For the Week Commencing Monday 14th July 2025
(Also known as the Day of the Revolting Goose, St Elphick’s Finger, and the Eve of the Buttered Oak)
🌦 WEATHER
The skies this week are unsettled, uncommitted, and slightly judgmental. Monday begins with damp breezes and a faint tang of something apocalyptic wafting in from the direction of Chipping Misery. Expect isolated rumblings on Tuesday, possibly political, possibly geological. The weekend brings still air and a strong scent of elderflower disappointment.
Keep an eye on the barometer. If it starts to hum or twitch, leave the room quietly.
🔭 ASTRAL REVERBERATIONS
Venus sidles toward Capricorn, bringing strange yearnings and the return of Mr Thrup’s predictive eyelid tic. Saturn continues its slow waggle of disapproval over the village and three nearby poultry sheds.
✨ HOROSCOPES
The Smouldering Cockle (July 13–15 only)
You are brimming with potential and lukewarm suspicion. Steer clear of hats containing moths. Trust only biscuits with visible currants.
The Heaving Cistern (July 1–Aug 8, excluding Wednesdays)
An emotional leak is likely. Avoid stairs, ferrets, and certain euphemisms. Lucky number: 4½.
The Wasp of Mild Temptation (Every other Thursday plus Leap Mornings)
You will be drawn to something shiny. It will not love you back.
🕵 VILLAGE GOSSIP
Mrs Dell claims her cat Rupert is trying to tell her something in Latin.
Mr Fingle was seen cycling backwards through Lower Grumbly while muttering “it’s coming, it’s coming” and clutching a cauliflower.
A mysterious figure in a pinstripe balaclava has been rearranging the tinned fruit at the village shop. Security footage shows only a blur and a faint trail of gooseberry jam.
🧺 LOST OBJECT OF THE WEEK
One velvet-bound copy of “My Life Amongst the Semi-Invisible”, last seen floating near the cricket pavilion roof. Has a smell of pipe tobacco and unexplained confessions.
📢 CLASSIFIEDS
TO LET: One small cellar. Dry-ish. Contains echoes. Previously occupied by something called “Kevin.” Rent negotiable if you bring your own trap.
FOUND: Mysterious brass monocle in the long grass by the duck pond. Screams faintly when polished. No obvious owner.
FOR SALE: Homemade trousers of prophecy. Slightly snug, will fit a 34” waist if destiny permits.
🥬 LOCAL EVENTS
Tuesday: Cheese Rolling (indoors, for insurance reasons)
Thursday: Historical Re-enactment Society to recreate the Great Biscuit Riots of ’72 using sock puppets and mild accusation
Saturday: “Bring Your Favourite Mould” competition at the Village Hall. All entries to be named and accompanied by a short poem
💬 OVERHEARD
“She said she saw the Virgin Mary in a slice of parsnip, but on closer inspection it was just her Aunt Brenda in a hat.”
🖼 WOODCUT OF THE WEEK
“THE THIRTEENTH APPARITION OF THE LAWN FLANNEL”
From The Lesser Saints of the Laundry Line, depicting a spectral garment said to grant eerie tidiness to gardens it haunts. Notable for its ability to fold itself during thunderstorms.
(Aged reproduction sourced from the Upper Gumption Pamphlet Depository.)
Until next week, remember: never promise anything to a talking goat, and always check your pockets before entering sacred ground.
Yours in lavender and loose teeth,
Virgil Twobyfour
Watcher of Wainscots, Muffler of Clocks, Part-Time Orb Polisher