CAPRICIOUS NOMADS IN THE SNOW

 CAPRICIOUS NOMADS IN THE SNOW  

Snow swept across the European Pontiac steppe, blinding all and sundry as they bravely trekked across the wilderness. 

The small band of travelers had been prepared for the inclement weather but the severity of this storm had surprised its leader Orzig. Their search for amber was of the utmost importance to the intrepid warrior and his extended entourage of traders and camp followers, but their wagons and horses struggled through the exceptional snow drifts.

 As with all Cimmerians, each member of the group was well trained in horsemanship and metallurgy. The amber was to be implemented in to the design of the intricate jewelry that was designed and crafted by specialised smiths and metallurgists. 

Amber was always in short supply in the vast plains of eastern central Europe, but supplies were abundant to the north west, on the distant shores of the frigid Baltic sea. Trade routes had been established for many centuries, with produce from he Mediterranean world and Eurasian steppe being exchanged for products such as timber, amber and salted fish, all abundantly available in the frozen latitudes of the Northern Taiga. 

The Taiga stretched across the northern hemisphere encircling the worlds landmasses with is forests and semi tundra. Impenetrable at may of its locations, the northern European section was infiltrated by the Baltic sea that helped to moderate its climate and allow settlements along its indented coast. These settlements had grown rich on sea trade and the almost exclusive export of the alluring commodity traded as Baltic salt water amber. Originally laid down 44 millions years ago, the fossilised resin has remained untouched and pristine, and deposits are washed up on the beach after stormy or tempestuous weather.

Orzig as a skilled horseman with proficient knowledge of metalworking and ore smelting but was a wainwright by trade.  His father had fled the advancing Scythian horde, leading his family westward along the northern shores of the black sea. En-route he had accumulated a vast following of migrant horseman and their entourages, who were also fleeing the wrath of the bloodthirsty Scythian warriors. 

On the untimely death of his father, Orzig had assumed control of the wandering band and had plotted a course for salvation, which included trekking thousands of miles across the Pontiac Steppe and the central and northern European plains. Their goal was to be a new homeland on the shores of the southern Baltic where the bountiful supplies of amber and fish would ensure their financial and pastoral future.

The snow fell thicker and heavier as the wooden axles of the wagons ground to a halt, frozen solid in the sub zero temperatures. Animal fat had been smeared on the axles and shafts to assist with the rotation, but the constant advance through thick snow had swept the traction components clean. 

To be continued.........

MAD ALBERT - THE TRUE STORY

 MAD ALBERT - THE TRUE STORY

Born on he fourth of July 1917, his best friend and occasional lover was Reinhardt Glockenspiel, a part time refuse collector from Durham. 

His family were of Shape-shifting decent, and had been blessed with a fertile bounty of offspring.

Moving to the Elysian plains of Middlesex, and in particular the hinterland between the villages of Sudbury and Wembley Green in the ancient Manor of Harrow, they soon put down local roots and acclimatised to the rhythm of semi-rural life. 

Apart from his relationship with Glockenspiel, he was usually of the sexual orientation that favoured women. His favorite female beau from an early age was a circus gymnast called Gloria, the daughter of a failed marriage between a one armed brush salesman and a burnt out charcoal burner, and a resident of the local hamlet of Preston. She had initially caught his eye whilst both incarcerated at the local jail due to extensive inebriation and in her case, abusive behaviour towards a fallen Jesuit priest.

 Both had been imbibing at the Black Horse Inn when the priest entered the premises with the local blacksmith whose forge and smithy was just across the lane.

 The forge was located adjacent to a the brewery and had a concealed passageway that connected the adjoining premises.  This connection enabled the thirsty workers of the furnace laden smithy to obtain regular libations on the job, in the way of freshly fermented ale and stout at an artificially low cost, due to a subsidy agreed by the brewery owner.

The initial encounter in the Black Horse was due to a heated argument over the premises clock that sat above the main bar. Due to a clever insight by its creator, it worked in a reverse fashion, and often provided a flash-point for heated debate and fisticuffs.  There was often a debate over last orders, and things would invariably become violent.

To be continued....... 

LOCKDOWN TURMOIL AT HOME OF THE OX

 LOCKDOWN TURMOIL AT HOME OF THE OX  

The day started with a distinct reluctance at the home of Olaf Jan Oxmann, otherwise known as the Ox. 

