Ferrets refuse to be constrained by archaic notions of gender

In our continuing quest to restore the club's finances after our catastrophic attempt to corner the Hungarian pineapple market on the advice of that gadabout and charlatan Vince Cable (how did he ever end up as the nation's favourite financial seer extolling sage advice through his shit-eating grin? It's just three short years since he was hanging around the back of the Perambulation Club, near the performing elephants' pen, trying to sell hooky watches and unlocked phones to impressionable youths. How does that qualify anyone to pronounce on the state of the nation's finances? He's a rubbish dancer and all. He can never get the ripple right when he tapdances), we have decided to move into a hitherto untapped field; potentially lucrative, possibly groundbreaking, undoubtedly ill-considered.
On a recent perambulation, a shivering, weeping, ferret stopped the club in its tracks. Ferrets, as we all know, are predominantly tropical in origin, and their natural home is leaping from log to log to lilypad in the mangrove swamps of Upper Venezuela. Ferrets do not thrive in cold and damp climates, and their whiskers and tails can freeze solid, incapacitating them and rendering them vulnerable to predators. Luckily, the ferret's natural enemy, the Roly-Poly Bird, very rarely visits the lakeside area of the Great Park as they cannot negotiate the gates from the car park.
So, the ferret of Virginia Water has little to fear from the Roly-Poly Bird. The ferret of Virginia Water fears only the cold. A frost-hardened ferret balanced precariously on stalactitic tail and stalagmitic whiskers is a tragic sight and, as with all tragedies, causes the club to stop what it is doing and consider how a profit can be made from others' misery. Any ferret far from his humid, crocodile-infested homeland needs an effective source of heat or a method of heat-retention. The former is not conducive to mobility, and would require the ferret to remain near the source and unable to roam freely and leap from log to log to lilypad. This would make any ferret pine. We did consider installing a combi boiler and joining British Gas' WebSaver 7 dual fuel tariff, but the quote we received for the 4.5 mile radiator we would require was more prohibitive than expected. All in all, it is far better to allow the ferret to retain heat through layers of insulation that do not restrict his capering and/or gambolling. Traditionally, ferrets have been clad in tartan body-warmers for this purpose, as a reminder of their great love of the music of the Bay City Rollers. The opening lines of 'Bye Bye Baby' can mesmerise and swiftly placate the bloodthirstiest of ferrets. This knowledge has saved the club from serious injury more than once, and any member should bear this in mind if attacked by roused ferrets within easy access of the seminal 'Once Upon a Star' album and a suitable means of amplification. Please note this does not apply to agitated polecats, who are likely to be even more incensed by this.
What does this mean to the Club? There is a gap in the market. Intensive Market Research carried out by the Chuckle Brothers reveals teenage ferrets are just as fashion-conscious as their human contemporaries, and are not at all likely to be constrained by narrow-minded abstract notions of gender. If the Chuckle Brothers are right, and who would bet otherwise, there is a significant community of chic trans-gender ferrets out there just crying out for high-quality leisurewear. None of the major Fashion Houses - Missoni, Marc Jacobs, or George by Asda - are addressing this need. Incredibly, since Coco Chanel's 'Furet Nouveau' collection in 1948, cross-dressing rodents have been absent from the major fashion shows. Except Jean-Paul Gaultier, of course. This is where the Club comes in. Our new 'Priscilla, Queen of the Ferrets' range provides everything the ferret-about-town could need, a slick meeting of chic sports gear and glamour. Our Sue Sylvester-inspired diamante-studded hooded warm-up jacket would make any ferret the talk of the warren. Or wherever the fuck it is that ferrets live.

Initiation Rite Clarification (Number 1 in a series of 326)

Many of our members have been keen to learn more about the Club's traditional initiation rites. For example,

'The need for the 'Now That's What I Call Music! 23' CD and the plastic spoons is self-evident, but why the fingerless gloves?'

or

'Am I allowed to hopscotch across the pontoon bridge, or does it have to be eleven consecutive forward rolls?'

or

'Why would Len Goodman do that to a copy of the National Trust Handbook? Surely that invalidates both his membership and his lucrative contract with the BBC?'

