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The morally instructive determinings of PROFESSOR THAUMUS PHAMBLEMELL
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A CORRESPONDENT WRITES: I am a Minister in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, and as a result of having continuously to deal with quaint and amusing governing bodies while endeavouring to enhance Britain's interests across the many parts of the globe, my health is suffering; I am afflicted with brain-fever and rapidly approaching nervous collapse. Furthermore, because of my charges' impudent refusal to adopt Greenwich Mean Time, my illogical working hours mean I am deprived of the company of my family to the extent that I am only reasonably sure that I have one. Is it acceptable that my duties to guide these quaint and amusing foreigners should weaken my body and spirit, and isolate me from my loved ones?
PROFESSOR PHAMBLEMELL REPLIES: Certainly not. Clear your desk. Send gunboats. |
| is it acceptable? archive |
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I am the Master Of Riddles. Can you untangle my devious glottic knots? |
Little Nancy Etticoat
In her white petticoat
And her red nose.
The longer she stands
The shorter she grows.
Question: Who is Nancy Etticoat?
Answer: She is an old woman with osteoperosis. |
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The BRITON'S SCIENCE has shewn that The Weekly, the magazine which strives to maintain Britain's standards, has topped* one million readers since 1871.
"This is almost as great a victory for me as killing that man in the boxing ring," said MR MILLINGTON of this mathematically inevitable achievement.
MR NASH added: "Scrape your flue, mister?"
* Though not, of course, in the sense of assassination. The Weekly has had cause to assassinate no more than a slumful of readers. |
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Sup from the issue broth with the random ladle. New issue every time, subject to blind unfavouring chance. |
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| Contemplating the Heavens |
| This spy- glass reveals each detail of the Lord's magnif- icent majesty. |
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Though perhaps my starting at noon was a mistake. |
| hurrah/bah archive |
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| This chap's purchased an OFFICIAL THE WEEKLY T-SHAPED SHIRT and now he's working off his shame at indulging in such wasteful extravagance. You too may display similar penitence, and perhaps press hot coins guiltily into the hands of a stooped clerk for a copy of MR MILLINGTON's improving books Things About Which My Girlfriend And I Have Argued, A Certain Chemistry, Love and Other Near-Death Experiences and Instructions For Living Someone Else's Life, by patronising the The Weekly Corner Shop corner shop. Items despatched under plain wrapper, school-boys will be chased from the premises with a broom. |
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Game: Conquers.
Played chiefly in: Leek.
Objective: At heart a normal game of conkers, but enlivened by the players' participating in the style of a famous conqueror from history. Points are awarded for authenticity of impersonation, which may be helped by carefully researched costumes, or, in more informal games, simply made wigs; bonuses can be won by growing your conker in the shape of the miniaturised skill of your chosen conqueror; or retrospectively should you become a conqueror later on. (Address such claims to the national Conquers board, currently in hiding.) It is considered bad form to play if you are already a conqueror, or have conquered specifically for that game.
Obstacles: Fred Harris, who has vowed to destroy the game for largely unknown reasons and is currently at large. Some maintain this adds an element of excitement to Conquers, but not after Harris has run them over with his garden roller.
Rating: Polished. |
| heritage of games archive |
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| Remain UP-TO-DATE and KEENLY ABREAST with a subscription to BRITAIN'S ADVOCATE OF QUALITIES. You will receive notification by e-mail of forthcoming issues of the magazine which inspires Britons everywhere to forge ahead to a better newness. Alternatively, sub down from the list in weary satiety. |
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