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.
As you read this, advance copies of the July Spurtle are already popping up in odd spots across Broughton like lost tourists walking in circles on York Lane in search of Britannia.
Issue 319 begins with an unlikely marriage, a Scots vow, and a surprise half-quote from Macbeth few if any have remarked before. Scores of architectural changes follow, as do clouds of dust, a tactical victory, and the return of a local artist certified dead for roughly 125 years. He’s looking well.
As you read this, advance copies of the June Spurtle have already spread across the barony like fresh hail through a spring T-shirt. Gird your goosebumps and embrace the news.
On Page 1 we commence with news of the May election, and ill-advised speculations on a Coalition deal formulated before the real thing emerged just after it was too late to correct ourselves. When in doubt, Shoot the Editor.
We have reports, too, of a bipedal phenomenon newly arrived in Broughton, the botched beginning of beautiful bins, and the grisly end of a local landmark.
As you read this, advance copies of the May Spurtle are already spreading across the barony like half-frozen political canvassers ducking into shops to get out of the wind.
Page 1 begins with a glaring absence, a brilliant presence, and mind-boggling Council self-contradiction. It continues with confirmed plans for the Beaverlands, then tapers to a wobbling close on Leith Walk. No officials were harmed in the writing of these reports.
As you read this, advance copies of the April Spurtle are already drifting across Broughton like spring snowflakes on a northerly wind. Brace yourself.
Issue 316 begins with an icy editorial blast. It continues with news of a 6-month freeze, a much loved unlovely structure left out in the cold, and a frosty response to calls for consultation. Politicians beware – the hustings are coming.