Sunday, 11 August 2013

New Town Man Shits Himself at the Thought of ACTUALLY Living in the Country

Sstruan as he's chosen to be immortalised with one of his dogs Monty 

A man who gads about Stockbridge in tweed plus fours, dressed like a fucking extra from To The Manor Born, shat himself last week at the very notion of not living in the city.

Sstruan Findlater-Twatpiece (33), a former pupil of George Watson's college and resident of Heriot Row, found himself in the ghastly situation of possibly having to relocate to rural Perthshire as part of a workplace promotion. He and his partner Ffyon are among Barbour TM and Hunter's TM  best UK customers, and are lifetime subscribers to Horse & Hound and Cunty (surely Country. Ed) Life magazines.

Speaking from the tailgate of his pristine Land Rover Defender, decal-led with fake mud splatters, that he uses to mow down cyclists and demolish the wing mirrors of parked cars. He explained..
"I made my weekly visit to the office last Monday at Huckster,Shyster and Cunt were I'm engaged as an HR Under Manager to be told the "good news" by my Boss." 
"Congratulations old chap! You'll be pleased to know we've decided to give you a promotion, running a new office we have at Moor of Rannoch. No need for thanks, you richly deserve it"
"The Bastard! I couldn't work out what I'd done wrong. Ffyon and I took a helicopter trip up there and it really is the arsefuck of nowhere. We have two Labradors a Spaniel, a Rhodesian Ridgeback and a Jack Russell. What in the name of god would they do up here? I mean the nearest Waitrose is in Glasgow for fucksakes and I would't be able to have my magazines delivered. Also about 5 am you hear this godawful bellowing every morning. I asked what it was down the nearest so called pub, they don't even do cocktails, and they told me the noise is what they call 'cows'. Fuck that! Then to cap it all off when Ffyon inquired in the local Church about Pilates and Zumba classes they told her the only thing they do is something called prayer and worship. Peasants! Anyway thankfully it all fell through. By the way that's Sstruan with two s's and ditto for Ffyon."
"Struan tried to put a brave face on it when I gave him the bad news about the deal falling through." His boss told The Satire . " He punched the air and shouted 'YeeeeEEEssss you fucker!!!', but I know deep down he'll have been bitterly disappointed."


Sunday, 4 August 2013

OBITUARY: RIP Margaret Merriweather

The Bench where Margaret would rail against twilight till forcibly removed by park wardens.

The Satire today bids farewell to our Environmental & Meteorological Correspondent Margaret Merriweather who has died horrifically in her sleep.

Margaret started on the magazine way back  in the 1940's straight from Cheltenham Ladies College and soon became a regular but thoroughly disliked member of the editorial team. Unfortunately she was heavily litigious even back then so we had no choice but to keep her on.

Anyone who knew Margaret will know she had her eccentricities.

In particular, she could not abide the changing of the seasons. The very idea for example of Spring turning into Summer abhored Margaret. And as a young child she had campaigned vigorously, tirelessly, passionately and utterly pointlessly for a world-wide ban on all seasons.

Her two nemeses were Frankie Vali and the 17th century Italian composer Antonio Vivaldi, whose grave she faithfully shat on every year on his birthday. Even into her 90's, where she had to be helped from her bathchair and held over the headstone by her long-suffering grandchildren, she insisted on keeping up the protest.

From the earliest age, Margaret had actively and visibly displayed her contempt for the seasons in every way she could - wearing flimsy swimwear and flipflops in the December blizzards of 1962, donning full eskimo gear during the scorching 1976 heatwave and taking great delight in only eating pears which had yet to ripen.

But her tireless efforts had no effect and the seasons carried on regardless.

Towards the end of her life, her intolerance begun to extend to the concept of day turning into night and she had eventually refused to sleep at all saying enigmatically, 'That just encourages the cheeky cunt!"

She leaves behind a weary husband and 12 traumatised grandchildren.