As you read this, advance copies of the October Spurtle are already dispersing across the barony like dropped PPE masks on an easterly breeze.
Page 1 contains a refusal, an appeal, a crisis, and ‘an absolute disgrace’.
Page 2 takes a deep breath and calmly outlines a delay, a declutter, a bit more detail, and a desire for improved fresh air. Plus Enlightenment, a toucan, Walnut Whips, and an occult reference to an unusual body part most human beings don’t like to talk about.
As you read this, advance copies of September’s Spurtle are already scattered about the barony like pelicans chasing a fish supper.
Page 1 begins with high hopes of K-pop (but not as high as before), two men in hats, and a councillor feeling the heat. Locals, as usual, are sceptical about everything.
If it’s vampires that quicken your blood, Page 2 is the place to be with sleeves rolled down and socks up over the knees. We have reports on crime, pugilism, good and bad pop-ups, and regrettable departures from the Broughton scene. Also, bins.
As you read this, advance copies of the August Spurtle are already brightening the barony like sunbeams on gull-proof sacks.
We begin on Page 1, as is our style, with a soggy outlook, a moggy on a bicycle, and foggy prospects for an architectural gem.
As usual, we continue with Page 2, where you can find out how much better or worse you’re doing than average, catch up on the latest Jacobite news, and learn about the nitty gritty of Broughton’s collapsing bridges, beauty, bookshops, and B-listed conversions.
As you read this, advance copies of the June Spurtle are already dotting the shelves of local shops like huge pepper grounds on the boiled eggs of a salad nicoise accidentally left overnight on the kitchen table. At least, I think they’re pepper grounds.
Page 1 contains contested spaces, controversial clusters, and one word too many; takes a deep breath before consultation; and rejoices in the gore-bellied posturing of an Edinburgh humbug long gone but not forgotten.
As you read this, advance copies of the June Spurtle are already finding their way into shops, bars, homes, and recycling bins across Broughton and beyond.
Page 1 begins with a doggie, a Dougray, and diversions. It continues with a missing candidate, cluster rumbles, and a fight for the right to enjoy a tight squeeze.
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.
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.
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.
As you read this, advance copies of the February Spurtle have already begun snowdropping across the barony.
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.