Just back from my summer holiday.

Have I told you before that we always close down in August?

Anyhow, I got back to find half a dozen messages on the answering machine from Sweaty.

Seems he's not having much luck trying to sort out his Big Sail (see below).

The Chief Constable isn't returning his calls.
 
In fact, after the 20th call in a week, his PA told him he's too busy to speak to him and not to ring back. Ever.

Not surprisingly, that's not gone down well.

"I gave her a piece of my mind when she said that", he blasted into my answering machine.

"I reminded her that even though it had been an honour to serve the Force, I had lost my leg due to a callous act of violence in the line of duty.
 
"I've sent her a few copies of my Wirral Champion column in the post to remind her of the importance of my work."

The message ended when the 15 minute tape on my machine ran out. 

I think the last bit said something about him working on a Plan B.

No doubt he'll be back in touch soon with the details.

Delightful!

Until next time...

MJW

June Poulton-Lancelyn has dropped off her latest 10,000 word yawn-inducing column for the next edition.

"It's been a busy old month!" she sighed, as she sat in my home office, wearing a bright pink flowery dress and pearls.

She waved her hand regally in the air, spreading a whiff of disgusting perfume around the room.

"I am so in demand that not a day goes by without someone ringing to ask me to attend their event as a VIP!" 

Blimey, she thinks she's the Queen, I thought, as I examined her latest duller-than-dull submission.

She eased herself off my easy chair, and I could have sworn she let out a little fart.

Poof!

"I must be off - I'm having afternoon tea and scones with the Raby Association of Retired Ladies."
 
"It'll make a few lines for my next column," she revealed, as she let herself out of the front door.

A faint smell of brussels sprouts permeated the room.

I looked closely at what she'd written.

The old bird still hasn't got a computer, so knocks it up on her manual typewriter back at the Manor.

It means I have to spend half a day inputing it into the system.

I'm sick of typing in the most banal copy about tea dances, fayres and meetings of wrinkled old biddies like her who fart every time they get up.

She doesn't half knock up some some absolute tosh.

I sighed.

Surely I can retire soon?

Until next time...

MJW

Sweaty's Big Sail could be sunk before he's even taken to the water.

His plan to take a boat round the British Isles to raise money in memory of his beloved Marje may have been holed already.

The coastguard has told him that for health and safety reasons there's no way he'll be able to sail alone, as he's only got one leg.

"The impudent twerp claimed he'd never heard of me", he moaned down the phone.

"I've raised more than £750,000 thanks to the kindness of people whose generosity knows no bounds, but these killjoy namby-pambies could ruin my campaign to single-handedly find a cure for cancer.

There was a pause, as I tried to work out to console him.

But before I could reply he was off.

"You know what this is, don't you?"

I could tell he was working up to one of his major rants, and he didn't bother waiting for an answer.

"This is symptomatic of the decline in standards in this country", he raged.
 
I held the phone away from my ear in an attempt to protect what's left of my hearing.

"We need to bring back flogging, corporal punishment and rickets in order to stop this sort of nonsense.

"If we still had national service there is no way these foolish do-gooders would have dared put a spanner in the works."

"So, is that the end of Sweaty's Big Sail?", I asked.

"Not by a long chalk," he snorted.

"My trusty NHS chair's travelled 35,000 miles around the world and it's got a few trips left it in yet.  
 
"I'm going to be calling in a few favours from the Chief Constable to sort this out.

"He owes me for all the praise I've lavished on him in my column."

And with that he rang off.

Until next time...

MJW

June Poulton-Lancelyn MBE calls with an update on her next column.

I really don't know how the old trout does it at her age.

There can't be a minute she doesn't spend freeloading at some tin pot AGM or amateur performance.

Every single edition she files 10,000 words of the most boring, tedious copy you have ever read in your entire life.

However, it fills a page or two in the magazine, and I haven't the heart to tell the senile bint that no-one really cares tuppence about what she gets up to now she's in her dotage.

She's already working up puff pieces of a dreadful production from those jokers at the Little Theatre.
 
And then there's the concert performed by her local opera society in front of three incontinent old dears and a bunch of school kids who were only there under sufferance.

I almost fell asleep as she was telling me about it.

"I'll have it to you by the end of the week, dear", she trilled before putting the phone down.

So, lots to look forward to in the next edition of the Champion!

Until next time....

MJW

I had Sweaty on the phone earlier today.

He's got another idea for where he can take that blasted wheelchair of his.

Like you, I didn't think there was anywhere in the world it hadn't been.

Up hill. Down dale. Along the straight. In the desert. The other side of the world. Up a
lighthouse. Out of a plane.

Turns out we were wrong.

However, he has run out of land - this time he wants to set sail and take it out to sea.

I think he got the idea while wheeling himself around the Tall Ships festival last weekend.

"Marje was a big fan of ships,"  he bellowed down the phone at me.

"It's the next stage in my ambition to rid the world of that despicable disease that took my beloved wife away from me and has left me inconsolable.

"While there's still breath in my body I won't stop my fundraising efforts.

"I think it will make me as famous as Sir Robin what's-his-face who sailed round the world single-handedly.
 
"And he didn't have the traumatic loss of a police career due to an act of violence in the line of duty.

"Remember, it's all for the love of Marje" he said, before ringing off.

I suppose it's fitting.

After all, cancer is known as the big sea.

Or should that be, C?

Anyhow, he's provisionally titled it Sweaty's Big Sail.

Look out for more details in his next column.

It's a real relief because at least he won't be insulting another section of the community for a few months.

Sometimes I don't know why he didn't just agree to that prosthetic leg the doctors offered him.

It would have made life so much easier - for all of us.

Until next time...

MJW

Hello and welcome to this new blog.

This is a wonderful new venture paying tribute to Wirral's most popular and dearly loved magazine. Did you know it's now outselling the Tranmere Rovers fanzine?

But please don't believe a word of what you read here - it's all completely made up!

Until next time...

MJW