Abner Brown

I've recruited a fine collection of crooks, buffoons and dolts for this year's scrobbling. Oddly, they look exactly like the same collection of crooks, buffoons and dolts that made such a mess of last Christmas.

You won't catch me being daft enough to allow that dolt Joe to stand for chief server. I saw him coming out of Bob the Baker's this morning with a bag of self-raising and a mutinous look.

The Head has revealed to me a dreadful premonition. The time will come when to park for 5 minutes in Condicote High Street will require a pact with an infernal device that refuses to take payment, or use a demi-demon that lives in the telephone and calls itself Ringo (but doesn't play drums).

As the living, breathing incarnation of a character from a 40 year old TV show, would I risk vanishing in a puff of causality if I admitted to never watching the TV? Drat it - I'm here and I'm staying!

These things always start well, until some dolt starts chucking bags flour around.

It's not that I didn't declare all those half crowns that @foxyfacedcharles.bsky.social collected. It's just that the computer hasn't been invented yet, and the office wouldn't accept a note tied to Animus' leg.

Due to ecumenical differences I have been forced to write a stern letter to the Bishop of Tatchester. It says: "Ya boo. You smell. You didn't invite me to your Christmas party so I'm going to stamp on your presents. And your mitre." That'll show the dolt.

There's a simple solution to all these choirboys treacherously joining the cathedral choir. And if the dolts don't turn in a good performance of Take a Pair of Sparkling Eyes, I shall be flooding the dungeons.

I didn't know he had a mind.

It says here, Joe, that you plan on defecting to the opposition and lobbing a bag of flour at me. Got anything to say for yourself?

I'm very excited to see there are plans to build a ski resort in Wales. In addition to being able to polish my parallel turns at the weekend, I should be able to make a fortune renting-out Animus to provide the snow.

I didn't get a peerage either. I'm seriously considering taking my rendition of Take a Pair of Sparkling Eyes and joining the Condicote Choral and Society instead of the dratted Glee Club. I wonder if I can persuade @condicote7000.bsky.social to join me?

I'm sure I saw you with one foot in the parlour and the other in the scullery, during the Seekings Christmas staff-party game of Twister.

Half a sec., I'll just open the sluices.

So, let's see how we're getting on: Death - tick
War - tick
Pestilence - tick
Famine - well that dolt in the waterfall could do with feeding-up.

Just a second - where is scrobbling?

Every year the dolt tips Kupitar, and every year the dratted nag doesn't even start.

The first episode of Children of the Stones was broadcast on this day in 1977. Written by Jeremy Burnham and Trevor Ray, it starred Gareth Thomas and Iain Cuthbertson. Happy day.

Alright Boy -make yourself useful and tell us what catastrophes are about to befall the world this week.

I'm giving the other place a wide berth until it stops behaving like an adolescent Animus. So for now the only place that Abner's wisdom (and tantrums) can be found is right here. (And by 'the other place' I don't mean Musborough).

Either Chesters Missionary College exists in a bubble of reality that is immune to extreme weather, or the Condicote Bugle has been ever so slightly exaggerating the weather forecast.

The weather is extreme and unpredictable. Despots with giant egos stalk the land. Nobody and nothing is safe, even Christmas. Meanwhile, at Chesters we are doing jigsaws and toasting choirboys, and wondering what's gone wrong with the world?

Feeling bereft: I've just suffered an unexplained but overwhelming urge to pop into Woolworths and buy a quarter of pick-n-mix (heavy on Murray Mints and Lion Toffee), a can of white emulsion and 6 yards of bell wire.

The good news is that Animus has whipped-up a first rate blizzard and the clergy definitely won't be reaching the cathedral in time for the service. The bad news is that, due to Condicote Parish Council no longer clearing the pavements, we are stuck in this dratted bunker until Christmas.

Twelfth night is associated with feasting, drinking and the reversal is social hierarchies. So, for one night only I shall be allowing @foxyfacedcharles.bsky.social to call me a dolt - if he's not too sloshed.

Due to an outbreak of curates playing find the lady on the commuter service, I have annexed Musborough Junction, scrobbled that old fool with a handbell and am going to make the 1640 to Condicote run on time.

We're off to Aberdeenshire to chuck a blizzard or two around. I'm hoping a, film crew and Master Harker will follow ush here - then I might be able to get that dratted box.

The scrobbling office has issued an Animus warning of snow and ice. All curates are advised to wear their winter cassocks, if they don't want their canticles to freeze overnight.

New year? That'll be just half a crown.

I'm excited to announce that Christmas 2026 will see the launch of my limited edition autobiography Abner Brown: a life in nobbling and scrobbling. Pre-orders are being taken now (half a crown, cash only) and your copy will be available to collect at the Christmas Eve service at Tatchester.