As you read this, advance copies of the December Spurtle will shortly start wafting across the barony like doves blown backwards and squawking on a 50mph south-westerly.
Issue 357 begins with an ill-considered blockage, barking sanity (at last), mystery basalt stars and bakery bravura. And breathe.
As you read this, advance copies of the November Spurtle are already appearing across Broughton like confiscated bangers on the floor of an Edinburgh custody suite.
Page 1 begins with two blows, various tickets and a call for improved enforcement of hooks.
There’s a digger, a coo and a questionable view on Page 2, plus grass-roots community action and reports of a tap, a crash and persistent floater.
As you read this, advance copies of the October Spurtle are already populating Broughton shop shelves and plastic dispensers like playful New York sports fans cheering on European golfers from the galleries.
Issue 355 tees off with two fresh starts, a temporary let-off, and a hue and cry over poos and pees in the wrong places.
As you read this, advance copies of the September Spurtle are already to be found across the barony, lingering like swallows on telephone wires waiting for an Uber that’s supposedly round the corner and travelling south but never comes.
Issue 354 leads with officials in no hurry to talk their way out of an an awkward corner. There’s news of a New Town blackspot where cars travel too fast, a bureaucratic log-jam where decisions sometimes travel in circles but don’t progress, and Elm Row … where there’s motion of sorts but only into thin air.
As you read this, advance copies of the August Spurtle have already begun appearing across the barony like lost Oasis fans shambling at dusk in search of affordable hotel rooms.
Issue 343 starts with concerning times for a local institution, nothing-to-be-done problems for pavement users, the good and the not-so-good aspects of green glad tidings, and crass hats.
As you read this, advance copies of the July Spurtle have already alighted on local shelves like fleas bagging sunbeds on a hedgehog on holiday.
Issue 352 begins with plans for more youth in places unaccustomed to it, a flawed urban design where you risk getting flattened, and a patient man for whose strained relationship with India ink we should all be grateful.
As you read this, copies of the June Spurtle are already thundering towards Broughton like cats urged on by professional couriers with no sense of urgency.
Issue 351 leaps from the shelf with news on Page 1 of Council plans to snog, settle or chuck, towering ambition toppled, top turfs, and infusion enthusings.
On Page 2, local repercussions and odd justifications feature, as do doos, questionable neighbourliness, invasive plastic, and an old uncle possibly leaving Edinburgh for good.
As you read this, advance copies of the May Spurtle are already spreading across the barony like tree pollen chasing atopics out in the fresh air for the first time since February.
Issue 350 begins with transport and environment and Copenhagen and climate change and the most enormous bed-bug you have ever had the misfortune to meet.
Relax on Page 2 to the furtive rustle of bin-tourists, the tinkle of trams and sunken manhole covers, splutters of bunker rage, and gasps at the lack of space in 3 local pubs.
As you read this, advance copies of the April Spurtle are already spreading across Broughton like dispersible aspirin in the glass of a Tesla PR executive.
Issue 349 begins with the local effects of a wider problem and the general uselessness of iron railings. There’s also limited praise, an inclination to access and the musical squalor of Broughton Street wizards.
Page 2 looks at the weather, unbalanced communities, wasted effort, pongs, and rotten sarking followed by time and relative dimensions in Croall Place, not necessarily in that order.
As you read this, advance copies of the March Spurtle are already popping up across Broughton like park snowdrops awaiting the first Mastiff of spring.
Issue 348 begins with an angel and a devil, a massive mistake and a wet, hollow, boggy place designed to enthuse people without wellies.