New issue


Submitted by Editor on Fri, 30/04/2021 - 10:04

As you read this, Spurtle stalwarts are already delivering advance copies of the printed May issue to businesses, street boxes, and subscribers the length and breadth of the barony and beyond.

Readers may soon plunge into Page 1 like young mothers into wallpaper catalogues, finding there rather astounding news on waste and an absence of consultation. They may swoon at news of refurbishment, smile enigmatically at an expected cost, or ponder the mysteries of alleged inappropriate uses in residential areas.


Submitted by Editor on Wed, 31/03/2021 - 12:31

As you read this, advanced copies of the April Spurtle are already dispersing across the barony like personal items storm-torn from a clothes line and caught in the branches of a tree just out of reach from your opposite neighbour’s first-floor kitchen window.

Page 1 looks at ways to address a tatty muddle that ought to be the capital’s tiara. It continues with a lumpen mess, reports Picardy residents’ demands for better, and concludes with first news of the forthcoming Spurtle election hustings. And there’s a view of a doo.


Submitted by Editor on Sun, 28/02/2021 - 08:33

As you read this, the first printed copies of the March Spurtle have begun appearing across Broughton like spring birds peeping in the teeth of domestic moggies.

Page 1 flutters fitfully with news of a controversial addition to the city’s streetscape, masked dogs, and a cracking structure in need of some tender loving mastic.


Submitted by Editor on Mon, 30/11/2020 - 14:35

As you read this, advanced copies of the December/January Spurtle are already appearing across the barony like Lockdown-busting shoppers from Newcastle trying to keep a low profile in parties of 30.

Page 1 steps gingerly into the traffic, looking both ways before tumbling headlong into a rain-filled pothole. It carries news of stable development, local views (and their possible absence), and the great smell of coffee not everybody likes.


Submitted by Editor on Sat, 31/10/2020 - 11:32

As you read this, early copies of the November Spurtle are already filtering out across the barony like leaves borne on an Edinburgh autumn breeze. Horizontal, at high speed, and soggy.

Page 1 starts with reports about roads, rubbish, riverbank accommodation, a new place to stay, and an enormous inflatable monkey.

It continues on Page 2 by examining space and what to do with it, capital nuisances, fresh fish, a lack of therapy, and a movie-related fart in the dark in Warriston.


Submitted by Editor on Mon, 31/08/2020 - 10:58

As you read this, printed copies of the September Spurtle are already returning to Broughton streets like students tiptoeing up common stairs and greeting their friends in a masked whisper.

Hands over your ears … Issue 299’s Page 1 roars into action with three planning stories and the small matter of a small helipad in the second New Town. You will be left puffin.

On Page 2 we examine an odd-shaped solution, multi-tasking, road chaos, Christmas conundrums, and the niceties of up-close-and-personal social distancing. There’s plenty to get steamed up about.


Submitted by Editor on Fri, 31/07/2020 - 08:47

As you read this, printed copies of the August Spurtle are already finding their way across the barony like sunbeams newly escaped from a top-security darkened cloud-chamber.

Issue 298 begins as usual on Page 1, this time with news of a development on the brink and a rumour scotched. There’s coverage, too, of a roundly criticised proposal, ineffective enforcement, cancellations of cramming, and a whack in the yack for Spurtle’s view of the monumentally offensive.


Submitted by Editor on Tue, 30/06/2020 - 10:27

As you read this, printed copies of the July Spurtle are already appearing across the barony like half-eaten fish suppers on a pre-Lockdown Saturday morning.

Issue 297 starts with shameless public nudity, whereby hangs a tail. It continues with suggestions for Council officers to chew over, more doubts on discussions in a crisis, and thoughts about a stuck-up local whom few people seem ever to have liked much.