So, to aid our members, the Club Ritual, Tradition, and National Trust Handbook-related Legal Affairs Committee thought it wise to explain more about the Club's history and initiation rites.

1. Why it has to be clockwise

The Club was founded long before clocks were invented in the early 1950's. Consequently, the Perambulation Club had no concept of direction when they first began to perambulate. Members would head off in random directions causing confusion, collisions and traumatising the red squirrels, zebra, herring, and woolly mammoths that were the main inhabitants of the Great Park at the time. Traumatised herring in particular can take months of specialist therapy and group sessions before they are ready to ride any form of self-propelled transport, let alone the unicycle they require in the breeding season.

One of the Club's founders, Magnus Barelegs, the King of Norway, was particularly concerned by this, not least because he numbered several herring among his immediate family. Even today a herring is 17th in line to the Norwegian Throne, situated between a-ha and Princess Michael of Kent. His Majesty the King decreed that all Perambulations should begin at the point of the park furthest from Trondheim* and follow the migration pattern of the noble herring. Thanks to King Magnus' empathy, vision, and a monarch's ability to make arbitrary and senseless declarations and have them taken seriously, the direction of the perambulation was enshrined for ever more. Many centuries later, Sir Isaac Newton took a break from his job buffing apples ready for the Royal Table, spotted the Perambulation Club in full, magnificently synchronised herring formation, and immediately invented time.

Hopefully members can now fully appreciate the significance of the clockwise section of the initiation ceremony. It celebrates the Club's involvement in Newton's greatest discovery and our long association with the noble herring, the king of all species of bicycling fish. May the Club never go anti-clockwise.

*Blacknest Gate, park at the Thai Restaurant

**Conventional historians, the Encyclopedia Britannica, Wikipedia and the family of Sir Isaac Newton dispute our version of events. Richard Hills has got to them all.

Welcome Back to the Old Windsor Townswomen's Guild

This is a historic day for the Perambulation Club. A Victory over Hate to stand alongside the Montgomery Freedom Riders, the Good Friday Agreement, and when Nasty Nick was kicked out of Big Brother One for daring to use a pencil.

From today, the Perambulation Club welcomes members from Old Windsor. The Club's Truth & Reconciliation subcommittee have decided that if the feud is ever to end, we must make the first move. Earlier this year we approached the Lady Mayoress of Old Windsor, Lisa Scott-Lee from Steps and Totally Scott-Lee, to arrange a secret summit on neutral territory; the delightful home of Sir Elton John and his partner David Furnish. The Perambulation Club, of course, claim all parts of the park north and east of Elton's hedge, and his second-best gazebo forms the start of Mayoress Scott-Lee's jurisdiction.

Diplomatic Relations between the Club and the Government of Old Windsor have been suspended ever since they cheated their way to victory in the 2004 Larry Grayson Memorial Sumo Wrestling Basho between the Club and the Old Windsor Townswomen's Guild. The winners of the Basho earn the rights to wear very tall hats in the presence of Her Majesty The Queen for the remainder of the year. In 2004, the OW TG team flagrantly disregarded the conventions of the 200 year-old competition*, and served own-brand squash** at half-time instead of the traditional Kia-Ora Orange (No added sugar). The shock to the systems of our delicate Rikishi upset their concentration, and also left their oranginess levels dangerously low, opening the risk of attack by Crows and their allies. Our wrestlers were placed at a significant disadvantage, having to watch for avian ambush as well as ground-level onslaughts. When we lost an official appeal was logged with the Competition Judges; Sir Elton John's gazebo designer, Captain Haddock from the Adventures of Tintin, and the hated Richard Hills. Hills, who we believe to have been in the pocket of Lisa Scott-Lee ever since he secretly stood in for H on the 'Steptacular' Tour of 1999, naturally sided with Old Windsor.

