As you read this, advance copies of the September Spurtle are already spreading across Broughton like pizza fragments round a bin full of rats.
Page 1 begins with a temporary fix, an entirely predictable and predicted fiasco, and a ‘feature façade’. It’s all infuriating. Thank God for the clock and the flock.
Fake flowers feature on Page 2, as do too much of a good thing, too little of a good thing, and a dog’s breakfast.
As you read this, advance copies of the August Spurtle are already appearing across the barony. Secure yours now before Greg Proops grabs the lot.
Issue 320 comprises tightly packed local news.
It begins, like Issues 1–319, with Page 1. We cover new homes many people will struggle to afford, bad parking, repulsion (for now) of an alien invasion, and the mixed joys of camelopards. Plus balls – more of them, more often, and more visible at night.
As you read this, advance copies of the July Spurtle are already popping up in odd spots across Broughton like lost tourists walking in circles on York Lane in search of Britannia.
Issue 319 begins with an unlikely marriage, a Scots vow, and a surprise half-quote from Macbeth few if any have remarked before. Scores of architectural changes follow, as do clouds of dust, a tactical victory, and the return of a local artist certified dead for roughly 125 years. He’s looking well.
As you read this, advance copies of the June Spurtle have already spread across the barony like fresh hail through a spring T-shirt. Gird your goosebumps and embrace the news.
On Page 1 we commence with news of the May election, and ill-advised speculations on a Coalition deal formulated before the real thing emerged just after it was too late to correct ourselves. When in doubt, Shoot the Editor.
We have reports, too, of a bipedal phenomenon newly arrived in Broughton, the botched beginning of beautiful bins, and the grisly end of a local landmark.
As you read this, advance copies of the May Spurtle are already spreading across the barony like half-frozen political canvassers ducking into shops to get out of the wind.
Page 1 begins with a glaring absence, a brilliant presence, and mind-boggling Council self-contradiction. It continues with confirmed plans for the Beaverlands, then tapers to a wobbling close on Leith Walk. No officials were harmed in the writing of these reports.
As you read this, advance copies of the April Spurtle are already drifting across Broughton like spring snowflakes on a northerly wind. Brace yourself.
Issue 316 begins with an icy editorial blast. It continues with news of a 6-month freeze, a much loved unlovely structure left out in the cold, and a frosty response to calls for consultation. Politicians beware – the hustings are coming.
As you read this, advance copies of the March Spurtle are already spreading in all directions across the barony like confused pedestrians trying to cross York Place.
Page 1 begins with the word ‘Last’ and ends with the word ‘objections’. In-between there are thoughts on green flags and where not to find one, Edinburgh’s air and where not to breathe it, proactive approaches to Picardy Place, and a hippopotamus in a hamster cage.
As you read this, advance copies of the February Spurtle are already fanning out across the barony like invitations to a Downing Street after-work work meeting for people who won’t be doing any work at it.
Page 1 jumps straight into a controversial development, grinding teeth, and serious crime before lightening the tone with coffee-and-cake news and ways to help local kids get lost in the countryside.
As you read this, advance copies of the November Spurtle are already circulating around Broughton like fallen leaves down a recently unblocked gully.
The new printed issue begins with Leith Walk – how to get across it and whose garden to get comfortable in once you’ve arrived. It continues with a disturbing turn in a usually peaceful neighbourhood, speculates on the next round of hot-air about bins, and ends with a naked appeal for your dosh.
As you read this, advance copies of the October Spurtle are already dispersing across the barony like dropped PPE masks on an easterly breeze.
Page 1 contains a refusal, an appeal, a crisis, and ‘an absolute disgrace’.
Page 2 takes a deep breath and calmly outlines a delay, a declutter, a bit more detail, and a desire for improved fresh air. Plus Enlightenment, a toucan, Walnut Whips, and an occult reference to an unusual body part most human beings don’t like to talk about.