Christmas 2012

Run out of Nailsea views. Here is the Avon Gorge.

It's been a busy, not interesting, year. Welcome exaggeration, hyperbole and narrative devices to make us sound cool.

'Has anyone seen my talent?' asks Toby in the West Wing, struggling with a presidential address. He should try a 28 year run of Christmas letters. Comments from the focus groups include, 'Loads of this is fine but I think the bits about the house is a bit 'old people with not much to say??!!!'' Ouch.

We saw the Olympics. And the Paralympics. All of it. Every sport. Minority or not. The sofa is worn out. We didn't get any tickets (not disappointed, we didn't apply for any) so celebrated a great event by sitting on our arses for hours and drinking.


Last year we were told that the Diocesan Surveyor was going to come and do a quinquennial. He also agreed to do the house while he was here (very specialised joke - may get 3 laughs per 200 readers). He agreed that the leaning wall of Vynes Way needed to be removed and rebuilt. Hail Dan and Ben the builders (Bob was not available) who dug through a lot of clay and rubble (or our lawn, as we like to call it) and put it all back in exactly the same way except they moved the mint which now grows through the grass and provides for a fragrant mow.

That tricky flush mechanism in the guest toilet was replaced at last. Sadly it was replaced by one with an even more complex knack to it. Glenn the postman stopped calling for a pee because it was embarrassing to admit he couldn't work it. The flush not his... never mind.

Returning from holiday to stains on the ceiling we discovered the tank had overflowed. The overflow did not go into the outside world but the roof space of the extension. Not a thorough enough quinquennial we would say except that Diocesan Surveyors might read this.

The Old Rectory, a dream we followed as a church, was purchased and renovated due to the generosity of church members (£750k raised or pledged). It became Trinity House. It is now offices, flats bringing in rent, a youthspace and some great meeting rooms. The Archdeacon opened it in March. He got its name wrong but it was raining heavily at the time.

We decided to earmark one free evening a week apart from days off. We have managed this pretty rigidly for a year and apart from the bar bill at the pub it has been excellent. Sometimes we find ourselves both doing emails so mobiles may have to be banned.

The follow up to Steve's book Mustard Seed Shavings (available online, google it, £6.99) called God's Church My Place (same price) came out in April to almost no acclaim, reviews or publicity. Two book launches were attended by very few people although a mention here to old friends Jane and Graham for driving from Leamington to Bath just to be there (and to have a day in Bath, but that's beside the point).

Little Dragon, Stewart Lee, Dara O'Briain, open-air Macbeth (where the going was soft) Vintage Trouble and the Easy Star All Stars all entertained us. Discovering the Fleece at Bristol (not in an explorer type way, it was there all along but we hadn't been) was exciting and we will be there a lot. Stewart Lee is the finest entertainer working the circuit today but don't go if you are easily offended, like jokes to tickle your ribs and expect comedians to largely make you laugh. It is far more complicated than that. Read his book first. Lee's opening line was that the Norwegian mass-murderer Anders Behring Breivik is a big fan of Jeremy Clarkson and Top Gear. This was followed by a riff on the many horrible ways Lee would like (only joking) Clarkson to die or be maimed. Don't go and see him until you understand why this is amusing. May tackle Robin Ince next year.

Jono pitched up to do an intern year as a church musician and worship leader. He is annoyingly talented, good with people, friendly, polite and quite young. A sort of antiSteve.

Angharad's wedding to Will Kerr was fun. Angharad is Steve's od-daughter (missing g deliberate) and had the kindness to make him feel old by being the first second generation wedding he got to do. He married her parents a couple of decades back. Steve's wedding joke that Angharad was now God's little A. Kerr still has the tumbleweed blowing though it even now, three months on.

After that we did a weird thing (we don't think it's odd but apparently others do) of taking a holiday 30 miles up the road. All we wanted was not to be in and to have a nice cottage where we could read and walk a bit. Why go miles away? We celebrated by being hit in the rear by a truck. After all these years Liz has never been involved in an accident whilst driving. Although we were stationery at traffic lights when hit and sitting in Liz's car the important information is that she was in the passenger seat. Steve chalks up another accident, a stat he added to later in the year by trying to sail his car up a Somerset river and failing rather spectacularly. Only compensation was two weeks in a Q3, Audi's policy being to give you a better courtesy car than the one you lose. Had fun with an electric handbrake and hill starts; another thing with a knack to it - we should introduce it to the the guest loo.

Liz did attempt to have an accident by forgetting she had an automatic after a few days in a manual while her rear was being fixed (don't titter). She screamed as she almost put her husband through the windscreen. She screamed. She did. Seat belts didn't lock; airbags didn't bag. Not even a mini-adventure. Husband now deafer.

Thousands of housemartins chose to meet for chat before leaving the country at Lee Abbey Conference Centre while we were there for the weekend. Our window sill was a bit noisy and our ensuite the best place from which to take pictures. And that is why there were so many people coming out of our bedroom, your honour.

Being parents of the bassist in Black Maple and the producer of whatever Ben's latest incarnation is actually called, try Lakumer but we may be wrong and making the sort of embarrassing mistake old people do, has made our music careers vicarious. But we are damn proud as they are our retirement plan.


Lee Abbey bathroom window-sill

Listen to them at:

Black Maple

Lakumer

Since they both live in London-on-the-wold we pop down occasionally, firstly to see them, secondly to do something cultural (went to the V&A last month) and thirdly to experience the joy of being customers of First Great Western whose refund hotline is now on speed dial.

West Brom sixth in the Premiership. No. Must have the table upside down. We watched the European Football Championships, mainly in bars in Gozo, where the friendly locals and warm climate take the edge off a penalty shoot-out defeat.

Many love greetings wishes blessings peaceful happy tidings and that.

 

 

 

Christmas 2011

Christmas 2011

Ah hello. Come in and sit down. No, no, not there. That other one is far more comfortable and doesn't tip directly into the piranha tank.

You're wondering why we asked you here? We've been meaning to have words for a while. It concerns your performance as (delete as necessary) customer/storemanager/parishioner/colleague/son/other relative/bishop/not sure.

We won't beat about the bush. Why do that when you can beat the bush and then club the pheasant directly? No we were not calling you a pheasant. That was just a metaphor. There will be more of those. Actually if it was a metaphor we were calling you a pheasant. We are also calling you a pedant for noticing. Stop distracting us. The thing is you have simply not been diverting enough. We cannot double-handedly bear the weight of amusing our friends, followers and family. Please step up. In the meantime, here is something not much like news.

Knees. Not normally entertaining? Are you sure? Have you seen Steve's? He had unspecified therapeutic endoscopic operations on semilunar cartilage. Spent years eliminating sentences such as that from communications to ordinary people and then copped for six three syllable words out of seven. It means keyhole, scalpel and four hours in hospital including a bit of a sleep. Two pathetic scars, a week off work and a fully functioning right knee joint again. The member of the family who gave his knees a thirty year football battering now has a new tale with which to bore us. That left knee looks iffy though and Steve needs a reading week.

Please chuckle now or we'll ask the staff to take you out and have fun with you.

Consumer news. We have enjoyed renting holiday cottages for years but copped for our first duffer. Dark, dank and dirty is not a description of Liz's management style (yet) but was better than the word 'charming' and others used to describe the place we rented last spring. The world's smallest double bed had to be climbed over to draw the curtains across a rod with a ninety degree kink in it. Strangely, 'ninety degree kink' also described the necessary manoeuvre to get a suitcase to the 'deceptively spacious' upstairs. No folks, it was not as tardis-like as we had been led to expect. Deceptively claustrophobic in fact. The wash basin remained full once the plug was removed. Previous occupants of the shower had all left their mark as had users of cutlery and crockery. Full refund and alternative accommodation were not offered so we came home. Proceedings are proceeding. Watch the small print in Sykes Cottage brochures (way beyond page 300). Your contract, they insist, is between you and the cottage owner and they will do nothing. This despite references to 'Our Cottages' throughout.

Do not laugh at this point or you'll be back at your first choice of chair.

Cargo Nailsea, the local shop Liz opened a couple of years ago so she could be nearer home of a Friday night, closed again. Another retailer made the company an offer they couldn't refuse for the prime site she had found. Fridays in Bath, Swindon or Cheltenham beckon. The closing down sale rocked though. It appears her company buyers may have slightly over-ordered champagne flutes. Does anyone want to buy 16,000? Not celebrating? Thought not. Liz's 4.40 a.m. alarm has become a feature of our life. Steve used to find 6.45 a.m. a tad early but the Cargo regional team of three slipped to two a few weeks ago so Brighton is now in the south-west and Mrs T is becoming acquainted with Premier Lodges in places such as Bagshot.

Last year Steve agreed to take the Christmas Eve midnight communion at Tickenham and found the place full of lively young adults who once belonged to the youth group but had upped and left. A quick survey showed the early nineties as the date they were together and we all ended up singing an impromptu Shine Jesus Shine round the joanna at 1230 on Christmas morning. You probably had to be there. Steve will be back this year as Tickenham is still awaiting a new Rector. We expect to cover Wonderwall and Bohemian Rhapsody.

Ben (older and co-favourite son for the benefit of new readers) and Rachel (his girlfriend) headed off to London-in-the-Marsh. Both sons, Steve's sister and all partners (only three, don't panic) now live in the capital. Ben is pioneering the live-your-life-backwards awards his Dad began and is now a student again. Jon has had a steady job for a year and has borrowed no further money. Excuse us; writing that made us come over all weird.

Curate Michelle came back from maternity leave with a delightful son in tow but has just announced she enjoyed it so much she is doing it again.

Mustard Seed Shavings the book was published at Easter. You don't have a copy? Google it immediately and purchase from BRF, Amazon or your local bookshop. Buy enough copies for your teenage godchildren too. If it sells as many as Purpose Drivel Life it will pay for the Trinity Project (see previous years) and Steve will have paid his expenses back. OK some of them.