The Club were coming to terms with the injustice, but when Scott-Lee trotted into the Queen's Monthly Pub Quiz and Meat Raffle wearing an absurdly elongated cerise trilby, we had witnessed enough. From then on the Club has been closed to the citizens of Old Windsor.

But no-one has benefitted from this. We live in daily fear of belligerent assault from Crows and Jackdaws, the historical allies of Old Windsor. It is no fun having to carry a Terry's Chocolate Orange everywhere in case of Corvid Onslaughts. On the other side, the people of Old Windsor have suffered incredibly from the embargo on their use of the word 'Boombastic' and their supply lines of Strawberry Cornettos being cut by the partisan wing of our Tramp Army.

But that is all history. Mayor Scott-Lee has agreed to measure any future headgear with callipers to ensure it does not exceed the height of a mature Shetland Pony, and we in the Club will be responsible for all citrus-based refreshments at future matches. To celebrate, the Club and the OW TG will be having a pro-celebrity Sumo-Wrestling Match in the near future. Any interested Members should register their interest by sounding their Club Horn thrice. Wherever you are, we will hear you.

*The first contestants in 1804 were the Prince of Wales, later George IV, and his estranged wife Princess Caroline of Brunswick, whose combined weight has never been equalled by contestants since; even including the weight of the horsebox we use to convey our Sumo. Princess Caroline still holds the club record for stuffing Maltesers in the mouth with 45. This may be the year the record finally falls.

**Post-match lab tests revealed it to be Tesco Sun Sip.

An Apology to Lady Annabel Goldsmith

The Club needs to apologise to one of its most prestigious and loved members, Lady Annabel Goldsmith. Her Ladyship has close relations called Chaka Demus & Pliers, and was understandably upset at the tragic news below. We have a responsibility to point out that the Chaka Demus & Pliers employed by the club to maintain Sumo Wrestlers were the '90s pop stars, and not the members of the Goldsmith family who coincidentally share the same names. We cordially offer full membership privileges, including access to our moonbase, to Chaka Demus Goldsmith and Pliers Goldsmith in an attempt to make amends for the misunderstanding. Finally, as a tribute to Chaka Demus-not-Chaka-Demus-Goldsmith, let us ponder his own beautiful words:

Me ball tease me and tickle up me fancy
Right round the clock until me reach climax
A when me reach me will tell you to stop
We a aim for da sky
An we not turn back

Beautiful. Truly there is a new star in the heavens tonight.

Amanda Hamilton force feeds geese

The Club regrets to announce we have become involved in yet another territorial dispute over Virginia Water Lake. As all members will know, we have claimed sovereignty over the entire northern shoreline from the totem pole to that big log that sticks out a bit, ever since our tramps annexed the area from Shaggy in the initial stages of our conflict over the intellectual rights to the word 'Boombastic'.

However we have recently had to contend with incursions on to our shoreline by Amanda Hamilton. Since losing her place on 'Something For The Weekend' to the increasingly tired-looking Louise Redknapp (older club members may remember her as Louise Nurding, who, as part of Eternal, was briefly employed by the club to solve mysteries involving smugglers or disguised Nazi spies), Hamilton has gone into business producing probiotic organic Foie Gras, but has no capital to purchase geese, and her attempt to market badger foie gras has been largely met with either disgust or indifference everywhere except Cowdenbeath. As a result, Hamilton has resorted to nefarious tactics to ensnare Geese. The natural diet of geese is a mixture of seeds, insects and Ferrero Rocher, and Hamilton has been laying trails using the third of these to entice the geese from their underground warrens.

