St Albion Parish News, July 11, 2003

The Editor Alastair Campbell writes:

Iím sorry, but I have had to hold over the Vicarís promised thoughts on ďthe meaning of truthĒ because there are more important matters which need to be dealt with this week, which is why I have just burst into his study and clicked Ďdeleteí on his computer.
Sorry, Tony, but when my f****** integrity is being attacked by ignorant people all round the parish, then those people have to realise how serious this is.
I have been accused of deliberately falsifying a number of important parish documents.
What could be a more serious f****** allegation to make against someone occupying a very senior position of trust in the running of this parish, okay?
People say that, as editor of this newsletter, I should stay in the background. Bollocks is what I say to that!
What am I expected to do when these creepy little bastards are given airtime to make these ridiculous charges against me which are totally without foundation, and which they have not got a single shred of evidence to substantiate whatsoever?
What am I supposed to do? Just sit back and take it on the chin and turn the other cheek, as the Vicar would no doubt tell you, in his smug, holier-than-thou way?
Donít get me wrong. Iíve got a lot of respect for the Vicar. But letís face it, he doesnít frankly know his arse from his elbow. Streetwise, heís a f****** no-no.
And if it wasnít for me telling him what to say and what to do every minute of the day and night, our Tony, bless him, would still be some dim little curate in a one-horse parish out in the sticks, drinking tea with old ladies.
Iíve had to put up with an awful lot recently, I donít mind saying, what with the Vicarís wife going bananas with that new-age loony sheís let herself be taken in by.
Iíve told Tony again and again, theyíre a pair of f****** fruitcakes, her and her mother, and itís not doing the parish any good having the Vicarís wife wandering round with someone who looks as if she had escaped from a refugee camp in the 60s.
As I told the Vicar a hundred times -- ďget ridĒ, and as I said to Cherie herself -- ďget a lifeĒ. But itís like talking to the walking dead, those two!
If the Vicar is so interested in truth, then perhaps heíd better cop some of this. Without me, that boy is nothing.
All those people round the parish whoíve been predicting that I was going to quit seem to have forgotten one rather important little fact. If I was to go, then the whole St Albionís show goes down the swanee.
And Iím not f****** joking!
So I have to stay, donít I? Iím not going to do a Milburn and walk out on the Vicar in his hour of need. Not yet anyway.
If things are looking bad for the Vicar -- which, frankly, they are -- then heís only brought it on himself, along with his wife and her nutcase friend.
And another thing. Why does he keep ringing up that sad old queen who used to be churchwarden to ask his advice? I mean, youíd have to be blind like Mr Blunkett not to see that heís trouble on legs!
So, thatís it! Unless I get a full apology in writing from everyone in the parish, delivered to my office by nine oíclock tomorrow morning, there will be hell to pay for all concerned.
I hope I have made my message abundantly f****** clear!

A. Campbell