As usual he struggled to lift his large frame from his specially strengthened bed,but by using the strategically placed frame beside the bed managed to pull himself free from his stinking pit. Ablutions were minimal as he prepared to dress and ready himself for the trials and tribulations of the day. 

 Having slopped out and adjusted his ill fitting false teeth, he descended the houses rickety staircase, and entering the kitchen slumped down at his usual iron clad chair. Although he thought he was the kippers knickers, his lack of close friends was testament to the opposite. 

The tenement block that he lived in was empty other than the unit he dwelled in, and the surrounding locality was listed for demolition as unfit for human habitation. Thus he had no neighbors and his family had left him after an alleged unsavory incident involving a quart of ice cream, a badger and a set of tongs.

 Allegedly, legal proceedings after the badger incident had been settled out of court, but the proceedings had left a bad taste left in the mouths of all involved, and it was difficult to forget such an outlandish and flagrant misuse of chocolate mint ice-cream.  Although the tongs were never found, it is widely speculated that an x-ray of Olaf's backside would reveal there location. 

After a few hours sitting alone in his chair, Olaf Jan Oxmann would normally exit the premises to check his non existent mail and take a his daily constitutional stroll down to the town ditch. On this occasion, after relieving himself of his unwanted urine in to the dark brown and garbage filled drain, he proceeded to stare at the block of four story apartments across the yonder yard.

 Constructed in the middle of the nineteenth century of red brickwork and stained timbers, the property had been converted in to separate apartments during the property boom following the end of the war. To begin with the building was inhabited by well heeled clients from the city who wished to escape the stress and noise of urban living.

 When initially built, the water course running past he property had been culverted to form a stylized water feature within landscaped gardens, with a small brightly painted Chinese pagoda and small but practical wooden shelter. At the time, the agent managing the building, Silas Canney, had become rich by cleverly marketing the apartments to the wealthier elements of society, and soon became over ambitious and consumed with greed.Silas was a native of Mayo on the west coast of Ireland, and had immigrated to the promised land to make his fortune. 

Times had been tough when he first arrived, but he soon saw the property as a way to deliver himself from social depravity and elevate himself to the upper echelons of society. However, he soon took his attention away from the property, and in no time it was falling into its current state of disrepair.

The Ox stood silently staring at the now crumbling and mildew infested apartment block, only averting his gaze when distracted by an unwanted flying insect. Swatting the offending arthropod away from his face Oxmann jolted back to reality and turned towards the ditch which was now no more than a stinking drain.  Adjusting the angle of his poker visor, as if  to enhance his view, was the only other movement from the otherwise motionless individual. Even the urge to scratch his itchy balls was fervently rejected, as his strict duty to remain erect remained enforced by his strong will. 

To be continued..........

THE BURNING IMAGE OF WODEN

                           THE BURNING IMAGE OF WODEN

Hell was like home to Trigorth, or he thought so, as he imagined his own damnation and banishment from Valhalla.

 Trigorth was weened on the blood  from splattered skulls of christian monks and ate their powdered bones as a substitute for gruel. His first act as a fully blooded man was to peel the skin from the face of an Irish cleric, and use the leathery pelt as a scabbard for his seax.

 His exploits had taken him from the eastern seaboard of what would become known as North America, to the eastern upper reaches of the Dniester in Kievan Rus, and south to Byzantine Constantinople otherwise known as Byzantium. 

Trigorth had spent some time as a member of the Varangian Guard, but was dismissed due to is ruthlessness and uncooperative attitude towards those deemed to be in charge. 

At almost seven feet tale and weighing a lean twenty stone, he was a formidable opponent to anyone foolish enough to cross him. 

 An earlier marriage to a freed Pictish slave had ended in bloodshed after her involvement with an Icelandic pirate, Ahoy-lad Ahoyhladson, and the only child from this short period of matrimony had been sacrificed to Thor as an act of penance for his unclean lusting for her mother.   

He had remained single in recent years as he reflected on his sexuality and his love of gratuitous violence and rapine plunder. Women were often on his mind, but not in body, and his frustration often manifested itself in dark self loathing and extreme  brutality towards others. His only fear was that of the vengeful Gods, Woden and Thor, and all his vicious and vicarious acts of cruelty were vehemently on their behalf.

To be continued.......

THE PASSION OF FRUIT

 THE PASSION OF FRUIT

Dominic loved Bananas and starchy snacks.

