Greetings, fellow Chippers, and time for me to write again with good news. Economic prosperity is here again! I doubt if many of you would understand the national figuures but we can clearly see growth in our little village, "Hooray" I say.
Mr Dwight Botherkoch III in the village store has increased the hours of Mrs Dobbins (who used to own the shop). She'll need that extra to pay for the large plasma screen telly she probably has, what with a husband permanently on the sick. I must remind her though, we don't want to see latchkey children in our village. Just a word to the wise.
Tuscan evenings in the Duck And Partridge are going down well. Not that they ever lagged mind you: don't believe all these stories of poverty you read - some of us have done jolly well with our inheritances and Sam has ever so many clients these days. As she said the other night, she could probably charge more for dinner than I do, ho ho.
Little Michael Gove's village school is also thriving, having lost only two pupils since it started. And a French mistress, but that's another tale and we don't want the tabloids going there! Okay, I'm in charge of the finances, as I might have reminded you when I mentioned the economic growth, but just tripling the school's budget has immeasureably improved it, except for exam results. Michael, what's happened to the Chipping Norton Caccaulaureat? Sorry, golf club humour. As to the local children who used to use the school, they're benefiting from the sixteen mile round bus trip each day, and the costs keep industry afloat. Joined up thinking there, young Ed.
George on the phone there, wanting credit for the village finances. Well! Muttering about Mrs Dobbin still being part time - of course she is, George, we talked about pensions and holidays and othe benefits that lower level workers don't need, what with Universal Credit and the free duck pond (mind the housing development around the pond, security is pretty tight). As you and I benefit from a few weeks in Italy, so do these people from a day out in Blackpool or some such place. Do try to keep up, George, or it's Northern Ireland for you in a year.
We're sad to see the resignation of Mr Mitchell from the Parish Council. He did a sterling job emailing minutes and gathering our lost sheep and it's a shame to see him go. I've had to deal with a few obstreporous policemen myself (that slanty-eyed Bettison springs to mind) and they can be infuriating. However, I'm sure that people realise that bad headlines for me are bad headlines for the parish.
Also, while we're dealing with the moaners: several of the Old Folks Home residents have been complaining about all and sundry. Honestly, they can't remember to fasten their flies but they remember my name well enough when they want a few column inches. I've asked Sercon Homes (Premium Branch, Cleaned Weekly) to get the Christmas tree up early to distract poor old Norman.
Speaking of Christmas, ours will be quieter than usual, bar the crying from the nanny. Holiday with her parents back home, my ruddy cheeks! Charlie and Becks are lying low, perhaps because they lose at Charades every year. That does mean we don't have to see that ghastly Clarkson fellow, garage owner or something of the sort. Endless videos of himself are bad enough but you do need to be fit and a lot slimmer to wear jeans with a formal shirt. Ahem.
Still, that's enough for now, got a parish to run! Not that you lot care. Oh no, oh my droogs.
2 comments:
Love it :)
LOL Me too!
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