New Medical Centre and Village Hall: 2nd post - For those of you who did not read last week’s notice, we do need your help. If you are a resident of Netherfield, Mountfield, Brightling or Catsfield and could see the benefits of a medical centre located in a new village hall at Netherfield please read on? If you are keen to have such a facility the community has to prove there is a definite and sustainable need for such a project. The relatively centralised position of Netherfield in these semi-rural communities could be a big plus factor in negotiations and could help relieve some of the pressure on the surgeries located in the towns nearest your village, which could be some way from where you live. It may also help, where currently, surgeries are held one day a week in village halls, such as Catsfield. It is not envisaged that these local weekly surgeries are phased out but supported in their efforts to promote the health of their community. It is hoped that some, if not all, of those same Doctors’ surgeries would be interested in being a part of this initiative. As has already been stated we need your help. Send your comments both good and bad by email to, or text to 07957588172. Alternatively call 01424838410 and ask for Maurice who will be happy to discuss any thoughts you have on the matter.

Netherfield Post Office/Shop/Cafe and Village Hall Survey: This column is proud to announce that Janette has commissioned a survey, in an effort to make the Post Office, shop and (soon to be finished) cafe, as well as the Village Hall, a place the community and visitors to the area can rightly say has their best interests at heart,. Her customers will be asked for their help in indicating what improvements they would like to see for such things as shop opening times, different products for sale and the cafe menu. In addition, the survey asks what sort of events would make people utilise the facilities that are available at the Village Hall on a more regular basis. The survey forms will be available to pick up from the shop.

Badminton at Claverham: On a Monday nights between the hours of 8 pm and 10 pm, a cross-section of the community, both male and female, get together and bash ten bells out of feathered shuttles. Ages range from 16 to 70+. Skill is not the be-all and end-all, just the ability to hit the shuttle as it comes over the net. It is a great way to enjoy yourself and meet new people. The atmosphere is very friendly and there are people on hand to make sure you get the best out of your evening. It is also very cheap, only £5 for the evening per person. That is just £2.50 per hour. Shuttles are provided and included in the cost. So, get changed into your shorts and trainers, bring along your badminton racket and come and involve yourself in the fun. Ask for Roy or Maurice or for further details send an email to, call or text 07957588172.

Now for something completely different: Chapter 10 – The Final Chapter

“I heard it yet again, that knock. I opened my eyes and through a brain befuddled with fog induced by sleep, I realised that someone was knocking on my bedroom door. What? Where am I? As I slowly came to I croaked out: “Hello. It is open, come in”. My younger sister, threw open the door, resplendent in what appeared to be a new purple sparkly dressing-gown shouting “merry Christmas” at the top of her voice. She threw herself on the corner of the bed, which reacted by performing a Mexican wave type action to its still recumbent occupant, me, as I tried to bring my head into the real world. I looked despairingly at this vision, ‘full of vim and vigour’ as my mum described this amount of exuberance in others. I managed a tired, almost exhausted; “yea, merry Christmas” back to the place where I thought my sister was sitting. My eyes, still had not completely registered my surroundings at that point in time. “You were a nightmare last night you know”, she said with a knowing smile.

“What do you mean?” I answered indignantly. “Well you arrived home just after midnight and you had to be rescued by me before you got hit by a truck. I heard you singing in the middle of the road and mumbling about ‘family affairs’. You had stepped in horse manure somewhere along the path to oblivion as it still covered your shoes and gave you the distinct odour of an animal in need of a shower. You know that is a busy road outside yet you decided to ‘walk the white line’. There was a large lorry bearing down on you in the snow, as I called to you from the front door. One of those ones with about ten wheels either side of the trailer. It must have been fully loaded as the ground shook and it made the windows in the front room rattle and squeak. It only just missed you as I pulled you out the way, and left you covered in snow. . Why I did it when you have been so beastly lately I don’t know, I called you an idiot and said you are drunk. Well, that was not the word I used. I was so mad”.

I remembered nothing of this description. I could feel my head begin to thump. Was this symptomatic of too much British ale? My sister continued with her diatribe. “You probably don’t remember that Gerry, our next door neighbour, shone the light of his torch in your face at that precise moment, making you screw yours eyes into tiny slits, but only for a split second, as he was out walking his dog. He too said you were drunk and went off laughing”. I could feel the embarrassment covering my face.

“Then” she said, “you stumbled your way into the lounge and switched the television on and began watching some American Christmas sitcom. Mind you, you would need to be drunk or brain-dead to find any joy in watching that load of mush. It was all about a Christmas journey in suburbia. You know the sort of rubbish; going to a store, a library, through the snow and visiting a bar. A bit cheesy if you ask me. However, it gave me a chance to ply you with coffee and boy did you need it”.

It seemed that my sister had stayed with me through this foray into the world of soaps. I could not even remember how I had got to bed let alone mastered the intricacies of a remote control. Although some things were beginning to ring bells for me. Was there a magic show and a trick with a car in addition to the rubbish from the USA?

I comforted myself with the thought that my mind had taken these images into the deep recesses of my psyche during my inebriated state and made them all to real in my dreams. It was good to know that nothing had actually happened and was just over-indulgence at Christmas, otherwise there would have been so many unanswered questions. It was Christmas morning and with a bit of luck I could enjoy my day. I pushed my feet to the area where my sister was sitting to let her know to remove herself from my presence. Reluctantly she rose. I pulled back the covers and steadied myself to stand without assistance. Not as bad as I thought it might be with this head of mine. I turned to the window to let in the light. The curtains were heavy and light excluding. As I struggled to pull them apart I looked to the ground. I saw the face of the man from the pub, and then he was gone. Merry Christmas”

The End.

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