Cooked breakfasts have a certain allure so we started doing them with some success all over Nailsea and District. Also beer and pizza. The way to a man's heart is through his chest cavity and our successful men's ministry will probably keep the triple-bypass business in er business.

Gozo was again warm, friendly and you weren't there so it was great. On return we spent a weekend in a caravan, which was to break one of our life vows. Slightly coped.

Our church moved schools. Complicated sentence. Let's unpack it. Our church is a bunch of people who hire buildings to meet in. At Easter we moved to Golden Valley School, attempting to be salt and light in another community. The sign on the drive next to the school says 'Golden Valley Vets'. Makes you wonder if, asked how church was on Sunday, our congregations say, 'You wouldn't know man; you weren't there.'

Two new names on the Holy Trinity and Trendlewood Letterhead - Youth Worker and Children's and Families Worker respectively. Nothing bad to report yet. They are both pleasingly rude, disrespectful and show tendencies to be good at their jobs. Hi Josh and Ruth. Get used to this.

We ran a bit of a street lunch for the Royal Wedding (don't snigger, those fish can strip your flesh in seconds). We met about forty neighbours. We'll be reprising it for the jubilee. We imagine that waiting for someone else to organise it will be a bit wolverhampton so we're on it.

The five year garage clear out went well. Things have been dumped or donated. The garage is now available for its more usual purpose of clothes washing, vegetable storage and recycling.

After many years of hoping and praying various bosses would leave Liz finally dispensed with the services of one she actually liked. The flip side of this is that Tilleys and Gilberts can now behave as friends and we get to look after their lovely black labrador from time to time. He is called Diesel. He is a 2 litre gti retriever. Motto, 'That ball is deffo coming back if I have to bring you the whole damn bush.'

On the live entertainment front we rated Bonobo, Tobacco Factory's Richard II and Comedy of Errors, Sarah Millican (who lost her rag when someone tried to record her illegally) and an almost completely sozzled but still funny, Dylan Moran.

Liz would like to end this letter with a short quote from one of her many experiences of sacking people: 'So you're saying that if we retain you, next time you'll make sure you'll restrict your groping to the adult members of staff.' Not retained.

St and Liz send their love and offer their services to de-ice modern boiler condenser pipes, a skill we practised a number of times last Christmas. You may leave. Do be careful on the bridge. Oops. Sorry. Wrong lever. Don't scream; it disturbs the neighbours.

Back copies (1985-2010) available below.

Christmas 2010

One exciting thing about getting older is that bits which worked satisfactorily for the previous five and a half decades begin the journey to the grave. Step forward ears, cartilages and ankles. Explain yourselves.

Oh dear. Started the Christmas letter with health news. Sorry. There's not been much to brag about this year having shrunk a retail business and a church. One of us can blame a recession.

New readers please breathe deeply and relax. Trying to understand every last phrase is not time well spent. Keep going and allow a chuckle to escape if you think it should.

Another sign of ageing is that these Christmas things seem to stack up. Only last Christmas we gave you our heart and what did you do with it the very next day? What do you want now? Spleen? Liver? Why did the highlighter start giving all the text a yellow background just now?

In January we think we might have been to the worst panto ever; certainly since the self-penned Vicar's Nightmare in Mapperley 1985. In Cinderella at Weston-super-Mare Peter Duncan was the saving grace. Never thought we'd write that sentence. So bad it was funny. Was that the point? Oh no, apparently, it wasn't. Maybe the point was behind us.

Saw the rarely-sighted, white stuff down here. Not that Mum; don't panic. Everyone got terribly excited. A funeral reached the crematorium by calling in favours and borrowing about six four wheel drives. The coffin went in the back of one of those big Range Rover thingies. Liz bravely tried to get to work at the height of all this but after 100 metres the first bend in Vynes Way flummoxed her transmission. She stayed at home and discovered that her husband also worked really hard all day. Possibly because someone was watching. The last two weeks we have also had a bit of weather although Nailsea hasn't been closed like London-in-the-Marsh and Birmingham-on-the Wold. Some kids did steal the snow off our front lawn at 5.00 a.m. and made us a snowgirl though. Which was cool.

The local churches organised political meetings in which candidates were quizzed. Liam (Atlanticist, Thatcherite, monetarist, unionist, Euro-sceptic; oh how we get on) Fox out-smoothed everyone else whilst the UKIP candidate demonstrated that she knew almost nothing about virtually anything. Longest forty minutes of Steve's life as he interviewed her, mining away for a subject about which she could speak with authority. Struck nothing. The local alpaca farm had a poster on the gate saying 'Vote Fox.' Even the furry things vote for foxes. Sorry it is so posh here we have an alpaca farm. We try to spend more time in Iceland but it isn't a patch on...

...Waitrose, which came to town. This made us happy. We are simple, middle-class folk. They took over Somerfield and are desperately trying to retrain the staff as we write. Tell me again, which are the muscles you move to smile?

Twelve Easter window displays in local shops made a journey through Jesus' life. One of the bits of the journey was dismantled prematurely by an over-enthusiastic flower-arranger from Tickenham. People were left wandering Nailsea Town Centre asking where Jesus went. Not a bad Easter question. Limericks please. An enthusiastic flower-arranger from Tickenham...

We joined the 350 away fans for Clevedon Town vs Leamington FC who duly won 3-1 condemning our hosts and their 26 fans to relegation. West Brom got promotion, for one week were top of the family league, and may, possibly, not get relegated this time. Steve won't know what to do with a boring end-of-season. Learning to spell Odemwingie would be time well spent. Then there was the World Cup. Yeah. That's enough of that.

We enjoy theatre at the Bristol Tobacco factory. A Midsummer Night's Dream was excellent. Best improvised Wall we have ever seen. It's good when comedies make you laugh without hurting others. Writers of Mock the Week and 8 out of 10 cats please take note. Frankie Boyle was not asked to tender for this year's Christmas letter. We also went to an evening of beat-boxing at the old Vic, the Pet Shop Boys in Cardiff and Jon Richardson in Newport. So eclectic.

Trendlewood Church had its 21st birthday. We had a party with old friends and founders invited back. It was a good day but since then several key members have moved on and we've had to do some work on rekindling the vision. Still very optimistic. Better than misty options, as someone once said.

Having gone on and on about Gozo we finally decided to take our boys and their girls with us this year and had a, gasp, family holiday. We all got on, enjoyed eating, chilling, exploring, chilling and eating very much. Obviously some music had to come with us since the next generation and silence haven't been formally introduced. Our education in this area improved.

What's this great music Jon?
That's your LCD Soundsystem album.

A lovely meal at the most expensive restaurant on the Maltese islands was interrupted by a cockroach called Alan who, for no reason, walked up Ben. Meal was so good that didn't spoil it. The bill was a record breaker, not helped by six champagne cocktails before we even sat down. Well it was a celebration. Why Alan? No idea.

Previous houses and Christmas letters have had a theme of dodgy showers. One of ours (I know, we have two, posh again) began draining slower and slower until you had to time your ablutions so that the water didn't come up to the door level before you finished. Some nice local plumbers took lots of the house apart to solve this and did eventually put most of it back the same way. Water leaves as well as arrives now but the tiles in the other bathroom no longer match each other. Did get the lounge ceiling painted for nothing though. Then the ecological, ergonomical modern new boiler's condenser outlet froze.

There is a vacancy at the next door parish. Steve's small-print (providing extra priestly help in other churches) has been invoked four times in four years now for two vacancies and two sabbaticals. That should have been larger print.

Church weddings got a bit radical. At the 'kiss each other' moment Mark and Megs did high fives. Multiple best men became normal. Then Jill got married in white wellies and had Tigger the black labrador as a page-boy. The doings of black labradors have made our readers unwell over previous years but this one behaved immaculately.

Cargo opened in Nailsea, presumably sniffing the opportunity of cash-rich Waitrose customers popping along for a sofa to go with their groceries? On another occasion Liz was woken to the news that a manager had been taken straight into custody.

Manna is the new Bath and Wells Diocesan magazine. It is glossy, relevant and well written. Big up to the Diocesan Communication team says St with no sense of humility whatsoever.

Any chance of a dull year soon? Thought not. Must go. Need to sort the recycling. Even our non-compostable food-waste gets taken away here. By the way...

An enthusiastic flower-arranger from Tickenham
Made displays but the people kept knickin' 'em
So to keep up her purity
She installed security
Now out of a line-up she's pickin' 'em

Thank you, good night. St and Liz x

Christmas 2009

Nailsea
Christmas 2009

We were standing in Minami Urawa station. It's not the start of a far eastern blues song. Don't even try to pronounce it. And Jon says, 'Stay here until I get back. Don't move from that spot.' Boot. Other foot. We pulled faces at him as he walked away.

Liz's company embraced any technique they could to keep the business afloat in a downturn. Guantanamo torturers wanting to cause sleep deprivation? Make the suspects work at Cargo. Retail in a recession is possibly the only occupation designed to make the lot of a vicar seem easy. Comparisons with normal, hard-working clergy are advised. Steve simply uses a Jesus on Wheels, stunt granny, racing nuns, a plan for an Underground Restaurant, a wonderful bedside manner and the desire to train others to do the work. He has the most secure job of all his relatives. Meanwhile retail area managers rise at 5.00 a.m., get home at 8.00 p.m. and work for two hours after supper. This in a year when the West of England apparently included Copenhagen. The business still floats (well done all) and the team should be congratulated. The marriage is fine.

Japanese confectioners put sweet things for sale in a row. This may include, amongst comparatively normal choccies, bean-curd doughnuts, deep-fried sweet potato and green tea Turkish Delight. Chew, spit, repeat.

We love Nailsea but it needs style badly. One of our friends declared her interest in minimalism. She lives in a house every single part of which is utilised for storage. What's our favourite bit of town? The Bristol Road. Apart from the people, of course, who are all lovely even if they do wear fleeces a lot. Was anything good built in the 1960s?

