Exclusive: ‘Infamy, infamy’ claims Titchener
Rob
Titchener, who has not been seen since leaving his job at Damara Capital last
week, has contacted the Ambridge Observer
to break his silence and hit back at the critics he claims have ‘hounded him
out’ of his home in the village.
Speaking
from an undisclosed location, Mr Titchener told the Observer: ‘It’s a total lie to say I was sacked from Damara. I was
the best manager Berrow Farm ever had. That’s a fact. Those guys who said I
blocked the culvert and diverted the water into Ambridge – so dishonest. Sad,
just sad. And that so-called flood? It never happened, people. Those losers at
the Environment Agency? They faked those photos to show the water four feet
deep on the village green, just to destroy me and trash my reputation.
Desperate. And you know what? The bad hombres at Bridge Farm, they left their
taps on, just to make it look worse. Pathetic.
‘Let me
tell you guys, I love this village. No one is a bigger lover of this village
than me. And don’t forget folks, I was the hero of the flood! In fact without
me, there wouldn’t have been any flood! Um, wait, no, I mean…’
At this
point, the line went dead and further attempts to contact Mr Titchener
failed.
Recipe of the Week
Thanks to
Jill Archer of Brookfield for sending us her recipe for Special Celebratory
Flapjacks. ‘I made these as a gift for my granddaughter and her boyfriend Toby,
with whom I haven’t always seen eye to eye,’ writes Mrs Archer. ‘I believe in
cooking from the heart, and I like to think this recipe will bring us together.’
You said it, Jill!
1 old prune
250g
Toby-gets-his oats
250g self-centred
flour (Fairbrother’s)
4 tbsp nuts,
crushed if possible
250g
artificial sweetener
3 eggs
(reserve the shells for treading on)
250g
butter-wouldn’t melt-in-that-man’s-mouth
1 tbsp
olive-branch oil
A large
pinch of salt
Meddle (surely ‘muddle’? Ed) all the ingredients
together round a dinner table until you have a stiff, awkward mix. Smooth over
any cracks with a thick coating of sugar, and sprinkle with hundreds and
thousands (the ones Toby is stealing from Pip, you mark my words).
Remember to
say Grace before serving.
Coffee break with…. Anisha Jayacoady
In our series of interviews with readers who
have interesting jobs, we catch up with a new arrival in Ambridge – a superstar
vet and proud Scot.
Q We hear
you were able to save a valuable horse recently?
A Aye,
Lazarus were giein’ it lalldie oer a muckle hedge an’ had a cowp. Oh – listen to
me! I’m afraid I do slip into my native Glaswegian when I’m excited! Yes,
Lazarus was going flat out over a hedge when he had a fall. A couple of days
later we found his leg was infected, but fortunately I was able to remove the
infection and flush his knee joint without sending him to equine hospital. His
owner was delighted. She were up to high doe, ye ken – I mean, she was very
anxious.
Q We understand
you’re a horsewoman yourself?
A Aye right
enough, I’ve a bonnie braw meir I’m sae prood o’ – oh, I’m terribly sorry, did
I tell you I’m Glaswegian? I mean I have a beautiful mare I’m very proud of;
she’s won prizes. Being able to stable her in Ambridge is a real bonus.
Q Are you
concerned about living in Blossom Hill Cottage, which has had a troubled
history?
A Oh no! If
Rob Titchener turned up, I’d just say: Git oot! Away an’ raffle yersel if y’dinnae
want some rock salt in yer gabardines! He’d soon get the message. (Are you sure? Ed)
Q Did you
enjoy Burns Night this year?
A Aye, the
hale jing-bang, once I’d skelped that wee skellum Jazzer McCreary at the
drinkin’.
