God Orders Churches To Welcome Congregations With Minutes Of PCC Meetings And Matters Arising

God has sensationally waded into the ongoing public debate about compulsory prayers in local government, by instructing His ordained representatives to begin all acts of worship with a reading of the minutes of the last Parochial Church Council meeting.

God may also demand apologies for absence

Congregations must, according to God’s plan, then be asked if there are any matters arising from the PCC’s minutes which they wish to discuss before the first hymn.

Many churchgoers, however, have complained that, in these modern times, the arcane thoughts of a tiny group of elders have little or no relevance to their busy lives.

“I’m an anarchist. Why should I be forced to pay lip service to a hierarchical bureaucracy in which I don’t place the slightest credence?” demanded an aggrieved Rev. Harry Davidson, the rector of Stiffkey. “Who does God think He is anyway - Eric Pickles?”

Guilt-Ridden Costner Vows To Avenge Whitney Houston By Sailing World’s Oceans Until He Tracks Down Evil Sheriff Of Nottingham

Not actually a suspect at this time, say LA police

Wracked by guilt over failing to prevent Whitney Houston’s tragic death because he is only a fading Hollywood celebrity and not actually a real bodyguard at all, a tearful Kevin Costner today told the singer’s grieving family and fans that he has acquired a trimaran, and will not rest until he tracks down the wicked Sheriff of Nottingham and slays him, bringing peace at last to the ocean realm.

“During the long years of my quest I shall be accompanied by a faithful pet wolf,” sobbed Costner, who cannot breathe underwater and is a terrible shot with a bow and arrow. “I hope my wolf will help me to eventually come to terms with my overwhelming feelings of remorse and give me some sort of closure, through the healing power of interpretative dance.”

RAF To Buy Whole New Aeroplane

David Cameron has given the Royal Air Force permission to purchase an entire new aeroplane, and a very impressive one it is too.

There could even be room for a couple of penguins

The aeroplane – which will increase the RAF’s fleet of ex-rental C-17 Globemaster III heavy-lift transports to a fearsome eight – is necessary for the humanitarian evacuation of civilians and sheep from tiny war zones 8,000 miles away in the South Atlantic whose runway is not quite long enough to handle chartered civil airliners, explained the prime minister.

A spokesman for the big aeroplane’s manufacturers commented: “After a hiatus of 67 years, Boeing and the United States are glad to once again be sending the mighty 8th over to help Britain’s war effort. As previously, we’ll send you the bill later.”

Meanwhile, overjoyed RAF top brass are busy preparing a massive recruitment campaign for two pilots and a loadmaster.

Noel Gallagher Validates Nation’s Grandfathers

Music was better under Margaret Thatcher, according to Britpop granddad Noel Gallagher, and what’s more, everybody had proper haircuts.

Noel Gallagher - still banging out top tunes

“A’ tell thee this for nowt, there wor a proper woork ethic back in ‘em days,” observed the former Oasis guitarist, as he took a break from watching documentaries on Yesterday to light his favourite pipe. “’Ef tha wor oonemployed lak, ‘appen t’ obsession wor to find woork - man’s woork, y’know, lak down t’ coal mine she wor shuttin’ down, not poncin’ about sum fancy call centre lak a big girl’s blouse.”

“An’ t’lasses, ‘em knawed them’s place wor in t’ hoom, bringin’ oop t’ babby an’ scrubbin’ t’ khazi out back yard an’ all,” he reminisced fondly over a pint of foaming ale.

“Back when a’ wor a nipper, y’d see bloomin’ great steam locomotives go thunderin’ over t’ viaduct, driver on t’ footplate wi’ ‘is Hofner electrical guitar gizmo - as e’d purchased on t’ never-never from Kays catalogue - plugged int’ firebox for practicin’ riffs from ‘Smoke On t’ Water’ lak for t’ annual dinner an’ dance down t’ ASLEF Social Club,” explained the 90s legend, adjusting his flat cap. “Young ‘uns nowadays, tappin’ them’s jungle-drum loops into Ataris an’ Megadrives an’ what-‘ave-you – ‘appen ‘em en’t got a bloody clue as to what a proper middle eight is.”

Dads and granddads are now explaining to their sceptical children that Noel Gallagher is a national treasure, and Britain will be a poorer place when he dies.

Britain Celebrates Timely Death Of Previous Monarch

King George VI and Mrs VI

The nation is united today in celebrating King George VI considerate death from cancer, which enabled his daughter to spend sixty years sitting on a big golden chair as her realm declined into imbecility.

“By all accounts the queen’s dad was a thoroughly decent stick who looked like Colin Firth and beat Hitler by overcoming an embarrassing speech impediment,” said every news presenter today. “George VI died as he lived, putting his beloved country first, firm in his belief that what post-Imperial Britain needed to sit and watch its inexorable decay was a hot young thing rather than some diffident chinless wonder.”

Royal observers say the queen feels exactly the same, much to the chagrin of Prince Charles.

Pupils Lose Interest In Dickens After Fourth Letter

Explore beyond the Dick, younger readers

Mrs. Tomalin - the lady biographer of Mr. Dickens, the Empire’s leading light of literature and letters – has this-morning bemoaned the standards which prevail among our wayward offspring; telling The Nev Filter: “It is oft said that all our hopes and dreams of advancement in this cruel earthly existence reside in our dear, sweet children. Yet it is my sad duty to inform your readers, that these youths are so abjectly deficient in attention; so lamentably devoid of the Christian virtue of persistence; that even that meagre amusement which they are disposed to take in our greatest living writer, has utterly spent itself even before the fifth letter of his name is read.”