Five or six centuries back eastern emperors didn't sleep easy in their beds for fear of assassination. So they made floors that deliberately squeaked under pressure. The servants knew the route through. Only ninjas could crack the secret. We tried. We neither servants nor ninjas. You knew that right? We do squeak under pressure though.

Both sons found themselves without work this year. Ben was made redundant by Masterlease but now has a job in debt collection, a growth industry, for RBS. 'Did you use your redundancy cheque wisely son?' 'Yeah, I bought a TV so large you can still see it if you turn your back on it.' So proud, a comment we regularly put on the boys' Facebook pages. Jon's Facebook updates often boast about his singing in the street with his pants on his head but we suspect that is Carys getting revenge for something or other. Jon, on return from Japan, found it hard to get employment at once but is now at a car-hire firm in London where conversational Japanese comes in handy. Vehicles continue to hold a family grip – all three of us fellers have worked in motor-connected industries at some time or other, without interest or reward. Ben produces a sports show for Beacon Radio. The football results repeat is read by a husky female voice – the sexifieds. What have we bred?

Kyoto pedestrian crossings make a warning noise like a duck being lasered. Unless they actually laser ducks under the pavement. Hadn't thought of that. Wak wak pee-oung.

Next month Grandma Bill will be eighty and Ben thirty. The wonderfully alliterative 'Bill and Ben's Big Birthday Bash' was then spoiled by the realisation that nephew Jacob will be eighteen that month. Should be a hell of a party. We have a thirty year old son. How that happen?

In many Tokyo restaurants you order your food using a hand-held device. It communicates your choice direct to the kitchen. Press any picture and see what turns up. It's often raw fish.

Last year Steve mislaid one of his clergy colleagues to Cornwall but hours of work drafting a parish profile which rocked produced an outstanding candidate for the Rector vacancy. Sadly he didn't get the job. It's a joke. He did. So we now have a full team and will do for three more months until Curate Michelle goes on maternity leave. That wasn't in the script. New colleague has the sort of flexible attitude to punctuality that means he's going to have to die soon, but otherwise Steve and he get on fine. He will have to get used to being insulted in a Christmas letter though.

When the Japanese overground trains stop at a station, pink-clad cleaning ladies jump on, tidy up then retreat, taking away rubbish. The underground drivers wear white gloves to work and their cabs are spotless. There is a total lack of half-eaten pasties and creased tabloids. Trains stop, doors at prescribed places where orderly queues will have formed. Just like London then.

On the gig-going front we really enjoyed Massive Attack. First time we had seen them live. Impressive. Every tune remixed and politics on the back projector. Also saw a fine performance of Anthony and Cleopatra at Bristol Tobacco Factory and Twelfth Night in the open air. Steve endured West Brom's relegation season and now can, hopefully, enjoy the promotion one. That sentence appeared in last year's letter with the words in a different order. Clevedon v Leamington FC is on the calender for March. Both doing averagely in the Zamaretto League Premier Division, high enough up the pyramid to have their results in the Observer.

Nose-blowing on cloth in public is very rude. Use a tissue. Don't put it back in your pocket.

We both have new Audi A3s. That makes us cocks according to Jeremy Clarkson. Galling, being insulted by the world's most wrong man. Wish he wasn't amusing. Let's play compare and contrast. Both cars are black. Liz's has done 40,000 miles this year. Steve's 4,000. Liz's is a saloon; Steve's a cabriolet. Liz's has four doors. Steve's two. Liz's is her company car; Steve's is leased from his lovely daughter-in-common-law, Rachel. OK so far? Now for the difficult bit. Liz's is an automatic; Steve's is a manual. You put your left foot in. Damn. An intermittent fault on the soft top control doesn't exactly raise the roof.

'The next station will be Oeno. The doors on the right hand side of the train will open.' Thirteen hour plane trip to hear a recorded tube announcement in perfect, audible English.

We celebrated the 25th year of the Clucas/Myers/Tilley CYFA Venture, which only has Clucases left from the 1985 gang of six. The old photos were good, the web-site funny and the trained young people now leaders with a flair for last-minute preparation and improvisation. We created in our own image. Sorry world.

If you have no garden, spring is dead exciting. But what is it about cherry blossom that makes so many people want to sit under it, photograph it or eat ice-cream flavoured with it?

Some 'agains'. We did an Alpha Course in the pub. We went to Gozo. Steve ran Quiet Days at home. Café Create south-west happened a few times more but, if we're honest, isn't quite whooshing like it did in Leamington. Murrays restaurant, Clevedon and the Barn at Wraxall kept us happy. Bristol Museum vs Banksy was beltingly good and curator friend Kate a genius. Only three people in the whole place knew what she had arranged. Queues every day for two months. Tweets got Steve excited. As did twurch. You could follow him if you wanted. Twurveillance? A civil partnership blessing service was spoken at. A little controversial but no-one died. We had to get new shoes for it. Had to. Steve's are lush Italian designer black leather and Liz's may be described in many ways none of which include the word practical. In fact they are not the sort of shoes you wear standing up.

By the way we went to Japan for a couple of weeks in the spring. Did we mention that? We sneaked one or two facts from our trip into the letter. Red sky in the morning; global warming. The emissions from this letter have been offset. The omissions have not.

Hope you get a glimpse of eternity in Advent when you look forward to that which has already happened and remember the future. That from theologian Paula Gooder and enough to keep us chewing for 24 days. Until next.

St and Liz x

Christmas 2008

Hello Chums,

This letter comes with our good wishes. You are reading it because we met once and, if we were to meet again, might still enjoy each other's company. If you believe this to be untrue please let us know, unless you're reading it on the internet in which case you may have found it by accident. We may not know each other. You may be glad about that by the time you reach the third or fourth paragraphs.

Those upon whom we have inflicted our Christmas letter for the last 24 years will be familiar with our failure to communicate anything that roughly equates to news. Every year we get questions such as 'Does this mean you're back in parish ministry then?' Or, 'What are you doing, we don't understand your letter?' Relax. You're not meant to know. News is dull. The letter goes through a process. A first draft is produced and Mrs T removes libel, lies and inappropriate content. Steve then reworks the remaining sentence to produce a second draft at which point Mrs T tells him it is not amusing enough. He then reinserts the libel, lies and inappropriate content using slightly different words. At no point is anything such as news incorporated into the mix.

So, what has been happening? Well this is Nailsea so the short answer is nothing. We occasionally pop up to the High Street as it has traffic lights and they change. Worth a watch. The young people painted an underpass. Watching it dry took up some time. This was part of the Hope 08 project, soon to become Recession 09 then Despair 10. That joke was not original unless originality is forgetting where you found something. Neither was that.

Nailsea F.C.'s promotion to the next tier of the Football League was denied because local residents objected to the idea of the crowd swelling from 35 to 40. Also floodlights might have kept them awake at night as games often go on until 9.10 p.m.

Having written a lot about the amount of Cargo Homestores Liz had opened last year we need to report that she has been running around closing them again this. Next year maybe they will be known as Carg. How's that for 20% off and a saving in signage? For the moment retail life is, as you might guess, a bit toilet but we live in hope that people will always need lasagne dishes and purple cushions. What do you mean you don't have either? In the 'rainfall-good-for-umbrella-marketing' philosophy of life Cargo report that shops near to Woolworth's closing down sales produce outstanding sales. Also Cargo furniture is better quality than MFI, another casualty. Ad over.

Two of Steve's church colleagues left this year. He often scares people away but after only two years here this was a bit quicker than usual. We now have a new curate (how far down the expected training needs list do you imagine he had, 'Teach her to bake'?), a new administrator and are currently seeking a new Rector. Meanwhile Steve did his usual trick of not doing very much yet looking busy enough. The Old Rectory was also deemed unfit for human habitation let alone clergy, so some of our church young adults moved in. Bible studies huddled in duvets are the norm now. If anyone could lend us half a million pounds to buy it and turn it into a new office that would be kind.

The youth group kidnapped Steve and placed their ransom demand on YouTube. It's still there if you want to enjoy the footage. Google 'wehavegotsteve'. They asked for £1000 to be raised for SightSavers International if they were to return him or alternatively the same sum to keep him. Eventually they raised £1600. We have the names of those who didn't want him back.

A poor year on the gig-going front. We enjoyed Seth Lakeman in Salisbury and Don Ross with Andy McKee on Thekla (a moored boat venue at Bristol Harbourside). At Birmingham Symphony Hall the Herbie Hancock Sextet packed 45 minutes of jazz brilliance into a three hour set. Didn't get to any comedy unless you count Cargo's third quarter sales figures or the other two and a quarter hours of Herbie.

Liz enjoyed the Villa becoming watchable and high quality. Steve enjoyed West Brom's promotion season but now has to endure the relegation one. It is the lot of a club who don't spend money they haven't got, and don't resort to kick and rush, to spend years oscillating between Premiership and Championship. Sorry if you glazed over then.

Gozo was good but by now you knew we'd say that. Lyme Regis was a discovery as was eating at Hugh Fearnley-Whatsits' Axminster Canteen. We have never eaten cheese with so much history. The Black Hills in Wales also produced many fine places to eat, drink and walk. The Walnut Tree at Llanddewi Skirrid was pick of the bunch. It was doing good business on a cold, October, Thursday evening.

To prevent another crab apple glut next year Steve pruned the tree a bit. OK, completely. Andy next-door said our front lawn now looked like the aftermath of the Battle of Ypres.

Last few weeks we've both had a horrible winter cold illness thing. Steve had a go at fainting for the first time since school days but didn't really get the hang of it and recovered after sitting outside in the cold for five minutes. Liz tried to show her workforce you could still unpack a delivery when you felt a bit under. That showed 'em. Next day she was phoning shops from her sick bed whilst trying to keep pneumonia at bay. The 2.00 a.m. coughing fit has become a bit of a ritual. At least we get to meet. Since we both have the same thing it's reassuring it can't be man flu. Oh sorry. It appears Steve has man flu; Liz has a serious virus.