He thought
I buttoned up the back but he’s nae callin’ me a Fanny Toosh, ye ken? Oh dear,
I’m such a passionate Scot! Let me translate… I really enjoyed Burns Night once
I’d beaten Jazzer in a drinking competition. I couldn’t let him think I’m a naïve,
posh Glaswegian girl. So I cheated ever so slightly by drinking water instead
of vodka. But you won’t tell, will you?
Q Thank
you, Anisha! Welcome to Ambridge!
A Aye,
right enough. Mynd yersel on yer way oot hen. Oops, there I go again!
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WINTER FICTION SPECIAL: The Trials of Pat Archer
In the
latest chapter of our passionate family saga, by award-winning novelist Lavinia
Catwater, our heroine aims to lay the ghosts of the past and has a bittersweet
glimpse of the future….
‘Helen, a penny
for them, love…’ Pat was worried by her daughter’s distracted air as she
stacked up parsnips in strict rows like soldiers. ‘Don’t be silly mother; they’re
£1.25 each. We’re an organic shop, or had you forgotten?’ Helen snapped. Then
suddenly she seemed to crumple onto the rough-hewn, rustic counter-top. ‘Oh, I’m
sorry mum. It’s Rob. I just can’t believe he’s really gone. Why would he, when
he’s fought so hard to stay in touch with Jack? It makes no sense.’
‘I know,
love. But it might be true! Justin might really have made him an offer he can’t
refuse.’ But Helen still looked troubled. Pat decided to change the subject. ‘By
the way, where’s Tom today?’ To her surprise, another shadow crossed Helen’s
face. ‘Oh, don’t fuss mum, he’s not a baby! Oops – I mean, he’s just gone
somewhere.’ And with that she rushed off into the stockroom, calling to Anya. Pat
sighed. Would this family ever be free of secrets? But maybe there was
something she could do… After selecting a packet of no-soak lentils and some
misshapen parsnips for the evening meal, she took out her phone and called Tony…
*
‘So the
good news is love, Rob’s really gone!’ Tony beamed at them all across the
steaming pile of lentil bake. ‘I went to his flat and it’s completely empty! No
sign of him.’ Pat smiled back and picked up her ladle. ‘Excellent. So that’s
settled. Now, who’s for more? And by the way Tom, where did you get to today?”
Tom blushed to the roots of his hair. What was going on? But before he could
answer, Helen stood up, wrinkling her nose. ‘Oh, sorry everyone, I thought it
was the lentils. But Jack’s nappy needs changing. Come and help me, Tom?’
‘No, it’s
OK Helen… the thing is mum and dad…’ Tom crumbled his stoneground wholemeal
roll, then looked up with a shy smile. ‘The thing is, Kirsty and me, we’re
having a baby! That’s where I was today, at the hospital for her scan.’ Pat
dropped the ladle, not caring about the brown spatters on the tablecloth. ‘Oh,
Tom, how wonderful! When did you and Kirsty get back together?’
‘Well that’s
just it mum; we’re not. We’re going to be a modern family. Not living together
and that. Any more bake going?’ Pat served her son, once more struggling with
conflicting emotions. Would anything about the Bridge Farm Archers ever be
normal again?
*
The next
day, Pat was her strong, confident self. She and Tony were going to be
grandparents again, and would love Tom and Kirsty’s baby just as much as Johnny,
Henry and Jack, whose circumstances were so much less complicated… Well,
anyway. It was wonderful news. When the farm shop door opened, she went to the
counter with a broad smile, ready for a day of successful retailing.
‘What have
you done with him?’ A woman had burst in and stood on the organic coir matting,
dripping rain from her billowing black Pac-a-mac. She looked like the wicked
witch of the west, thought Pat. Then she ripped off her hood. ‘Ursula!’ she
gasped. ‘Yes, it’s me,’ snarled Mrs Titchener. ‘Where is my son?’
Pat drew
herself up to her full height. ‘I have no idea Ursula, and I care even less.
Why should I?’
