Ted Max

"TV PDFile probe stops man seeing double" A Greenwich local resident who is plagued by ghost images on his TV thinks he has found out the cause of his haunting. Using a PDFile to work out local Pd values, and some maths drawings, local priest Fr Isnit has been able to exorcise the eerie double images from his TV. Isnit said that the culprit was a local Canary, that is stealing the signal from Crystal Palace FC and then sending it on later (see panel). Other local residents were said to be concerned about the existence of double TV signals, with many blaming the cold snap, as well as increased traffic in the Greenwich Foot Tunnel. A TV expert could not be invented for comment. Do you have any PDFile stories? Please pass them on to our reporter at [email protected].

"Beating the bigots" The nephew of a local same-sex couple has spoken of his pride in their relationship. Tony London, from Surbiton, told Southwark Life News that local boo-boys were way off the mark in targeting his Uncle Robert and "Aunt" Charles. "There's no story here," he said, "everyone should "feel free" to do as they wish. In 1960s Walworth, same-sex unions were ten-a-penny, that's why I moved to Bellingham. I'm 93 you know. Have you ever been copsing? Anyone seen my m8 Terry?" HAVE you seen Terry? Text "MYMATETERRY to 857892".

Grate, Rose. See tomorrow's page 6 of Friday's SE Weekender Life, we'll make me you famours!! "Cookie Monster on the Loose" A terrified Peckham resident (53), whose brother is housebound, is traumatised after witnessing a thief go on the rampage locally. PeckhamRose, who didn't want to be named, said, "It was terrifying. One minute there was "nuffink" and then there was "only biscuits"". The thief, who was said to be wearing a stole, made off in Rose's brother Nick's car. Police could not be contacted for comment. Affected by this issue? Leave your comment here. Text 85679 and quote Coookie.

No answurs already. C'mon people, I'm trying to build a communtiy hear. Get invulved a little, yoo might like it. Plz send me yr news. Haz anywun been mugged or ritually abused in Morrison's carpark?? Blow the whislte. I can pro-text your ID.

Taht's grate, RosieH. If only there wuz sum way to get in toch directly hear. My number is 020 7346 8729. Arsk for me. I'm knew though, so take care1! We can send a snapper over for the photo. Duz the chimp like tee? And wold yor nephew go on record? This is grate. Anywun els?

Hi there. I am a trainer reportee on the locale Noospeepar and would luv to here you're stories. It's great to keep in touche on these tings, especially in teh credit crucnh LOL!! It doesn';t all hav to be murders and nife crime. Perhaps yoo have a fete or an arsonist living next door. Let me know. Good news is news two. 75% of all stories are unread, btw, so don't worree if it's not really troo, either. PS Cld you RSVP by lunchtime, I have a dedline not like yoo layabouts.!1 Oops, only joking.

God. And he's not telling.

Your comeback is not going to church/ mosque/ synagogue/ temple/ standing stones. Isn't that enough? The buses will provide only sermon-fodder for a thousand ministers short of material after Christmas. Will they convert anyone to atheism, or relieve guilt in the doubters? Not really. And if not, what's the point? It's a lot of self-indulgent wank that will only confirm and encourage certain religious types in their belief that they are under attack, when the reality is that they are not. In short, counterproductive.

http://img.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2007/09_02/maggieES_468x294.jpg

Your pub is open past midnight this New Year?s Eve, one of its sporadic efforts to open itself out beyond its regular cast list. People shout slightly louder than they have to over the music. Jools Holland mouths silently to the front bar. In the lounge, you stay in your old seat as the old year ends. And now you are not alone because he has asked if you mind if ?we? join you: ?we? being a small group of his friends, one of whom you recognise from the barber?s. He leans in to speak to you, and you can feel his breath on your face. He's only asking how your Christmas was, but you find your mouth can't form the replies you are looking for. "Are you OK?" he asks. You tell him you're fine, and he takes his hand off your arm, wishes you a Happy New Year. Once, at a primary school disco, a girl asked you to dance, and you had started crying. You told her you had suffered a ?family bereavement?, and she gave you a puzzled look but kept tapping her feet on the gym floor, fixing you to the polished wood with her kindness. The thin air of the new year can?t support your breath; the road home stretches up the hill in empty mockery. You step back inside and order another drink. Nobody seems to have noticed your departure or re-entry. In the front bar there is some dancing on the unpolished wooden floor. You stay at the bar with your drink, and watch. Every pub in the city has a face like yours in it.

Christmas morning. A wrap of flowers in his hand and a slick of oil in his hair, this morning's pomade mingling with last night's smoke and whisky. Same old work clothes leavened with his one bright-coloured tie, a carnation in the buttonhole. "Happy Christmas, Mum" he would say, though she was your mum, and his wife. A great show of carving the turkey, jokes about legs and breasts. Mockingly sawing away at an over-crisp roast potato. Mum's streaky bacon complexion flaring in flames thrown by candles showing the wear of their fourth Christmas on duty. Today the flowers are for Mum again. But your hair, newly cut, smells only of the wax you had nodded your assent to in the barber's chair yesterday. And when you say "Happy Christmas, Mum," it's OK because she actually is your Mum, and no longer his wife. The flowers sit next to the urn, waiting for you to leave. So you do. You haven't had lunch today, and have made no plans to do so. The sign outside the pub says "Open Christmas Day, 3-6pm." You push open the double glass doors. "Happy Christmas," the barmaid says, "escaping from the family for a moment, are you?" "Yeah," you say. "Trying my best."

I hope this clears things up a bit: And this:

And as for Franklins...

Keef has played an exemplary "Louisa gambit", there. Slag place off = free pint. So, the Bishop is a steaming pile of turd. I wouldn't drink any of the ales, wines or spirits. Nor would I like to try any of the food for free. Definitely not!

Are you sure that wasn't the Princess Diana memorial, PGC? EDIT: Also, I cannot think of any parks in East Dulwich in need of a makeover.

Men all bastards? Take it to the tautology thread, Sister.

The way George pronounces "special" in: "this year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special" predates its current usage by about 20 years, but always makes me smile at the thought that George is indeed looking for someone "special" to give his love to.

"Be the only living thing for miles - other than the orcs and goblins!" But I already live in Peckham.

It certainly got me thinking.

You're moving to Nunhead, aren't you?

We will be reading about shoddy Liverpool routines depriving Spain of its best striker?

TM & AFN I think you're at different locations. Thanks for that, boosboss. Yes, I took "swimming pool" to mean the Lido.

Ach, you know, I'm not looking for a fight, old bean. Just interested in this "residents overlooking the swimming pool fabricated anti-social behaviour" theory. There's a block of flats by the bus stop, just down from Kings on the Rye - are these the people who agitated for the landscaping of the old Lido? Only the council minutes on the matter show residents asking for sports facilities for kids on the site. I can post them if you like.

Seriously though, who overlooks the old swimming pool? Very few now the 12 is a single-decker, surely?

The budget for new play equipment has been spent on the ongoing upgrade to the playground at Goose Green. It's going to look great when it's done.