Ben and Rachel survived a day of the long knives when 25% of their vehicle leasing workforce were unleased. They now live in a nice house in Quinton (Ben and Rachel, not the redundant workforce) and seem to have two jobs each, Rachel subsidising her salary with bar work, Ben by producing Beacon Radio's Saturday afternoon sports show. He now frequently speaks to 'West Brom legend Ian Hamilton.' Since when did a, quite good, tier 2 or 3 player become a legend? Maybe they meant leg end.

We're off to Japan next year for a couple of weeks from the end of, no burglar chums you don't catch us out that easily. It will be good to understand a bit of what Carys and Jon have been experiencing in their last eighteen months teaching in Tokyo. They are spending this Christmas in Vietnam.

Our friend Peter sent us this card which is actually an original drawing of our mock Tudor pad. Hope it makes up for newslessness. This letter may be delayed a bit as the Christmas address list disappeared in the great August computer crash. Still, Happy Christmas, Epiphany and, if it all goes completely wrong, Easter.

Steve met a girl dressed as a bat today. She was playing the lead in the nativity. Really. Send punchlines.

Christmas 2007

Steve and Liz, Our Story, Christmas 2007

Hello there. Thanks for dropping in. Put your feet up. This won’t take long. Course it won’t hurt. How was it for you? We had a ball.

December 17th and it’s not funny enough. Should compete for wit and rejoinder with Lewis Hamilton, some not-quite-ex Spices, the Hamster and all the other rot clogging up Waterstone’s doorway, as long as we introduce a canoe at an early stage. But it’s not happening. Haven’t had enough failures, reunions or near-death experiences.

A year in Nailsea (Provence, pah) for Steve, a few weeks of it with Liz missing in action opening new shops in Yeovil, Hereford and Shrewsbury. As an area manager her region is now half of England. The new Audi A3 (see last year) did 10,000 miles and was replaced with another which now has 25,000 on its clock. One of Liz’s colleagues left, sadly and unexpectedly. Mrs Sensitive managed to get into her response alarmingly early, ‘Can I have his car; it’s got aircon?’ First sentence.

We celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary (pearl? grit? oxygen?) with a week in a cottage in Pembrokeshire accompanied by creatures who also resided there and lived off pot pourri which may be Welsh for mouse food. Found Cwtch in St David’s, a restaurant with a nicer menu than pronunciation.

Steve took a few steps nearer upsetting a whole diocese by using the phrase ‘stick your hand up a puppet’ in an email to, yes, the whole diocese. This double entendre, so he is told, is insensitive in a place where priests are known to have fiddled with more than the books. He didn’t even think it was an entendre.

Don’t break your dentures in Gozo. Cost £6 to mend them there and £680 to repair them here when they broke again. Still, to attempt the worst joke we have ever put in a Christmas letter, Steve now has a fixed grin.

We waved goodbye to Jon and Carys (three years, three waves), this time in the direction of Japan where they are teaching English and becoming familiar with the Richter Scale. They may stay but not as teachers. Just discovered they’re going to South Korea for Christmas. They’re not on a gap decade. Ben’s contribution to our letter is now edited down to three words. Rachel. She nice.

Five hair stylists have left the country after dealing with one or both of our barnets once or twice. Liz is going to ask for a crop next time. No-one has yet managed to carry out her instructions with any accuracy so things can’t get worse.

Radiohead got an average of £2 per album for their ‘pay what you want’ download offer. Which is more than their royalties on a full-price CD. Using that principle (if you can use a principle before it has been established) Steve bought up the back copies of his now remaindered book on youth work and if he gets £1 a copy he gets 5p more than the royalties on the full-price book. Yours for £2.

Maps, Jose Gonzales, Faithless, Marcus Brigstocke, Bill Bailey, Ross Noble and the live recording of I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue figured on an excellent live gigs list this year although our carbon footprint in getting to places was massive. Big up to our comedy gig-going compatriots the Owens for discovering a gem of a restaurant in Newport, a town that is basically fenced off at the moment so even if you can see where you want to go you can’t get there. It has a millennium footbridge which, apparently, worked first time. The big attraction of Newport? Glad you asked. It’s half-way between the Owens and the Tilleys, as Cheltenham used to be. It’s £5.10 to get into Wales but free to get out, unless you go via Hereford and Shrewsbury.

Liz had her wallet stolen again but as it was so recently after the last time she knew what to do. Steve’s suit jacket still on the drying rack with damp shoulders.

Various joys of our new part of the world include the Barn at Wraxall, The Hatchet Inn in Bristol, Bordeaux Quay bar and bistro (9.5 out of 10 in The Guardian), Redwood Country Club and Thekla Social (a live music venue on a boat). One of the gigs was at the University of Bristol Students’ Union where we felt, OK we admit it, just a tad old. Two over fifties can eat for the price of one at a pub down the road in Backwell but we both have to produce ID first. Liz won’t go anyway.

Christian Ministry opportunities have included Film Club Extra, running Quiet Days at home and Alpha in the pub which, long-suffering readers will agree, means Steve has turned sitting with the phone and computer switched off, watching movies and drinking beer into work. Admit it, you’d have done it if you had the nerve.

He also helped launch an afternoon, all-age Christian gathering called 3.08 at Kingshill. ‘We need everyone to remember what time it starts,’ said someone. So we decided to start at eight minutes past three. No-one has been late yet. Genius.

Leamington FC gained another promotion and are top of the next rung up. Premiership in seven now. Nailsea United are top of the, now let’s try and remember, ah yes, ‘Somerset County League, Premier Division,’ which is tier 11 in the league pyramid. Villa started doing well and in the topsy-turvy world of being a Baggie it is promotion we are chasing rather than relegation this particular year. As Mark Bright kindly reminded his radio listeners, we have ‘...just won three, back-to-back.’

The year in proverb form:

It’s a long way to Morley Rectory.
A holiday becomes work when called a retreat.
A gym doesn’t get less knackering by being called a country club.
Insensitivity is the tax you pay on wit.
You’re not early for work if your Regional Manager drove 125 miles further than you and beat you by an hour.
You don’t need an outdoor pool in September unless you flew to get there.
There are two 5.30s in a day, neither much good.

Anyway always consider, and this may be the proverb of the year, what might be at the bottom of the kitchen bin if you really need to stick your hand right in there. You may have to get that stuff out of your nails before administering communion.

So as Steve drives off down the road from his five bedroom detached in his sporty convertible with the fittest 50 something woman in the world by his side to do a bit more of a job he loves, he leaves you with just one thought: ‘Where did it all go wrong?’ Which, strangely, is also the woman’s parting thought.

Steve and Liz, Our Story is now reduced to £1.99 ONO

Christmas 2006

email steve at godstuff.org.uk for new address. Change the 'at' to @

We sneaked off while you weren’t looking. Don’t worry. Post is being redirected. In October Steve was licensed as Associate Vicar in Nailsea. After avoiding the word ‘vicar’ for 22 years since ordination he finally bowed to the inevitable, although observant readers will have noticed that little word ‘Associate’ suggesting that this is no ordinary vicar’s job. Quite.

Still, whilst trying to avoid an ‘apart from that Mrs Lincoln how did you enjoy the play’ sort of letter, there have been other things this year.

Liz celebrated her 50th birthday with a long weekend in the city of romance and dog turd. It turned into a quest for the perfect café, restaurant, vista, gallery, retail experience and walk. The love of her life went with her. It’s nice that pink coat. Sobered up by February.

Steve took a bit of sabbatical leave to consider his position and, surprisingly, announced that he would be going back to full-time parish ministry if anyone would have him. A national hunt to find a church who hadn’t heard of him then began, the vacant parish next door falling at the first.
We waved goodbye to Jon and Carys (pretty much an item these days) that month as they gap-yeared off. Soon after they posted this, ‘The other night we got on a commuter boat just outside China Town just to do some sightseeing and what not. We got off at the final stop and unwittingly arrived there after the last boat back had left. Needless to say we were in the wrong neck of the woods surrounded by legless beggars and fires and itching dogs. Woops. Anyway, we got a tuk-tuk (three wheeled motor trike) back which was pretty good fun if a little scary. We're not dead yet!’

They did Thailand, Singapore, Australia, New Zealand and Bali. However we didn’t slaughter the fatted calf on their return because Carys is vegetarian and in any case we sold it to pay the mortgage having lent Jon his inheritance. Luke 15 comes alive. They returned happy and now live in a lovely flat on the coolest street in Exeter.

By the summer the things to do list hotted up: clean, decorate, fix, re-merchandise, sell and move house, change Cargo area from Thames Valley to South-west (or simply re-route the Thames, again, durr), get to know the people in six churches, obtain car, invest balance of savings from house, furnish 270 square foot conservatory, get used to living in a mock Tudor five bedroomed detached, recall funerals and remember to turn left off the A34 at Newbury.

‘Six wives. You could only manage six wives. Must be all the pies you fat git.’ Now that’s mocking a Tudor.

We had about ten leaving dos. (How do you spell the plural of do? Does? Doos?) The Café Create one was sublime, the church shared lunch was kind and the tears of the landlords of the Somerville Arms and Cask and Bottle were not crocodile. In fact the lovely Paul, landlord of the Somerville, gave us a bottle of fizz and a chocolate cake for our farewell. They still didn’t put him in the Good Pub Guide 2007. No justice.

Liz’s staff in her new area took to her like ducks to shooting galleries but soon got the hang of pleasing her, thus being rewarded and praised. She refuses to tell her boss why things are going so well although the words ‘girl’ and ‘power’ get used a lot. We think she’s about to get an Audi A3 as a replacement company car. She bought Steve a new ironing board cover though.

