“I stand by what I said,” insisted Pipedream, struggling to overcome the pain of his beating. “I have absolutely no opinion whatsoever on Heather Mills, and I don’t see why I should have one. I don’t care about her, and therefore, I cannot be definitive as to whether she is or is not the spawn of Satan. I also cannot comment on whether she eats small children for breakfast, and I cannot tell you whether her wooden leg is ethically sourced or not. I have other things to think about – but those other things got me into trouble last night.”

The conversation started around 8pm, and local publican Tony Underwater said that Pipedream’s ambiguity was always going to get him into trouble: “He came in here last month insisting that he didn’t care what Carol Vorderman says. I tell you what, you could cut the air with a knife – it was like one of them westerns where the bad guy walks into the saloon. Personally, I dropped the pint glass I was holding, I was so shocked.”

“There he is, all blase and ambiguous, not giving a toss, if you like. And last night, well – all he had to do was play along.”

The trouble started when pub regular and self-confessed hooligan Wayne Bannerman kicked off a conversation about the pure evil that is Heather Mills. Launching into one of his invectives, Bannerman outlined the reasons for the burning of Heather Mills at the stake, from her terrible abuse of the annoying millionnaire Paul McCartney to the way she abused a profiteering nanny with words that should be reserved for after the watershed.

“She’s a bitch, simple as that,” insisted Bannerman afterwards. “Carlos just sat there, sipping from his pint, and when it came to his turn to slag the bitch off, he wouldn’t. He just sat there saying ‘I don’t know who she is, so I can’t comment’. Well I just laughed and said – hey, mate, calm down, cut the crap and just be a reactionary loon for once in your life. Just participate in the ritual slagging off of this spawn of Satan, and he said, and I’ll quote you this verbatim, right – ‘I cannot say for certain that she is the spawn of Satan’. Well – that just got my blood boiling.”

“So I turned over the table and invited him outside. He wouldn’t go outside, as he said it was cold, so I clobbered him there and then. Everyone joined in, because we all know that Mills was spawned by Beelzebub and she deserves to be shot at dawn. Anyone who disagrees is just plain wrong.”

Satan himself weighed into the dispute, saying that he “could not be sure either” that Mills was of his own spawn, saying “you know what, I’m a busy man. I get around, what can I say? Maybe she is, maybe she ain’t. What I can say is that I watched the fight at the Wyvern last night, and I enjoyed it very much.”

Pipedream, however, convalesces at his home in Shytte-on-Sea, and insists on his ambiguity. “I still don’t care about her, and nor do I care about those stupid drugs like Methodrone, X-Factor or Dancing on Ice. And if I get beaten up over it, well I still don’t care.”

“It’s a beauty,” beamed father of three Dan Craptonne. “We couldn’t believe our luck when we heard that it was up for sale. I remember seeing it for the first time when we almost lost our Ford Fiesta in it, and I thought – hey, this would be perfect for a family home.”

The family admits that traffic may be a problem, but said that once they’d negotiated the estate agents down from their initial asking price of £330,000, the traffic no longer seemed like such a big problem. Wife Mary said that she was looking forward to decorating:

“Laura Ashley have got some lovely pothole furniture these days,” she mused. “Yes, the open roof may be a problem, but we can easily put a throw over it, and I suppose if you want the positives, there’ll be plenty of natural light. I’m looking forward to putting some nice wallpaper up, and once we’ve saved up a bit more money, we can maybe extend it. You know, add a conservatory or something. The kids already love it.”

Estate Agent Daz Onfuarray said that there has been “massive interest” in potholes since his estate agents, Bastard & Twattes, came up with the idea of selling them off to local families unable to afford sky-high house prices:

“Yeah, there’s like, loads of potholes, and some of them are bigger than footballer’s wives cupboards. So me an’ Davo, we just thought – hey, there’s a few bob to be made here, we bought ‘em off the council and families are just snappin’ ‘em up. There’s one family down the road who’ve converted their pothole into a spacious cave, they’ve got stunning views all round, and they’ve diverted traffic by putting a beautiful little traffic cone in front of it.”

“We’ve also got one more stunning pothole development – it’s cosy, with wonderful views of the sky, great access to the shops and local amenities – just perfect for a family starting out or a first-time buyer. In a year’s time, I reckon that the buy-to-let pothole market will be massive.”

“I was dumbstruck,” said Cumbersome. “I was taking the local schoolchildren on an exchange visit, and we had arrived a day early in Coquine-sur-Yvette, only to find that the sign that usually says ‘ville jumelée Shytte-on-Sea’ was not there. Instead, we were about fourth on a huge list of other twin towns, including Arschwurst in Germany – a town we ourselves turned down in favour of Coquine!”

“So I marched straight up to the mairie and demanded to know what was going on. What did I find? The mayor was ‘having coffee’ with an African tribal chief. He looked guilty – as well he might. Said that I was very important to him but he couldn’t see me today as he had ‘other appointments’. I was quite hurt. The African guy seemed quite surprised as well.”

Cumbersome and his delegation demanded “immediate talks” with the mayor. However, due to national holidays, the town hall was closed for the entire week, and the mayor went on holiday while the rest of his staff went on strike. Residents of Coquine, however, say that it is “quite normal” to have at least twenty twin towns.

Local cafe owner Arnaud Salutcherie told the Daily Shame that “you English, you think that when a town twins with another one, it is for life. Yes, OK, so when you visit, we replace the signs, and we’ve hidden a lot from you over the years, such as our brief flirtation with your neighbouring town, Trollope, but there’s nothing wrong with extra-civic relationships. In fact, they make our relationship with Shytte-on-Sea even healthier than before! When we come to visit you, we’re even more passionate about your town because we’ve had relationships with other towns. But no, you English, you’re so obsessed with yourselves, it’s just moi, moi, moi.”

Local boulangere Mme Agnes Chouquette said that Coquine should never tie itself down to one town: “It’s not a case of infidelity or disloyalty – we’re as loyal as we ever were, only we’re sharing our loyalty with Arschwurst, Poughkeepsie, Boolongabba, and… hang on… oh, I forget their names. There have been so many.”

Coquine-sur-Yvette mayor Pierre Manquedecouilles shrugged off the whole affair by offering to take the Shytte-on-Sea mayor out for dinner at the local restaurant, Le Bistrot des Salopes. He told reporters: “It is unfortunate that we neglected to tell the English they were not the only ones. But we cannot be tied down to just one twin town. Perhaps, though, this will be the start of a whole new kind of relationship – more open, more willing to experiment.”

Cumbersome and his delegation, however, were unwilling to be seduced, and tore up the twin town agreement immediately. “We have no intention of staying in an unequal relationship,” he fumed. “Maybe we need some time alone before going back into another civic partnership. Some time to sort our heads out.”