‘Because
you and your evil family have hounded him out of his home, twisting and manipulating
the truth, making out everything was his fault…’
‘How dare
you? What about all the reports, the evidence, the court verdict – you’re the
twisted one. Your son put Helen through hell and you connived with him at every
step!’
‘Please,
Pat.’ Ursula began to snivel. ‘Please, he’s my baby. I’ve lost my son!’ For a
moment, Pat felt a twinge of sympathy from one mother to another. But she
swallowed it down like half-digested lentil bake. ‘That is your problem Ursula.
Not mine. Now get out of my shop, and stay out.’ Pat pushed past the sodden,
sobbing bundle and opened the door wide, heedless of the driving rain that
swept in. Slowly, Ursula shuffled out. Pat shut the door smartly behind her and
double-locked it.
To be continued…
Shula referred to Lazarus' "Right front knee" - now, people who know about horses would refer to a horses "off fore", but Shula didn't, which must mean, as the SWs are always right, that Lazarus wasn't a horse, which only has 2 knees,but an elephant, which has 4.
ReplyDeleteWell that's a remarkable insight Claire, and hard to argue with. Hope Shula has given him an extra-large loose box!
DeleteYou really made me laugh!
DeleteShula doesn't really run a riding stables; she has too much time off, she "goes for a gallop on Heydon Barrow", she has numerous "girls" who work for her, (surely since the minimum wage, she can't get away with paying peanuts anymore). And the thing that really convinces me that she's a fake, is that she says "easy, boy," while slapping her horse on the neck like she's trying to kill a burglar. Also she grunts every time she leans down to do up a girth (she can't be that unfit in her job). I suspect the silent Joanne really runs it all but is hidden away by her boss in case she gets any credit. Ooh, you'd never guess I used to work as a groom, would you?
Delete++ Remember to say Grace before serving. ++
ReplyDeleteInspired, absolutely inspired. Love it. I don't tell you often enough how much I enjoy reading The Ambridge Observer.
Oh, that's really lovely - thank you! I will treat the reporters to an extra jelly baby each...
DeleteLovely - thanks!
ReplyDeleteJust a slightly confusing typo - ‘That is my problem Ursula. Not yours.'
Quite right - corrected now. Got a bit carried away! Thanks for pointing it out.
DeleteExcellent work as usual - I'm sure Rob and Donald will get on like a house on fire!
ReplyDeleteThank you!! Unfortunately Bruce and Ursula were stationed in Baghdad when Robert was born so joining the Trump team may be tricky...
DeleteAnisha is from Glasgow? Who knew?
ReplyDeleteSo glad she keeps reminding us. You'd never know otherwise, would you?
DeleteVery clever and also very funny, brilliant!
ReplyDeleteThank you Eddie, very kind. Personally I am still missing ElfWorld... could you revive it?
DeleteAn absolute treat, I laugh out loud reading the Ambridge observer every week, this week's edition is priceless!
ReplyDeleteThank you Paula, much appreciated - priceless and indeed, free!! You're very welcome.
DeleteFabulous news roundup, as usual. Who needs John Craven?
ReplyDeleteJohn Craven is actually our special 'village rituals' correspondent, being an expert on wassailing, Stir Up Sunday and the like. All that Countryfile training comes in very handy.
DeleteWonderful edition! Had me chuckling out loud, when I hadn't been in a chuckling mood.
ReplyDeleteGood to hear, always happy to provide a chuckle! Thank you!
DeleteI tried the flapjack recipe but everything's gone limp and flabby
ReplyDeleteOh dear, I'm sorry to hear that. But Jill wouldn't be surprised; she knew it all along and told you so several times.
DeleteAs a listener from the Untied States, I have to say, "Ouch."
ReplyDeleteAnd also, "Well played!"
Thank you kindly! I'm sure we all hope Rob has not disappeared to Minnesota, as threatened. No one deserves that.
DeleteLoved the Rob piece; brilliant! All we need now is for Alex Baldwin to make an appearance :-)
ReplyDelete