The photo of Steve’s licensing was nice. It had Bishop Peter, Steve and the three other senior clergy in the Local Ministry Group, Ken, Alastair and Rosey. Trouble is the photo was a bit big for Grapevine, the official newspaper of the Diocese of Bath and Wells so they cropped it to leave just three people, none of whom was Steve. Those who may have remembered him vaguely from the past would have been playing with one of three ideas – he’s either grown six inches taller, had a sex change or been consecrated. Please rank these likelihoods in order in your own time.

We have moved to a land of cyclical function where one domestic appliance must fail at any given time. First the iron fused the lights when we used it. Then the TV locked out the VCR (the TV manual having been lost in the move).

These minor disadvantages are nothing compared to the saga of our new Siemens fridge freezer (or £600 cupboard as we like to call it). Sometimes we wonder if manufacturers make these things happen deliberately to crash our Christmas letter. Three engineer visits concluded that ‘it has no refrigerant in it.’ We tried to cool our food and warmed the globe by accident. Sorry. Not cool at all. The promised replacement delivery was cancelled because someone at the delivery company changed all the December 2006 dates to 2007 in error, a mistake for which they could ‘only apologise.’ We think they can do more than that don’t we children? Oh yes. Mark II has now arrived and shows signs of functioning. Breath not being held.

So we are here, a better coffee stop on the M5 than Gordano services (J19) and only 10 minutes further away. We have begun to get the hang of living here in Nay-ul-zee moi luvvers although so is everyone else as the town has grown from a village since the 1970s. Bath is nice. Clevedon is quaint. It has three good restaurants and the oldest continually running cinema – the Curzon – in the world. Next week Battleship Potemkin is showing for the first time. What do you mean they won’t get that joke, do you think our readers are that thick? Oh you do. Wells is the centre of the Diocese but has no station. The Bish has a nice palace though. Bristol is cool and has bars, gigs, restaurants, retail, waterside, stations, cinemas and us, a lot.

St’s writing career has gone back to being a spare-time interest and the two of us have ridiculously-houred full-time jobs but, get this, we’re OK. It seems to be the right place, people are being welcoming and supportive and we have two guest rooms, three guest sofas and several guest floors. Hell we could do a venture team weekend if you asked nicely enough.

Ben became useful by leasing his Dad a Saab convertible as well as being excellent company at The Futureheads and Dead 60s gigs. (Mrs T accompanied St to see Zero 7 with the outstanding José Gonzales.) Ben is planning to move from Warwick into Birmingham to be nearer work and someone called Rachel.

Liz recently had her wallet stolen which pushed up even further the amount of time we have both spent on hold this year to call centres in places where they speak funny. How memorable are your memorable numbers and passwords? Ours not very.

HC2U

Christmas 2005

2005’s Christmas letter from the Tilleys. Don safety equipment. We had a friend called Don Safety-Equipment once. Stop making jokes it’s still the address bit. Sorry.

Christmas. Wow where did that come from? Why didn’t you say? Couldn’t someone have put signs in the shops or a few perfume adverts on TV? We haven’t finished writing the Halloween cards or taking the firework sticks out of the guttering yet.

Anyway the lines are closed. The votes are in and verified. We can tell you that the first member to leave the house was (with complete absence of gripping, televisual pause and emotive music) Jonathan. Davina refused to conduct the interview. Probably threatened by dead pan wit and satirical undertones (see 1998). The curse of articulacy, articulation, articulateness, whatever.

Jon got an honours degree. That’s a new one for our family. Closest we got to degrees was visiting the burns unit. Timed graduation in Aberystwyth for the middle of our holidays in Cornwall. Thanks. He then began heading for the far east. First stop; Exeter. Next year Prague, then Australia. Degree wasn’t in geography. Jon and girlfriend Carys have both done TEFLs which is a sort of non-stick language course.

Currently they live with Carys’ family. We have met them. Mainly normal. They are now on the mailing list so we’d like to record our gratitude. When we have people to live with us for a bit they tend to stay for at least ten bits.

Come on you Brakes. (That’s Leamington FC to you.) After proudly attending the promotion party at Easter (Midland Combination Premiership to Midland Alliance) we got to see them win a Precambrian FA Cup tie after a replay and penalties.

Back at the 23 year old reality-family experiment, Ben was voted out by the viewers, leaving Steve (L) and Liz (XLIX until January) staring at each other and wondering who would win. Agreed to share first prize and continue staring at each other. If a husband is a domesticated lover come home Mrs T and prepare for mess.

So Ben left home (again) after coming back to live with us for a few weeks in 2003. Official definition of ‘a few’. 117. He now lives with a nice couple called Kim and Ross and a dog who eats possessions. Forget hamsters and Puccini, Simon Hoggard. ‘The schnauzer ate my gum-shield’ is the title of the next Christmas compilation.

Ben went to Stratford races for his first meeting, armed only with cash and his friends. First race. £5 at decent odds. Two yards from the finish the leading horse decided to throw its rider into the crowd. This was Ben’s horse. Or was it? As the second placed rider came charging by they examined the almost-torn-up betting slips and discovered they had accidentally bet on the wrong nag. Which won. £30. An excited phone call after race five told us not-all-that-proud parents that he had won £85 on the last race which meant, wait for it, that he was only £20 down on the day.

Come on you Brakes. Still August. Win FA Cup Triassic qualifying round and hold tight for the next stage of the journey.

After seventeen trips to the tip and charity shops we now have two guest rooms. We cried when Ben left. We discovered it was only the weight of his vinyl which was holding the house in place.

Come on you Brakes. September. Win Jurassic FA Cup qualifying round after, guess what, a replay and penalties, and rewarded with a home tie in the next round. Take altitude sickness pills for this increasingly strained metaphor.

Had some decent photos taken for a change after special £25 offer of an hour’s shoot in local Venture studio. Can’t afford prints though. They won’t sell you copies only lifestyle display solutions. Try to obey instructions from the camera-woman to tickle each other without pulling faces. In just one hour Steve was told to stop frowning, cease scowling, forget posing and shut his mouth. Admit it; you’re all jealous of that photographer. Late news. Spent too much on lifestyle display solution.

Liz. ‘Can we do it every week. I’d pay £25 just to stare into your eyes.’
St. ‘Forget the studio; I’ll take the money.’

Come on you Brakes. Still September. Win Cretaceous FA Cup qualifying round 2-0 in front of the first crowd of over 1,000 for ages. Steve and his friend Chris decide that standing in the open end for 90 minutes of what is increasingly becoming known as the English monsoon season was not the wisest thing they ever did. Rewarded with a hot bath and an away tie in Ossett (Where? Oh Yorkshire) in the Tertiary round. Win 3-2. Brakes now have six games in hand on the league leaders.

Earlier in the year Steve played vicar for a bit which seemed to entail dressing up as Moses (don’t ask) and wondering why all his colleagues had left or were off sick. Ran an Ash Wednesday service in which everyone laughed a lot. ‘We know you’re trying to be serious but it doesn’t sound natural.’ Considering (very slightly) having a go at being a clerge full-time again. Can’t believe he just said that? Neither can he. (Voice from the heavens) ‘Neither can I.’ Managed to misspell the word ‘worship’ in the front of the church’s worship journal. Also started meeting up with people he met over the internet. Well just one person. Who didn’t kill him. May have taken over his body though.

Come on you Brakes. FA Cup first round proper, when some of the real teams join in. Two minutes on Match of the Day showed the 10 goal thriller. OK, OK a 9-1 drubbing by (not of) Colchester and the bloke who ran on to the pitch wearing a black wig and an inflatable woman when we scored. That’s Leamington for you. Still now they can concentrate on the Travel Factory Midland Alliance (yes really), in which they have nine games in hand. Oh, and the FA Vase and the Birmingham District Cup. Football’s big round here.

Liz played a game called ‘Where shall we open a shop this week?’ due to expansion of Cargo. This involves Travel Lodges and imagining ways to cause pain to electricians who seem amazed that lighting would be one of the necessary constituent parts of an opening day. Game so far played in Gloucester, Loughborough, Illford, Aylesbury, Didcot, Cheltenham and soon to come to a High Street near you. Buy shares. If married to an electrician, increase life assurance.

Do you take Visa?
Sorry, the electricians are on a break.

We paid someone to take the garden away. Now we must pay someone else to take the guilt away.

After many trips to the garage to have various dashboard warning light appearances investigated Vauxhall finally got to the bottom of the problem and replaced the warning light. If we don’t show up for a meeting we’ve probably broken down without warning. Another metaphor? Absolutely. Happy Easter. End of.

Christmas 2004

2004’s Christmas letter from St, Liz, DJ ‘jamin and a student life-form. Start here…

Mmmm hello. You know you want it. Is that the Tilleys Christmas letter in your hand or are you smiling because you’re guilty? It’s not circular. It has no bird-like tendencies. It’s come to steal some of your life. Shall we give you a list of the edifying tomes we’ve read this year? Perhaps not. Maybe a portrait of the academic successes of us and our offspring? Not quite, but close. Possibly next year. A list of football injuries? Stand up Ben. Oh you can’t. Shouldn’t your ankle be lower down?

Did you win?
No we lost 5-0.
Did you play well?
Man of the match; guy I was marking never got a look in until the last five minutes.
What was the score at 85 minutes?
1-0.
How many did he score?
4.

We could tell you how many hours Liz spent in dirty stock rooms. We could list the gigs we enjoyed but who really cares about Earl Zinger and the Red Egyptians. Yes Steve we know you do but you only get one vote and they were the support act. We could list our doggy-sitting clients. We could tell you our favourite recipes but, lets face it, our finest achievement last year was getting into Simon Hoggart’s Guardian column. We think this paragraph refers to us:

‘One reason so many people get so angry about these letters – some can require 10 minutes of your life which you’ll never get back – is the amazing amount of detail they include. A long paragraph about the death of a goldfish.’ (Simon Hoggart’s diary, the Guardian, 3/1/04) Yes. We read the Guardian sometimes. There couldn’t be that many people who devoted a paragraph to the death of a fish last year. Sorry everybody. Silas remains deceased. We don’t think we made it into the book, ‘The Cat Who Could Open the Fridge’ a book of the worst bits of Christmas letters.