Can you imagine what a trail of individually-wrapped chocolate- and nut croquante- covered hazelnuts does to a flock of Sumo Wrestlers on a carefully controlled diet? Chaka Demus & Pliers have no need to imagine. They have stared into they abyss, and the abyss was full of Nutella-smeared obese Japanese on a sugar-high and severely traumatised Canadian Geese. Pliers used his super-strength to do all he could to corral and control our elite rikishi, but Hamilton's megalomaniacal and ethically questionable scheme to dominate the world of force-fed poultry was in tatters. Chaka Demus, tragically, is believed to be beyond repair. We may be able to salvage something from selling his ivory tusks, but the rest of him will have to be melted down to make post-it note glue. Our sympathies are with Mrs Demus, the little Demii and of course, his lifelong companion, confidante, and supplier of reputable hand tools, Pliers.

We also now face an implacable and formidable enemy with access to mediocre Italian confectionery and the ear of The Ambassador; Amanda Hamilton. The prospect of an entente cordiale between Hamilton and the hated Richard Hills, whose hamster stuffing enterprise complements Hamilton's force-feeding of poultry perfectly, is one that makes the Club's Internal Security Committee shudder. The resulting Hamster Foie Gras would be an abomination on a par with the pogroms, the sack of Rome and Celebrity Mr & Mrs. If only Bobby Davro was still with us; his network of informants and nuclear capability are sorely missed.

Emergency Extreme Weather Mode

Understandably, many members have been concerned over the welfare of our sumo wrestlers during the snowfall. These delicate creatures are obviously extremely sensitive to changes in climate and need to be carefully managed and maintained. One of the first actions of the Club in Emergency Extreme Weather Mode is to paint the toenails of all our wrestlers crimson. This is not, as is often thought, to allow them to hide in cherry trees. That is an urban legend, a fallacy, and rather impractical. Apart from the difficulty of finding a cherry tree capable of bearing the weight of a fully-loaded rikishi, nail polish of any colour does not afford effective camouflage; even if our boys forgo their pedicures for several weeks, the total body surface area covered by toenail is around 0.05%; and that 0.05% really doesn't resemble cherries at any distance. Of course, we found this out the hard way after the dismal failure of our 2003 Sumo Cherry Tree Parachute Ambush attempt on the hated Richard Hills.

No, we paint their toenails crimson so we can a) find them if they are upside down in the snow b) distinguish our wrestlers from the many migratory wrestlers that visit our shores at this time of year in search of food sources. Many of these migrants find their way to suburban back gardens where, unused to local fauna, they are often attacked and ravaged by domestic cats; there can be no sadder sight on a bird table than the aftermath of the merciless onslaught of a tabby on an innocent, unsuspecting sumo wrestler. We have tried to draw the attention of these beautiful, wild, fragile creatures to the RSPCA, but they appear to be unwilling to take us seriously. We request all our members avoid leaving any food in their back gardens that could entice any Japanese sportsmen into a potentially fatal situation.

As for our own stable of wrestlers, they are kept safe, fed, scrubbed and pedicured (except in cherry-blossom season) by our long-time professional stewards, Chaka Demus & Pliers. Pliers, of course, fell into a cauldron full of magic potion while still a baby and is therefore ideally placed to shepherd morbidly obese Japanese sportsmen. We are learning to live with his obsession with obeli and dolmen, but on the whole, he's one of the least troublesome mid '90s pop stars the Club have employed. The mess Dr Alban left behind when he was left in charge of the Annual Club Trip to Weston Super-Mare to celebrate Jeffrey Archer's birthday is still talked about in disgusted tones by the staff of Leigh Delamere Services. Of course, ongoing legal dispute between the club and Shaggy over our intellectual copyright claim to 'Boombastic' means we cannot go into details concerning his time with the club. We are optimistic the US Supreme Court will come to a favourable decision soon.

