Nyns eus goon heb lagas, na ke heb scovarn

There is no down without an eye, nor hedge without an ear


Bernice Skaggs, at just 23, the Bolitho Professor of Epic Greek Poetry and of Intravenous Stimulants at the prestigious University of Chyandour has achieved both fame and infamy in her comparatively short life so far.

The sharp searchlight of her forensic mind has opened up the world of Epic Greek Poetry to new generations of Cornish folk, whilst her easy-to-follow practical guide to intravenous stimulation has won countless followers, particularly in the Camborne area.

Whilst her academic work has rightly won her widespread recognition and acclaim from all sides, her somewhat racey lifestyle has sadly only brought her opprobrium -- as well as a Fatwah from the Botallack-based breakaway Methodist Fundamentalist Leader, Ali ben Polkinghorne.

Dressed in her trademark pink (above), she is often to be seen loitering outside unsavoury bars in West Penwith, trying to persuade punters to part with their cigarette cards so that she - an avid collector - can complete her collections all the sooner.

She is also believed to overindulge in her favourite Babycham.  Indeed, on one cold night in February, she was even found (by someone destined to play a major part in her life) at 3.00 am in the morning, stone drunk and wrapped around one of the lions on Penzance Promenade.

It is therefore refreshing that she is in the news again, but this time under the happy banner of good news.

The Roundup can now reveal that Bernice has decided to 'tie the knot' with septuagenarian Gwavas beau and 3rd highest winner in last week's Nancledra Lottery, Tommy "Ladies' Man" Trembath.

Tommy, pictured here quaffing a celebratory glass of Babycham, told the Roundup that he was attracted to the lissom Bernice as much by her intellect as by her good looks.

For it was none other than Tommy who stumbled across Bernice on that cold February night.  "I jes binout on a bender an' I cudden remember the wayome.  I wuz goin pass they lions on the Prom, when I 'eard a groan an' seen Madam, puking up something awful.  She wuz wiffin' o' Babycham and that wuz the clincher fer me!"

Tommy has until now eked out a rather precarious living by running the Ludgvan Latrine Hotel.

This frankly odd institution  has thusfar failed to win any significant interest amongst the emmet public. 

The paltry spartan furnishings of even its Presidential Suite are more reminiscent of an army bunkhouse than of some place that might be graced by a president.
The latrines, into which Tommy has sunk his entire inherited wealth, are faithful reconstructions of early medieval models and so make no concessions whatever to any notions of modern hygiene.

However, there has been a steady trickle of (usually Japanese) eccentrics over the years, who have been lured by the prospect of extremely basic accommodation and an array of untended and aggressively pungent 'medieval' latrines.

This has enabled Tommy to keep his head above water and even to buy the occasional bottle of his beloved Babycham.

The Nancledra Lottery win, believed to exceed three figures, will now enable the lovebirds to slip away to their sumptuous Goldsithney retreat on the outskirts of Greater Relubbus.