Most relatives and our guest pets have stayed chipper this year but the front wall is on its last legs and a number of our loose bricks were flung through a neighbour’s front window in a moment of what we like to call mindless vandalism but in Leamington Spa the mindless vandals are really very disappointing.

Ben. I can’t believe you two are still pleased to see each other after so many years.
St. Is it embarrassing?
Ben. No it’s impressive.
Liz. Ben, why do you still live here?
Ben. I’m trying not to.

Wrong number of the year, a new award since SMS messaging took over the world:

Texter: Tina, it to soon, am looking 4 a true relationship, not a quick shag. Im 33, so a bit 2 old, friends? terry, x.
St. Wrong number. Hope it works out though.
Texter: Wot?
St: You sent a message to someone called Tina but got the wrong number.
Texter: Oh i just realised, i was drunk, i must of misread number, i do apologise, thanks 4 letting me no, terry.

Random words to summarise year – leasing, promotion, Gozo, NEC, Aberystwyth, cookware, Alpha, guttering, vodsel, Harvey, Arts Café, Dining Club, Laithwaites, RAGGS, blog, Everyman, Loughborough, Madlib, The Shins, Glastonbury.

Single-handedly got the Somerville Arms into the Good Pub Guide. Can two people do things single-handedly? Go peel an apple in your head without breaking the peel, then let us know. And by the way the sound of one hand clapping is the ovation after one of Ben’s DJ sets. Yes dear I’ll put that philosophy book down now.

If you could put something in people’s ears to convert them to Christianity would that be a deaf aid of evangelism? Oops. In-joke from potential stand-up act.

On the way to visit Jon we stop at a café outside Welshpool. The full breakfast is not the biggest breakfast on the menu. That honour falls to the deluxe breakfast. The menu has an apostrofly – an apostrophe in the wrong place obviously caused by a fly in the printing process and not under-education. Here’s the thing. In this restaurant the apostrofly is pronounced. The waitress walks round the joint announcing ‘two breakfasties’ to the assembled throng until someone indicates it is their order.

‘Here’s the thing’ is a line of dialogue without which the West Wing would be ten minutes shorter.

There’s this horse called Yomarlo and Liz is in Cargo Marlow when someone suggests that they must put money on it to win the 3.10 at Wolverhampton. So they do. Responsible Christian woman bungs in a fiver and it comes in at 7 to 1. A new career is knocking at the door and hey, something good did come out of Wolverhampton. £35 = two rounds at the Somerville and lunch in House of Fraser café.

Totally objective method to grade your Christmas News Letters. The higher the score, the worse it is. Next year, please tell us who won.

Photograph too badly reproduced to add to our knowledge about you – 1 point.
Photograph of which you shouldn’t have been proud – 1 point.
Each half page of A4 over 2 sides –1 point. Each half page under – minus 1.
Holiday mentioned – 1 point.
Ruined holiday mentioned – 2 points.
Animal anecdote – 2 points.
DIY calamity – 2 points.
New disease introduced without humour – 2 points.
New disease contracted on holiday – 3 points.
Child’s achievement, musical – 2 points.
Child’s achievement, sporting – 2 points.
Child’s achievement, academic – 2 points.
Adult child’s achievement – 5 points.
Bereavement introduced without humour – 3 points.
Mention of words ‘round’ and ‘robin’ non-ironically – 5 points.
Letter from someone you don’t know – 10 points.
‘Well it’s that time of year again’ – 10 points.
‘Lets see what we did last year’ – 5 points.
‘Starting late again’ – 5 points.
‘Another year draws to a close’ – 5 points.
‘We’re sorry that we have to send you this newsletter’ – 15 points.
‘Hope we meet up in 2005’ – 20 points.

We have no idea what we did this year and you don’t care. We know you love us and that matters. If you don’t love us get off the mailing list and stop bothering us. If you don’t know who we are embrace gratitude.

Christmas 2003

We feel like a victim support group. Burglaries, illnesses, accidents, bereavements – you’ve had a bad year. Might a lack of humour be appropriate? Well perhaps, but we and appropriate have been living apart for years so prepare to dress in comedy black and we’ll give you our take on victim er, hood, ship, whatever.

Let’s have a theme of almost not dying. Last year the St Paul’s staff and their partners had a secret Santa. Draw a random name and buy a pressie for less than a fiver. What do you get the busiest woman on the planet? How about something that needs looking after, cleaning out and feeding? Welcome to Tilley Mansions, Silas the goldfish. He nearly lived a year. By October he was acting strangely, floating on his back with a fixed expression, until one day the floating stopped and he (unexpectedly, for we had anticipated the opposite, what do we know?) sank to the bottom of his bowl from whence he went to the great kitchen flip-top bin in the sky. Goldfish without a fixed expression. Hmmm. What would that be like?

Joe the dog from next door came to stay and started looking poorly. A prayer: ‘Please God may he live until his owners come back. It will save saying, ‘Your dog’s in the garden – under the lawn’.’ He lived but isn’t well. His owners say Joe’s sense of timing will probably lead him to die on Christmas day, doggie presents unopened.

Max and Fred also visited. Both collies with a hint of retriever. (Isn’t that a paint colour?) Fred eats cat pooh but he does go outside to cough. Ben also came back to live with us. Human with a hint of the night. He doesn’t eat cat pooh but coughing remains indoors. Max is asleep on my feet as I write this. He is dreaming. Bless. Given Joe’s health there may be extra chews at Christmas if we pop next door. The rules of Fred’s Mothers Footsteps are at http://stevetilley.blogspot.com. It has a few other ramblings. It’s an on-line journal. Get one yourself. A blog not a dog. Silly.

MTtumms, Leamington sandwich bar displays a sign saying ‘10% discount for students (proof needed)’. Can we prove that? If they aren’t convinced who can be? Best since ‘Watch small children boiling hot water’ - terminally disappointing for those looking forward to the Michael Wood Services, under-fives kettle juggling.

Excuse for not coming for a meal on a Saturday night. ‘Sorry Steve but my mother is coming for lunch on the Sunday so I will have to clean under the floorboards.’

Clues to our lifestyle can, we believe, be gleaned from our dry-wipe shopping board. One day in August our urgent needs were kitchen towel, paracetemol and vodka.

Our award for the most self-evident statement of 2003 goes to The Leamington ice-cream seller interviewed in the Courier, ‘There’s a definite increase in profit when the weather is hot and the kids are off school.’ Thank-you Courier. Friday mornings are a news-free treat. During the year they managed a run of five successive weeks with photos of people pointing at various things wrong with pavements. Cracking.

Terribly sad letter from BT telling us that we could save money on our phone bill if we nominated Cargo’s Head Office in Thame as our best friend. If Cargo made anything trendy would they call the range Chic-cargo?

Those who have followed the ‘how-many-bits-of-dishwashers–are-really-necessary?’ saga will be sad to hear that Liz’s nerve went and she purchased a new one. The other still worked acceptably as long as the house was quiet enough to hear the ratchet clicks on the dial whilst you set it with pliers. Why waste money on another? The new one has fuzzy logic. It learns as it goes along; where’s the fun in that? OK, the fun is knowing that a dishwasher learning in our household will soon require vodka, paracetemol and kitchen towel. The washing machine also has such logic but hasn’t been the same since Jon (remember him?) washed his jeans with a box of matches in the pocket. The rotating drum is percussive man.

Same Jon completed his first year at Aberystwyth. On course for a 2:1 in happy hour studies. Walked most of the length of Sweden in July, climbing the high bits on the way. Didn’t shave during the month away. When met at the airport he was wearing a green army cap and had a beard that looked as if there must be some ginger genetic material knocking around. (Lizzie - you know that bloke who used to call round on Fridays when I was late back from work?) Imagine a cross between Fidel Castro and a Smurf and you will be on the way. He decided that dogs were a good thing and now slips ‘get a dog’ into every sentence he speaks to us. He says it will work subliminally, given time. If it’s subliminal how come we know about it? English students eh?

Ben is now gainfully employed by Vauxhall Interlease Leamington Spa, 600 yards from home. Paying rent(ish). Pulled the best-looking gym instructor. Gender available on request. Almost gave up smoking.

Liz is one of three regional managers at Cargo covering four jobs. Company Honda Accord (155,000 miles in four years, RIP) replaced with Vauxhall Vectra. Got rid of under-performing boss and replaced him with one familiar with the words ‘thank-you’ and ‘rise’. Now working on under-performing staff who are all rapidly becoming familiar with the words ‘disciplinary’ and ‘hearing’.

Steve had a book published. About time we say since he alleges he is a writer from time to time. A Youthworker’s Tale (SU 2003) is the story of a year in the life of a fictitious church youth worker. The book is designed to help youth workers who wouldn’t read a training book. Buy it and know Steve will be 45p richer. Sorry that was a bit promotional. He obtained a Food Hygiene Certificate. Come for dinner now and he will know why he is a dangerous cook.

The first three items on the ITV news tonight were:
• Mortgages can be too expensive if you can’t be bothered to shop around.
• The government didn’t say anything today but will be announcing something on Thursday.
• Ruth Ellis was a murderer.
Perhaps we should retract our derision about the Courier.

Rounds of applause this year to the following people for making our lives better:
• Scripture Union, Crusaders and CPAS for services to cash-flow
• Cheltenham Everyman Theatre for services to meeting friends halfway between here and the Forest of Dean. Hey, we saw the News Quiz being recorded, how cool is that?
• The Coen Brothers for continued services to movie lovers. Honourable mention to the Wachowski Brothers but they blew it at the end
• The Alabama 3 for services to acid-house, techno, country, gospel rhythm and blues
• Solo Restaurant, Leamington Spa for services to sanity
• Wolverhampton Wanderers for services to comedy
• The English rugby union team for services to breakfast
• Will and Grace for services to Friday evening. Honourable mentions to the West Wing, 24 and Absolute Power for the rest of the week

Thank you for continuing to subscribe to this letter. Your invoice for 1985-2003 will be with you shortly. 2000-2002 issues have been posted on the blog site. Must finish so we can get to the pet-shop before closing. Can’t remember why.

