I warned in last month's disclaimer of the possibility of lightning striking in Lower Village as divine retribution for my editorial. And what's happened since? Wind and rain. Rain and wind. And a bit of hail. So, always look on the bright side of life (as they say!), things could have been worse. Plagues of frogs and their ilk.
And they've just messed around with the clocks again. It's now light when it should still be dark - and it gets dark when it should still be light.
Surveys have been making the news a lot this month. First up, 'Country Life' surveyed a group of kids from the London area about their understanding and knowledge of the countryside (2 out of 3 didn't know where acorns came from, etc, etc). My favourite was one kids who, when asked "why should gates be kept shut in the countryside?" thought that "a cow might sit on a car and stop the traffic". Spot on!
Next there was the US research, reported in New Scientist, on 'accuracy'. A group of Capuchin monkeys threw balls and stones into buckets10-20 feet away. Male monkeys were found to be just as accurate as female monkeys. On repeating the experiment with humans researchers found that men were 32% more accurate than women. So now you know where the scratch on the side of the car came from!
I was reading earlier about the names that companies that give their meeting rooms. This reminded me of a Maths department at a US university that named each room (classrooms, toilets, staff rooms, etc) in the building after a famous scientist. Some the Newton room might be next to the Einstein room, etc. They used no other method of identification - which apparently caused 1st Year students to wander around, hopelessly lost, for hours! Anyway, returning to the meeting rooms One company decided to name their meeting rooms after castles - like 'Windsor' - and held a competition to enable the workers to choose the names. One department, stoically old-Labour, block-voted for 'Bouncy'. Another company had meeting rooms called 'Sane', 'Competent', 'Coherent' and 'Decisive'. Then when anyone asks "Where's Fred?" you could reply "He's in Sane". Lovely. There wasn't a room called 'Continent'!
All of which, of course, merely indicates that I've not got a lot to write about this month. Usually when I write that kind of thing, something really exciting or interesting happens almost immediately, but as I've been sitting here for nearly an hour, it's looking increasingly unlikely!
For those with an interest in such things, the new version of the Bradworthy News is now on the internet (www.bradworthy.com). It features more music (thanks to Alex Coles), as many bad photos of the contributors as I've been able to find (thanks to Eric), and all the dirty jokes I've been told which I simply can't print (thanks to Chris)!
Disturbing news reached me last weekend about drug abuse in Bradworthy. It would appear that a young(ish) couple got hold of a Viagra tablet - and experimented. Three hours is the answer. Names are revealed on page 32!
It's nice to see that we've got a couple of contributions from younger readers this month. Well done - and thank you. Also thanks to the master of 'Paint' Vicky Gifford, aged 28, for this month's cover drawing at short notice. You can't beat e-mail to get a drawing the 200 metres from Langdon Road to Lower Village - but it was windy!
The deadline for submitting material for inclusion in the December issue is 20th of the month, or if you're the vicar, whenever you get back off your holidays! Items of interest, news, or whatever - especially drawings for the cover - to the editor, Phil Mayhall at Hillcrest, Lower Village (tel: 241748, fax: 241167, e-mail: SantaClaws@bradworthy.co.uk)
Wind and rain. Yet more wind and rain. Now 2 Jags Prescott reckons it's global warming. His wife must have sat under the hairdrier for too long!
Disclaimer:As the legal beavers will tell you, everything printed in this magazine is the personal viewpoint, organisational stance, positional leaning, or coveted brainchild of the individual, group, organisation contributor, or representative thereof, whether legally appointed or otherwise and are in no way those of the magazine, its agents, operators and hangers-on. Consequently, it ain't me 'babe.