After being revived by a dose of smelling-salts, Mrs. Tomalin ejaculated: “Loving parents! Shield, I implore you, your little ones from the sinful distraction of toys! The kaleid-o-scope may seem to you like a harmless diversion; yet its ever-tumbling shimmer is but a snare for impressionable young minds - a snare from which, once caught, their attention can never flee! Banish also the whipping-top and the hoop-la, I say! The ungodly fever of excitement which they whip up in innocent childish minds, leads inexorably down that sordid alley to pollution of the self. Oh my; I’ve come over so queer.”

Following the opening of a window, a restorative draught was fetched for the stricken lady moralist. After partaking of several glasses, however, Mrs. Tomalin was hastily ejected from the premises of this journal in a most parlous state of moral abandon, having wantonly loosened her stays in the shocked presence of your humble scribe.

Sub To Sail Up River Plate In Phallic Warpaint

Ramping up his ongoing campaign to goad Argentina into a war which will win him the next election, David Cameron has ordered nuclear submarine HMS Trafalgar - which has been expertly camouflaged as a giant cock – to sail up the Rio de la Plata and flaunt itself mockingly before the enraged population of Buenos Aires.

Yep, that ought to do the trick

“If we surface in the downtown harbour area just behind the nature reserve, we can disport our proud British manhood up and down the waterfront - from Avenue Belgrano to the Autopista 25 de Mayo,” explained the obscene hunter-killer’s commanding officer. “For the benefit of younger voters, the Royal Navy torpedoed their flagship, the General Belgrano, in 1982 and we’d have got the aircraft carrier 25 de Mayo too if it hadn’t turned tail and fled, leaving a brown trail all the way back to Argentina.”

“If this doesn’t fill every hot-blooded male in Argentina with the burning desire to invade the Malvinas personally,” he added, “I’ll eat my captain’s hat.”

Meanwhile, in Plymouth yesterday, Mr Cameron was talking up the war he seeks to trigger, praising the Royal Marines he hopes will die heroically to secure a resounding Conservative victory - and promising plenty of work for Devonport Dockyard, patching up the photogenic, vote-winning holes blasted in our warships which manage to limp back from the impending South Atlantic confrontation.

Government To Terrorise Cities With Mary Portas

Local government minister Gimp Shitts today unveiled a threat to pull the names of twelve unfortunate cities out of a hat, and inflict Mary Portas on them.

Attack of the 50ft harridan

“The problem facing Britain’s high streets is that there are simply not enough shops selling posh frocks and painful shoes to young women,” crowed Mr Shitts, as he gleefully scribbled the names of every provincial shithole in Britain on a sheet of A4 and tore it into strips with a ruler.

“The key to regenerating these ghastly northern toilets is a thorough bullying from an acid-tongued battleaxe,” he enthused. “In the old days this role was performed admirably by Mrs Thatcher, but she’ll be raving about the inaccuracies in Meryl Streep’s hairdo for the rest of her twilight years. Fortunately, in Britain’s hour of need, another bitter old hag who knows more about everything than anyone else has emerged to save us from ruin.”

“The only way the chosen victims will be ever able to rid themselves of the baleful presence of Mary Portas,” he warned, “Is to give in immediately to her demands. No matter how malicious, petty, short-sighted, counter-productive or self-defeating they may appear to – or, indeed - be.”

Liberal Democrat Keeps Promise

Following his arrest on charges of perverting the course of justice over his wife’s claim that he dodged a speeding ticket, ex-energy secretary Chris Huhne is today facing widespread calls to challenge Nick Clegg for the leadership of the Liberal Democrats after becoming the first MP of the coalition government’s minority party to actually fulfil a promise he gave to the British public – i.e. to resign his cabinet post if he was charged with a criminal offence.

The most truthful liar in Parliament

“Obviously, Chris Huhne is a suspected liar, cheat and self-serving rat,” explained the Nev Filter’s veteran Westminster correspondent, Nev. “On the other hand, the entire country knows through bitter personal experience that all the other Lib Dems are compulsive and habitual liars, cheats and self-serving rats – which, for the time being at least, makes him the most honest minion of the whole rotten syndicate.”

Record Label In Search For Lowest Publicity Stunt

Classical music label Decca has launched a global search for the deepest human voice ever heard, after composer and idiot Paul Mealor squeezed out a piece which is physically impossible to sing.

“Mr Mealor was famous for five minutes when a tribe of squaddies’ cockwarmers wailed their way to the top of the Christmas charts with his profound meditation on separation and loss, ‘Whoever You Are’ , so obviously we need to cash in fast before his name drops out of the back of your head forever,” said a Decca spokesman. “Unfortunately, the only thing this fucktard’s managed to bang out since Christmas demands the services of a vocalist with a throat the size of a hatchback. And, unless we can teach a whale to sing in Latin, there’s nothing in the natural world which can hit three octaves below middle E.”

This does not exist, and neither do computers

“Fortunately for us, voice-transforming gadgets have been available cheaply since 1996 so, from a technical point of view, it’s not really a problem,” he added. “And they work in real-time, too, so that covers the quick cash-in tour - which is how we usually try to recoup the cost of recording a CD nobody is ever going to buy. But then we came up with this brilliant idea for a publicity stunt. Here goes.”

“Ahem. Dis shout going out to anybody what gots a throat the size of a fanny magnet,” he warned the public. “Bluds! Bluds! All you gots to do is convince yourself your bath-time grunts is like waaay better than the perfectly-modulated tonality of a trained world-class professional, then tell all your chav mates with wicked sound systems in their wheelz that you is be shouting out to all your homeys on the long-playing Decca release of da hipster Paul Mealor’s subwoofa-pumpin’ ‘De Profundis’ innit.”

“Standard,” he added shiftily.