Everything in this newspaper which isn't even a newspaper is a load of bahookie and we strongly advise our readers not to believe a word of it. Not even the bits that are true. Discretion is the better part of valour.
A person called Chik Duncan didn't change his wellies for nearly ten years. Phewww!
But he has now.
Environmental campaigners Nosepeace and Friends of the Nostril have issued a World Wide Wellie Warning that the old wellies should be avoided like nuclear fallout or troll breath.
UPDATE: Saturday 25th April 2015
The site is still currently being re-organised into new sections. Please bear with us as we strive to maximise the quality of the customer experience.
That was irony, by the way.
A wee while ago I was asked if I had any work that I could donate to an anthology raising money for Japan after the Tsunami. I didn't, so I wrote a couple of new poyums and sent them off. I never heard anything back so I expect they didn't get used.
This is a short story which I wrote for the Fantastic Fiction module of a postgrad in Writing for Children at Winchester University.
Another piece of homework which I wrote for the Fantastic Fiction module at Winchester University.
"I am a sick man. ... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man."
Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky
required for challenging position looking after table-top, tunnelled strawberries.
No experience necessary.
Commitment to peaceful human-strawberry co-existence essential.
Please apply before we break up for the holidays.
Knowledge of what colours go with brown, an advantage.
Applications welcome from anyone who professes to know what optical tweezing is.
If you wish to contact The Smelly-Wellie-Tele-Graph, please see below for our email address.
We look forward to hearing from you.
Wince upon a tome there were tree squares. There was Dummy Square, there was Baddie Square, and there was little Maybe Square, and the wall lived in a cortege in the farwest.
Windy, Dummy Square derided to cook some partridge so she did.
So she did.
And that's when all the rubble farted.
Ireland's brainiest boy, Phil O'Sophy, said something very clever in his sleep last night. Unfortunately there was nobody there to hear it.
Unless you count his teddy bear.
In an interview this morning Master O'Sophy said, "Cornflakes, please."
The whole world and somewhere else is on red alert today after the Scottish Space Spying-on Society - Mrs Flora McPorridge who sits on a hill with a telescope, a wee pot of tea and some Tunnock's Caramel Wafers - spotted two flying saucers and a dinner plate landing in a field just outside wherever it is that you live.
Mrs McPorridge immediately sent her carrier-penguin, Tux, with a secret coded message to the Scottish government, saying that she doesn't like rudeness and the outer-space crockery drivers wouldn't stop gurgling and burping and something should be done about it.
Chief Inspector Cornpad O'Bunion has warned members of the public to, "cnsnliuf as;kjnfa jjgkgdlseee bhifiuh di a iuashd" and he also asked if someone could please clean the marmalade off his computer keyboard.
C an you help?
Cap'n P. is irate.
He lost his favourite skull and crossbones hankie last Tuesday. For its safe return he's offering a reward of 3 "Oooh arrrr, Jim lad"s and a black spot.
A wee article about some of the different languages you might hear in Scotland in the 21st century. I wrote this long before I had any idea of what I was talking about. Seems like yesterday.
A wee piece of Scottish story telling filmed at The Bakehouse. The story was inspired by a 9th century poem usually referred to either as The Scholar And His Cat or Pangur Bán. The original poem is written in Medieval Gaelic but the story is told in English.
Watch the video, length 4.37. (opens in new window)
This newspaper is a founding member and shareholder of Clyde Football Club CIC, or at least Chik is.
Stranraer 1 v 3 Clyde
Next match: 28th July 2018
Clyde v Motherwell
A short essay on football, or "the beautiful game". This article might be of special interest to our American readers.
Winter's came. Ra snow has fell.
Wee Josie's nose is froze as well.
Wee Josie's nose is froze; he skint it.
Winter's diabolical, i'n'tit?
A family funtime of stories, poyums and general silliness for children. Grown-ups will be tolerated as long they eat their ice-cream before they even think of mentioning vegetables.
Visit the Web site. (opens in new window)
Classes in Scottish folk music.
Various levels and insruments, including song.
Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday.
Visit the GFW Web site. (opens in new window)