St, Lizzie, DJ ‘jamin and Mcgillianmonkeystein@hotmail.com (don’t ask)

Christmas 2000-2002

So here’s the problem. What paragraph do you put the bereavement in? We’ll go for the first since we suspect it was the only one Liz’s Dad ever read. Unless his final words were, ‘You’re standing on my oxygen tube’, Ken Bill died peacefully on Thursday 5th December aged 81 after a short illness. We’re happy and sad. We have enough flowers. Send more red wine.

We’d like to commend empty nest syndrome to you. Here are a few snapshots from our early autumn diary. Oops. Two paragraphs in and metaphors already being mixed. Put that in your cocktail shaker and smoke it.

Fancied bacon sandwich. Found bacon in fridge. Had one. It’s a mini-adventure.
Cleaned bathroom in a few short moments. Steve paused to reflect that the sanctity of his underpants’ drawer had been re-established. Liz realised nobody else had used her towel for a week. Sausages in fridge went mouldy. Still four cartons of orange juice available. Took five bags of clothes from Jon’s room to the charity shops. Liz also took her new trousers for reasons not unadjacent to tiredness and overwork.

Having transacted our mortgage for ten years we asked Woolwich plc to help us buy out the shared equity in our house. They came up with a package to help us manage our finances more sensibly (pay off credit cards and spend less if you must know). Then for motives best known to them they spent the next five months making our lives a complete misery. At one point, about half-way through the saga, Steve was so overjoyed at the matter being sorted out he took flowers to the branch manager. Two days later they changed their minds and decided they hadn’t. To cut a long story short is a shame so we won’t.

A further bit of wrangling and they admitted that we couldn’t borrow against a property until we owned all of it, but we couldn’t own all of it until we’d sorted out our monthly outgoings which we couldn’t sort out until we owned the property. It won’t surprise you to know that someone in the family kept a hilarious diary of his day-to-day dealings with the bank and when the matter was settled sent it to the Chairman and asked if he thought all was well with his business. Two weeks later we received compensation for thirty wasted hours at ten pounds an hour, plus reimbursement of unnecessary travelling costs and, yes, the cost of the flowers. This is a cheque equivalent to two weeks mortgage by the way. Asked for compensation of several times more than that to stop us broadcasting our dissatisfaction wider but they don’t do blackmail so we ask you, if your friendship means anything, to consider your investments carefully.

Night in. Able to choose our viewing and relax in front of the TV. Liz’s choice? Two and a half hours of mystery shopper videos. You’ve cringed at ‘The Office’. You’ve hidden behind the sofa during moments of Alan Partridge. Well coming soon, ‘Mystery shopper tries to get furniture advice from a Cargo Homeshop Saturday casual employee.’ Highlights from Liz’s commentary include:

So they wear jeans when they don’t think they’re being watched. That is not authorised music in the background it’s too lively. She hasn’t got her badge on.
Yes you can have 20% discount. Yes you can. You can. Please tell her she can. Tell her. Idiot. Doh! Steve, Steve, wake up.

We all got a bit more worried about how long Liz spends managing her staff when Steve got a written warning for not cleaning the grill pan properly followed by a list of training priorities and a time scale to meet the required standard.

Bought each other jewellery to celebrate 25 years of marriage. We wear it on bad days. Comfort jewellery; it’s the next big thing. Really.

Felt grown up enough by then to play a game of listing each other’s faults over a few drinks. Got serious. Liz’s faults by Steve. 1. Leaves lists everywhere. 2. Tells him it’s not a pile of clothes it’s preparation for tomorrow morning whereas his celebration of the night before is a pile of clothes. 3. I’m not working I’m just phoning one of my managers to see how they are. Steve’s faults by Liz. 1. Tries to look as intelligent as me yet fails. 2. Fidgets constantly. 3. Is a bad loser. 4. Despite the practice he gets.

After nine months working at every café bar in Leamington Jon went to University in Aberystwyth. He went to Wales to do English. We don’t know why either (are 56 pubs a clue?) but a weekend in a cottage in Wales punctuated by a flying visit to feed, clothe and hand over all your money seems like fun to us.

Ben carried on pushing his music career and DJ ‘Jamin got a residency at Derby Soda Bar. This is a good thing. In the daytime he works for BT Openworld dispensing music software advice. Last year’s prediction that he would be sending us cheques from Ibiza was a little short of the mark as we ended up lending him the cash to buy a computer and new decks in order to become a famous DJ. So it’s an investment then? We’ll try and act more convinced in future.

Steve left CPAS and became a part-time Associate Minister at St Paul’s, Leamington Spa. Rest of the time he writes. He is happy. CPAS downsized immediately as this action could now be taken without acknowledging that Steve, or any other former employees offering that advice, had been right all along. They’ll be opening a small office in the south-east next. And a book shop.

Needed new people to invade our lives so invited scaffolders to help with the top floor decoration? Couldn’t imagine how to choose which ones were any good. Remembered that Leamington FC (The Mighty Brakes - a new interest since West Brom arrived in the Premiership and kept changing kick-off times and selling out) were once sponsored by The Inter-County Scaffolding Company. Actually the players with smaller chests were sponsored by unty Scaffo. Still, worth a try and the quote wasn’t excessive. Hard hats and harnesses? Don’t be daft it’s the danger in the job that makes it fun. Two brews of tea for three guys and the sugar ran out. Scaffolders timing is wonky. Must be all the bangs on the head. They erected three days late and dismantled three weeks late. Still the bill was £100 less than the estimate.

Once the scaffolding was down we cleared the garden. Found three bits of scaffolding, one paint brush and two dead Christmas trees. Gardening’s not really our scene. Took garden to tip. Met CPAS employee throwing himself in.

Genuine small ad. from Saturday Independent ‘Gentleman sought. Must have terminal illness (with doctor’s certificate), into highly polished floors and faulty electrical equipment, Swiss bank account, for immediate marriage. Wicked SOH imperative. F, 34 Kent/London.  14300.’

Enjoy Christmas. It’s about a boy.


Christmas 2001

Dear friends. Here is your annual entertainment to make up for us being unblessed with the gift of visiting. As you embark on our letter please be aware that this is neither a prayer letter (although you may pray for us if you wish) nor a news letter (as it has no news in it). It may, however, give you an insight into the sort of people that we have become.

You will find these facts helpful. Liz failed a personality test. Ben discovered that Orange network mobiles do not work in orange squash. The BBC dropped Steve. A surveyor described our house as ‘heavily furnished’. Jon lived with us for the whole year but for a period of eight days in May we heard him a lot but only saw him once. We believe these facts will get no more entertaining with explanation.

It is a tradition that staff leaving Starbucks are taken out the back and done over with squirty cream. Jon left Starbucks. His clothes went through the wash three times and then had to be thrown out as they biodegraded in dairy extract before our very eyes. If you value your vital organs never eat squirty cream. Can’t believe Starbucks is in the spell-checker. Conspiracy theory needs work.

He went to work for Rhubarb again. Readers of many years standing will recall this as a small, ethno-vegetarian, gift-restaurant thingy at which he once had a Saturday job. The owner of the premises tidies up with a chain saw (really). After he (yes, it’s a bloke, how did you guess?) had tidied up some old wires in the yard, BT called round and asked if he knew any reason why none of the phones on the block were working anymore. The manager of the business is, ‘another menopausal feminist’. We think she’s in her 30s actually but that must look old when you’re 19. Occasionally Jon is the chef. Be very scared. Often he is the waiter. ‘Don’t expect a smile I’m paid to deliver food not jokes’.

CPAS appointed a new General Director with a sense of purpose. Whilst this doesn’t, apparently, extend to any sign of liking Steve it is nevertheless a refreshing change and to be applauded.

Painful bits this year include:
Kidneys (Jon - infected) Ribs (Ben - broken)
Teeth (Liz – abscessed)) Back (Steve - rubbish)

Cargo popped its head out of administration for a few months and, since none of the creditors shot it off, went back into full business. As a gesture of thanks for helping keep the company afloat and making loads of people redundant they give Liz more work to do, longer hours and told her to be more of a bitch. Not at home Lizzy, not at home. Actually, ‘Not-at-home Lizzy’ would be a good name for that woman to whom Steve alleges he is married. The ‘sorry I’ll be late home for tea’ phone calls started to become ‘don’t-wait-up’ phone calls. Soon there’ll be ‘I’m coming home, which way do I go at the roundabout?’ calls. This is revenge for eight years of husband’s parish ministry isn’t it? In order to spend an evening with her Steve has agreed to attend the Cargo Christmas party. At the time of writing it hasn’t happened but the venue, ‘Thame Snooker Club’, is not that promising. Liz has provided a list of things not to say to her management team including, ‘Can I have my wife back you kidnapping bastards?’

Tom Robinson (yes 2-4-6-8 Motorway that Tom Robinson) invited us to his party. Bit of a con since he was so impressed with the small audience at his Stratford gig he carried on playing in the bar after the encores and then invited all fifty of us. It’s on January 6th.

Car wing mirrors were vandalised as a regular feature of Leicester Street life and a piece of our front wall was thrown through our next door neighbour’s window. Steve helped police with their enquiries into a burglary over the road. Very badly. He now tries to notice things a bit more, such as the gender of people. Liz’s car has been scratched twice. As it has 93,000 miles on the clock after 30 months it is probably beyond economic repair. The Americans have a great word for this - totalised. Better than ‘written-off’ isn’t it?

Anyone want to give a good home to an upright piano? 1909 Paul Gerrard in a condition. We bought a Kurzveil stage piano. It’s so cool. Just need a stage now.

The dishwasher had a near-death experience. Bits fell off but none, apparently of sufficient substance to stop it washing dishes to order. Sounds like a new party game. How many bits can you take off the white goods before they cease functioning? Someone else’s party please.

