As you read this, advance copies of the JUNE Spurtle are already sprinkling across Broughton shelves like American tourists in search of a bathroom.
Issue 329 begins with news of a falling pie, influential views, a droop-defying local artist and the uncertain intentions of a new Gayfield venue.
‘Absolute perfection belongs not to man, nor to angels, but to God alone’, said John Wesley in his Plain Account of 1766. Make of that what you will, but I’m sure we can all agree that absolute perfection certainly doesn’t belong to editors and proofreaders.
Take the 2nd edition of the Geneva Bible, for example, printed in 1562. Popular today with town planners, its mistaken version of Matthew v, 9 reads, ‘Blessed are the placemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.’
As you read this, surprise copies of the May Spurtle are already popping up across the barony like campervans on the forecourts of Fife.
Issue 328 begins with locals pleading for a good night’s sleep, a sad reflection, a grand span, disputed sunshine and some signs of the times.
Page 2 continues with yet another sign, this time the shrimp-gargling and nipple-tassel kind, followed by moves to ensure local voices are heard. Then we cover potential noise, bad drivers getting away with it, mounting costs and Fantasy Island fog.
As you read this, advance copies of the April Spurtle are already disappearing from local shelves like daffs at night from municipal flowerbeds.
This month we kick off with campaign news and determined locals who won’t take being ignored for an answer. We continue with the latest on efforts to keep a dear green space available to the local community, dip briefly into follicles, and conclude Page 1 with a sneak look at a project the developers would rather we didn’t bang on about.
As you read this, advance copies of the March Spurtle (Issue 327) are already spreading across the barony to cries of amazement from startled readers.
You, too, will gasp at disturbing news from Eyre Place and East London Street, where matters are not progressing as anybody expected. You, too, may swoon at the news of a former child star who’s now succeeding in two careers and on telly. It all started in Broughton.
As you read this, advance copies of the February Spurtle are already sidling onto shelves like cats onto radiators and pandas onto public pavements.
Issue 325 begins with a turning point in motorist/pedestrian relations, a flaw in the fight against shanties, disturbing bus news, and a white elephant on the loose in Bellevue.
As you read this, advance copies of the November Spurtle have already ensconced themselves in local businesses and libraries like nesting hedgehogs returning home drunk from the pub. Minus the smell of cigars.
Issue 322 begins with the confusing world of pop-up planning, continues with news of bad news for Christmas, a peak through the keyhole of time, a flawed audit and a blatant attempt to part readers from their money.
As you read this, advance copies of the October Spurtle are already settling on local shelves like autumn leaves in great crunching heaps of red, gold, and amber. Minus the slugs and doggie surprises.
This month we begin with flatfoots and a firm grip, what to do with a surplus, and the joys of social-media schadenfreude.
As you read this, advance copies of the September Spurtle are already spreading across Broughton like pizza fragments round a bin full of rats.
Page 1 begins with a temporary fix, an entirely predictable and predicted fiasco, and a ‘feature façade’. It’s all infuriating. Thank God for the clock and the flock.
Fake flowers feature on Page 2, as do too much of a good thing, too little of a good thing, and a dog’s breakfast.
As you read this, advance copies of the August Spurtle are already appearing across the barony. Secure yours now before Greg Proops grabs the lot.
Issue 320 comprises tightly packed local news.
It begins, like Issues 1–319, with Page 1. We cover new homes many people will struggle to afford, bad parking, repulsion (for now) of an alien invasion, and the mixed joys of camelopards. Plus balls – more of them, more often, and more visible at night.