Sage is wheeled out under our historic oak tree (see 27 March) to answer questions that are worrying residents. The Sage is believed to be more than 250 years old, has one eye, and his strangely-styled white hair (with one long upward tuft) and beard (with two long downward tufts) now almost cover his face. As Frothy Dinsdale commented, “it’s a bit like talking to the rear end of a Persian cat.” We are pleased to report his latest appearance, with questions from Bob, Bernard and Cheryl.

Cheryl: Oh sage, how do I mend a broken heart?
Sage: Who broke it?
Cheryl: My boyfriend.
Sage: Well then he should mend it.
Cheryl: But we’re not speaking….
Sage: Don’t argue. I’m a Sage. I know what I’m talking about.
Cheryl: But…
Sage: Next question!
Bob: What colour should I paint my shed?
Sage: Brown.
Bob: Brown?
Sage: No, wait a minute…maroon.
Bob: Maroon? That’s a bit odd for a shed. Why maroon?
Sage: Because I’m a wise old sage and I said so.
Bob: But my wife doesn’t like maroon.
Sage: Well then you should’ve asked what colour your wife wants you to paint the shed, shouldn’t you?
Bernard: What about some philosophy questions? What’s the secret of eternal life?
Sage: Blue.
Bernard: Blue is the secret of eternal life?
Sage: What? No! Blue is the colour his wife wants him to paint his shed. I got confused. It’s not easy, all this….saging. Can’t a 250 year-old sage get confused if he wants?
Bob: I thought we were meant to ask you questions?
Sage: You are.
Bob: But you just asked us if you could get confused.
Sage: It was rhetorical! Next!
Cheryl: Should I telephone my boyfriend?
Bob: Doesn’t my wife want the shed olive green?
Bernard: What about eternal life?
Sage: One at a time! Is that too much to ask?
Bob: Er… was that rhetorical or not?
Sage: All of my questions are rhetorical! I’m a Sage. Is that clear?
(There is silence.)
Sage: I said is that clear?
Bob: So that question wasn’t rhetorical?
Sage: No.
Bob: Yes.
Sage: How dare you! The answer is no!
Bob: I know, but I was answering ‘yes’ to ‘Is that clear?’ There’s no need to get shirty.
Sage: I can’t believe I get wheeled out every ten years for this.
Bob: I’m sure my wife wants the shed olive green.
Cheryl: I think I’ll phone my boyfriend tonight.
Bernard: I’m not sure I want the secret of eternal life. I get bored at weekends now. Actually, this is a bit like questioning the rear end of a Persian cat.
Sage: That’s it. I’m going home.

Psychic Pets Competition

shawleynott — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 16:50:03 +0000

After the flurry of psychic creatures recently (see 16 July), our Psychic Pets Competition rolled around again last weekend. It was, unpredictably, chaos. Reg Mildew’s psychic melon was disqualified on the grounds that it wasn’t a pet at all, despite Reg’s protests that he took it for walks and called it Fluffy. A psychic Persian cat that could read the mind of its 103 year-old owner was also ruled out through lack of evidence, although they certainly dozed off together on a number of occasions.
A psychic chameleon was impressive. With 100% success it correctly changed its colour to correspond with the colour of a concealed circular card, which was either red, yellow, or green. But unfortunately someone then left it facing the village traffic lights and it died of exhaustion.
A psychic goat that was claimed to bleat in the event of an attack by flying cows remained untested, as was a guinea pig that apparently tap-danced as a prediction of a drop in the pound/dollar exchange rate.
Noreen Snibbles psychic hawk went skywards to read the future from cloud shapes, but unfortunately got distracted by Cheesy, the psychic field mouse. If Cheesy did have a premonition about his own death then he didn’t move anywhere near quickly enough.
Midgeley Snetterton’s psychic chicken, Vernon, failed miserably to foresee the danger in its masters journey home. Midgeley stepped on a spring-loaded drain cover and was hurled through the air into a threshing machine.
The winner was deemed to be Lana, the psychic lamb. She didn’t turn up for the competition, but in view of the fact that Syd Snarling unexpectedly brought his three psychic wolves, that was proof enough for us.