The cooker was feeling left out at this point and exploded. It’s electric so that’s not quite as bad as it could have been. Steve heard the bang, checked the fuse box, found the fuse had blown, replaced it, and turned the cooker on again. An altogether more professional bang this time followed by smoke effects. That’ll be a new cooker then. Indeed. And we’ve got a microwave after all these years. We almost know how to work it too. The joy of defrosting.

Ben, how many jobs do you have? (January) DJ, Next early-shift lorry unloader, Global Video assistant, Baxi call-centre operative, student. (September) student. We prayed for a job for him. (December) student, assistant at Supercigs and ISP call-centre operative. God must smoke heavily while he surfs. If it weren’t for irony we’d have no conversation in this house.

A Saturday. Plumbing. Cistern. Leak. Emergency call out. £75. Cheque. Plumber revisits the next week. Could you write me another cheque? Why? My girlfriend was so cross at you waking her early on a Saturday that she tore up the cheque.

Glyndebourne. Did you think this was a place for posey nobs to go? We did. Then we got invited to Harrison Birtwhistles’ Last Supper. Guess what? We’re posey nobs. Hated the music. Loved the setting, the drama and the words. Think libretto may be the word we’re searching for here but wouldn’t bet on it.

Tenerife. We drank champagne on top of a volcano whilst watching the sun set over a nearby island. We saw pilot whales in their natural habitat (that would be water then). Groovy (St). Romantic (Lt).

Steeple-chasing. What a silly sport. How fast do steeples normally go? And that’s a stupid song. Why must we hang sally?

Dave Gorman. Best preacher we heard this year. Go see then go figure.

The year to come. We plan that:
Steve will leave CPAS to go back to youth work (60%) and start freelance writing (40%) for a living. Ben will qualify in sound engineering and become a famous DJ, sending us regular cheques from Ibiza throughout the summer. Jon will go off to college. Liz will drop down to eighty hours a week. We’ll have a silver wedding anniversary. 10/9/02, send Liz ‘with sympathy’ cards.

We guess that:
Liz’s car will die and her hours will increase. Ben will find a reason still to need money. West Brom will fall at the last hurdle. Jon won’t tell us where he’s gone.
Happy Christmas


The Tilley’s Annual Attack of Post-ironic Claptrap; Christmas 2000
82, Leicester Street, Leamington Spa CV32 4TB

Apologies for taking shortcuts across the corners of truth’s pleasing right angles last year. Bad habit and we’ll try to break it, but here are three lies from last year:

‘Ben is enjoying Fine Art at Derby University.’ He wasn’t. He came home, firstly to sell computer systems and then clothes to women. At Next, he learned to lie professionally. Of course it suits you and no it isn’t tight. In case that was libel we emphasise it wasn’t part of official staff training. Now he’s back in Derby working for egg.com and doing a part-time sound production course in Nottingham. Alarmingly that means he offers banking advice. Don’t get an overdraft like mine. That would be good advice we feel.

‘Jon opted to do Arts Foundation like his brother.’ He didn’t. He decided, late, on Thames Valley University to do Media Arts after good A levels (oops bragging, sorry). It all went non-circular, orchard-fruit shaped and he returned in time for Christmas, a rethink and a job at Starbucks. What did Lady Bracknell say about clumsiness?

‘Radio 4; 3.30p.m. February 16th.’ It wasn’t. Steve was victim of BBC re-scheduling (waited a lifetime to use that sentence). His story was broadcast on February 9th. Well done those who caught it. Another is in the pipeline but no dates available yet so not even his producer (another new expression) can say when it will go out. It’s called An Unofficial Position and is about a vicar who hates Morris dancing. Autobiographical. You jest. He’s not a vicar. Yet.

Lets try a few half-truths. We had a good year. Wrong. It was rubbish. We’ve all been well. Again no. Steve’s job was straightforward. Uh uh. Cargo Homestores enjoyed financial stability. Oh come on now you’re being silly. We’ll have to face the truth. It’s been a demanding year. We’re glad it’s over but enough good things have happened to make us glad we lived it. That sounds about right.

What sort of music do you play in your house?
Oh we play both sorts, drum and bass. (This gag  The Blues Brothers)

Genuine correspondence to the Leamington Spa Observer: ‘I would like to publish this letter to say a proper thank you to the two kind ladies who helped me with two of my three accidents on August 22nd at Warwick Castle. Thank you to the lady who helped me when I fell down a flight of steps in one of the towers, and to the kind young lady who helped me when I fell out of my wheelchair while my son was pushing me down a hill by the wooden bridge. It was so nice to come across some kind, unselfish people, as I haven’t met many since being ill for three years and disabled for one. Most of my neighbours and their visitors are the total opposite.’

Two of the three? Did she die and write from beyond the grave? And what of the rest of the story? Did her son not like her very much to push her down a hill in a wheelchair? Where was the wheel chair when she fell down the stairs? Please don’t tell us she was in it then too. Neighbours visitors go out of their way to be unpleasant; now why is that? We need more information.

New ground rules for life at 82:

• Do not leave your skateboard next to the stairs however drunk you are when you come in.
• Do not play any music, especially real drums, loud enough to upset deaf neighbour.
• Tidy up two hours before others get back from holiday in case they are early.
• Squalor is acceptable as long as it remains within the confines of your own room.
• Clean the grill with water not fire.
• If you are travelling down the stairs faster than usual check if you are using a skateboard.

Gozo - birthplace of the much-publicised Siamese twins. We hadn’t heard of it until Liz spent a few hours browsing in Thomson’s ‘Small and Friendly’ brochure and booked us two weeks there. Idyllic, hot, friendly and relaxing holiday, although the taxi ride across Malta from the airport to the ferry is not one we recommend without blindfolds. Also all fish have unfamiliar names. Our favourite supper was called Lip, or was it Dot? Gozitans speak Maltese with an accent. Maltese is what happens when you nick a bit of language off everyone who has conquered you, same as English. It mixes French (bonjoo = good morning), Italian (grazi = thanks) and Arabic (leh = yes). Spoke English and pointed a lot, which is apparently very rude in an Arab culture. Popped into a bakers. Smelt wonderful cooking aroma. Asked what it was and if we could buy some. Baker said it was his Sunday lunch and we were too late. Magic.

Jon went to Dublin for the Guinness oops we mean Folk Festival. He saw and heard Courtney Pine. Steve and Jon saw the excellent Dr John in Bristol. Steve saw The Who at the NEC. Steve and Liz saw Henry the Fourth Part One; Steve, Liz and Jon Henry the Fifth. Steve and Liz saw Bill Bailey who proved beyond doubt that U2 were a skiffle band before The Edge got an effects pedal. He also did Sounds Of Silence in 27 seconds as by the world’s fastest, constantly moved on, busker. Ben appeared on the same bill as Grooverider and almost on the same postcard as DJ Hype. This is a good thing.

Great year at the movies. We ticked off some of these: Sleepy Hollow, Erin Brockovich, Boiler Room, Magnolia, Being John Malkovich, American Beauty, The Beach, Three Kings, The Talented Mr Ripley, Gladiator, Mission Impossible 2, Bringing Out the Dead, The X Men, Snatch, Oh Brother Where Art Thou and Shaft. This in a year when Leamington’s Apollo Cinema burnt down. Flooded in 97; arsoned in 2000. Look out for gnats, boils, frogs, dandruff and popcorn-based tumours by 2003.

Cargo Homestores went into voluntary administration. Liz had to make people redundant, almost including herself. If there’s a joke hiding there we haven’t come across it. One of her managers probably left it somewhere hazardous. Liz did manage to lose a person who had been making her life a misery though. Her nearest place of responsibility is now Thame. The Malaysian Holding Company who own the chain may ask her to handle the Middle-East at this rate. She has reached Wokingham.
‘Liz, why not give your staff a card on the anniversary of them starting employment with Cargo?’
‘I’d have to do it monthly.’

Following three weeks off work for intensive back therapy Steve was told to get fit again. He and Liz joined Dragons gym. Three times a week folks and a new familiarity with MTV. Great pecs and about a four pack so far. Steve looks fitter too.

You will find our contributions to the Good Pub Guide 2001 if you buy a copy. Especially recommend the Case is Altered at Rowington as the unspoilt pub of any year. Couple of great ones in Wales too.

St Paul’s saw massive church growth as a new vicar turned up with a wife and five kids. Someone, during the interregnum, said, ‘We need a family man’. We think it would be interesting to find a vicar who came into the world some other way. Alternatively, ‘I’m your new vicar and I’d like you to know I hate children and young people.’ Maybe that would make an impact. We only ask.

CPAS continued to keep bits of its anatomy above water but none of them are usually associated with breathing. Steve produced a book of sketches which upset the whole of Scotland and Ireland, or at least would have if CPAS reps would sell any copies there. Must have been the one about Jesus, the Republican and the haggis. After a year of deciding on a new plan we have reverted to the 1996 – 2001 five year plan. We are going to have a youth and children team again only we aren’t going to call it that. Someone decided that getting a vision before a new General Director wasn’t right so now we are trying to get a new General Director to see if they have any vision. Why don’t we just settle for getting a life? Time to be off on sabbatical (January–February 2001). Hooray. I’m Jonah; please chuck me overboard.

Steve’s car alarm (a persistent Christmas theme) went off 127* times between March and November before Ryland Soans (another) declared it ‘over-sensitive’ and agreed to replace it. You can no longer claim expenses for car washes. Steve stopped washing the car. Simple and petty. He likes to think so

Charlotte came to live with us. Joke about not so much gaining a daughter as losing a bathroom fits here somewhere. Liz’s revenge for twenty years of all-male dinner-times was forcing Steve to overhear a conversation about feminine hygiene. Pub. Now. If your details are wrong on our database how come you got the letter? Tarra.

Steve, Liz, Ben and Jon

* randomly generated large number