Hopefully the above has set members' minds at ease concerning our wrestlers' welfare. As mentioned in the previous issue, many members have also been asking what will happen to our hoard of strawberry cornettos, bought in anticipation of our modern triathlon of running, drinking and eating ice cream being added to the roster of events at the Summer Olympics. The short answer is that the cold weather has had little effect on our cornettos, which we keep in a large Samsung US-Style freezer (it dispenses ice as if by magic!). Frankly, it seems a rather stupid question. Where do these members think we store our cornettos? And why would they think cold weather would affect their storage? Surely, in cold weather, ice cream is the last thing to worry about. We are sometimes concerned by the intellectual capacity and bizarre concerns of some of our members. Perhaps the time has come for more entry conditions than currently. The Club shall give this serious consideration.

Chief Judge Len Goodman and the Chunky KitKat

Many members have been asking how the recent weather has been affecting the club's many ancillary activities. Under the Club's constitution, Article XXIII states that in the event of snow higher than an upended Chunky KitKat (the Club's standard unit of measurement, of course) falling on or near Chessington World of Adventures, the Club will enter Emergency Extreme Weather Mode. For many club members, this will mean little. For some, it will mean wearing a different coloured hat and interpreting the Book of Leviticus literally. For a few, primarily those on the Club's Covert Operations and Genetic Experimentation sub-committee, it means Defcon 5.

The Club convened at Chessington at around 5 o'clock on tuesday, as the snow began falling on the ceremonial chunky KitKat. As always, Chief Judge Len Goodman was in attendance to ensure all measurements were accurate. Initially there were some problems balancing an irregular hexahedron on its smallest trapezoidal face, a logistical quandary not foreseen by the framers of our constitution. To overcome this, we leant the KitKat against a Knee-height wall by the Penguin Cove. Chief Judge Len confirmed this was within accepted parameters and the measurement continued. As the snow fell, the Club's spirits were maintained by Chief Judge Len's jocular banter and occasional demonstration of the correct location of the hips during a spirited American Smooth. Chief Judge Len knows a surprising amount about badgers, Catalonian Cuisine and Wolverhampton Wanderers' 1971-72 UEFA Cup campaign.

By 7 o'clock, the snow had reached the toppermost serrated edge of the foil wrapper and Emergency Extreme Weather Mode was declared by Chief Judge Len. He was thanked for his attendance, given a biscuit, and the Covert Operations and Genetic Experimentation sub-committee leapt into action. Our next issue will cover what this means for the Sumo Wrestlers, our Olympic ambitions and our hoard of strawberry cornettos.

Come back to the warm embrace of the club, Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum

The Club is sad to announce the suspension of one of our longstanding members, Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, Prime Minister and Vice President of the United Arab Emirates, the Emir of Dubai, qualified taekwondo referee, founder member of the Sugababes and introducer of camel racing to North-West Surrey. Al, as we all know him, has failed to pay his subs for the fifth month running. Many members feel we should allow His Excellency a certain amount of latitude due to his contributions to the club over the years. We all appreciate the marvellous halal quince jam he always made for the Summer Fete, the imaginative and exotic raffle prizes he donated, and of course, his $15bn bankrolling of the Club's first attempt to put a Sumo Wrestler on the moon. It is fair to say that without the Gulf-based Prime Minister's commitment, the flying monkeys may never have got off the ground.

However, his £12.50 owed subs (Al receives a 20% monthly discount because of his frequent eater status at Pizza Express Haslemere) cannot be overlooked any longer. As money is tight for so many of us at the moment, we have even offered to take payment in kind; our Co-op account and constitution allows for payment in Krugerrands, Oil or non-traceable Liechtenstein Bearer Bonds. We'd love to take the Quince Jam in payment, but the Co-op doesn't have the necessary deposit facilities, so it would just make a mess of our books. Therefore, we regret that we must blackball Al until full restitution is made. Any member coming across His Highness must be sure to point at him and shout 'Witch!Witch!' in line with club rule XIV.i . If Al is seen attempting to run round the lake in contravention of his suspension, then the Grand Marshal of the Tramp Army must be informed; he will join Richard Hills on our List of Club Enemies.

We pray he sees sense. Come back to the warm embrace of the club, Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum. Our weekly Taekwondo cagefights will have an emir-shaped hole and we will think of you with a tear in our eye whenever we spread soft fruit-based preserves on toasted bread.

Tramps outsmart and eat monkeys

The Club would like to inform all members that the fate of our flying monkeys has been discovered. Unfortunately, it would appear that simultaneously releasing flying monkeys and an army of tramps was inadvisable, as the tramps have eaten the monkeys. We're very pleased that the intensive ingenuity training all our tramps underwent during boot camp appears to have paid off, as luring and trapping flying monkeys is fraught with obstacles and involved significant 'thinking outside the box' on the part of our tramps. They managed to concoct a primitive, but effective, yellow dye from shoplifted Advocaat, Cream Soda and two-day-old sick. They used this dye to disguise themselves as giant bananas, visible from altitude, which naturally attracted the flying monkeys. Once grounded, it is, of course, reasonably straightforward for a motivated, goal-focused tramp to overpower a monkey.

This has all been a useful learning experience, and had the unexpected bonus of producing a potential new revenue-stream for the Club. When we strained the banana dye from the tramps' beards and clothing (it is a statutory requirement that all tramp soldiers are strained and deloused before being returned to the hangar), the resulting substance was found to bear a significant resemblance in taste, alcoholic content, and production process, to WKD Orange. We are now in discussions with Schweppes concerning the marketing. Every cloud, even one filled with flying monkeys, appears to have a silver lining.

Several of our Monkeys are missing

The Club would like to ask all members to keep an eye out for a gaggle of flying monkeys. We have lost our monkeys. They were each issued with a A-Z of Datchet and the surrounding area, but it would appear that monkeys lack the ability to equate a two-dimensional abstract representation of the landscape with the three-dimensional reality. We didn't warn them about the Heathrow flight path either.
On the positive side, we have forwarded our valuable findings concerning chimpanzee map-reading ability to our good friends at the Monkey World Research Instititute. We have also learnt some important lessons for any future club projects involving airborne primates.

Richard Hills shall reap the whirlwind

The Club has some grave news regarding our deadly enemy, the hated Richard Hills. He recently broke the terms of our detente with an unprovoked attack on an innocent hamster, breaking unwritten laws of ethics and several written laws, including Surrey County Council by-laws concerning rodent mistreatment in wooded areas. We can stand idly by no longer. Appeasement does not work when dealing with the likes of Hills. We have no alternative but to declare Total War. The flying monkeys have been released and the Grand Marshal is preparing the Tramp Army. They have been told to show no mercy. Richard Hills has sown hamsters and shall reap the whirlwind.

Club New Year Resolutions 2010

1. To neutralise Richard Hills and thwart his evil plans, obviously.

2. To make the modern Triathlon of running, drinking and eating ice cream an Olympic sport in time for London 2012
3. To have our Perambulation Club jingle played on Radio 2 during drivetime and have either Ant or Dec perform our club dance live on ITV 1.
4. To do all we can to bring Shami Chakrabarti and Howard Donald from Take That together. They're made for each other, those two.
5. To give serious consideration to whether nature really intended monkeys to fly. In our power-mad quest for revenge, have we lost sight of humanity? What have we become, people?

6. To build a Six Million Dollar Tramp. We have the technology and we have the capability to build the world's first Bionic Tramp. We can make him better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster, hairier, shoutier, stampier, drunkier.
7. To go through the looking-glass and dare to run around the lake anti-clockwise rather than clockwise to see if it really would result in the dead rising from their graves, as recently posited by our Club Treasurer.

8. To concentrate on expanding the Sumo Wrestling element of the club. Having invested in all those leather nappies and manbags to carry them, we need to utilise this valuable club asset. The only alternative uses we can think of for leather nappies are of dubious morality, illegal under European law and, quite frankly, deeply unhygienic.
9. Not to allow any more small dogs to steal our hats
10. To form a Rapid Reaction Quiz Team capable of deployment at high speed to any Pub Quiz and highly trained at shouting out incorrect answers while drinking bad wine.