 He also liked Oranges and Lemons mixed with the zest of a lime and a spot of treacle. Fruit was his life and a day would not be complete unless he had consumed vast quantities of the fleshy and succulent seed bearing structures.

 Totally consumed by the consumption of fruit, he was oblivious to life's other pleasures, including a total abstinence from alcohol, sex, chocolate and friendship. His only concession was to observe a gentle affection for corn based snacks such as starch based products and crisps.

Dominic was a late developer, and was still only just over five feet in height at the age of 66. His hair had receded to the extent that he was technical bald, whilst his fingers were configured like contorted Germanic bratwurst sausages.

 His sexuality had never been confirmed or consummated, although he was ardently defensive when pressed on this matter by those who he considered worthy of bilateral conversation. Painfully shy, his face would glow a bright iridescent crimson at the slightest mention of pornography,  sex or sexual activity. The burning sensation would envelope his face and neck and leave him defenseless too the relentless ribbing and teasing of those in his company. 

The feeling of inadequacy that this embedded in to his psych was a main trigger in his desire to deconstruct and destabalise the world about him. However, when confronted by a platter of fruit his mind would turn soft and mushy, and pleasurable sensations would sweep through his consciousness like a sweeping contagion. However, all this was to change  when he first stumbled upon the dubious if strange configuration and appearance of a quince.

The quince is native to western Asia, but thrives in a variety of climates and can be grown at fairly northern latitudes. However, Dominic had not previously encountered the fruit and was consumed by a wave of fear and grief when first encountered at an exhibition of exotic foods whilst in Neasdon Pava, Middlesex. 

To be continued.....

CAPTAIN CATSTOK AND THE THEORY OF FISH

 CAPTAIN CATSTOK AND THE THEORY OF FISH

"Fish !" thought Captain Catstok as he sat at the bar stool downing his latest double scotch. 

"Why eat meat when there is an abundance of fish in the planets bountiful seas, rivers and lakes?"

 

This was the question that was searing an indelible scar on to the very substance of the captains brain.

 Suddenly his heart surged with adrenaline and doubled its rate. Anguish flushed his face a deep shade of scarlet, and his liver worked overtime secreting sufficient bile to react with his digestive system and purge his gut of the poisonous toxins circulating in his system.  

Bread-sticks and soup were ejected first, followed by a burrito and kernels of sweet corn.

 This was almost immediately followed by a gallon of pale beer and hard liquor, as his stomach contorted to the dance and rhythm of a Stradivarian puking waltz. When his stomach and throat were depleted of its contents and his inner gut stretched like a deflated pigs bladder, he raised his glass and sank another treble scotch.

Another day another dollar he thought as his mind turned to the tumultuous task awaiting him on the morning, and he again contemplated suicide. Sinking another treble whiskey his head hit the bar and he passed out.  

The next morning the sun rose over the bay and the rain surprisingly held of for the third day on the trot. As the light climbed across the faded facade of the Salty Cock Inn, all was still within. Inch by inch the suns rays climbed the weather-boarded Ale House, and began to penetrate the large circular window that had a prominent position above the bar. 

Like an extended finger, a beam of bright sunlight shone down across the room and was quickly engulfing Captain Catstoks still prone upper torso, head and face. As his eyes reacted to the bright light his mind began to fire a multitude of electric impulses along synapses and neurons to communicate with his muscles, and he was soon twitching and moving his eyelids. 

 As he slowly came to full consciousness his reflex action was to feel for his cell phone and wallet.  

To be continued.........

MR BLOGHEAD HAS A SEX CHANGE

 MR BLOGHEAD HAS A SEX CHANGE

Notorious former hard man Mr Bartholomew Bloghead, has confounded the press by confirming that he is now gender neutral.

 As a former member of the quasi religious cult known as the "Brothers of Snot" he was renowned as an inspirational speaker and practitioner of the art of "Mucus flexoligy".  

Initially a member of parliament for his childhood constituency of Lower Bollocks, a quite Herefordshire village on the Welsh marches, he soon progressed to the capital, where he represented Upper Balderdash in the Fields, originally for the Liberal party but then  for the Tories. However, city life appalled him, and his feelings towards his feelings towards his fellow parliamentarians soon led to his rejection by all the mainstream political parties and his expulsion from public office.

His relationship with Quincy Throgmorton had been a thorn in his side for many years, but recent alleged events as reported in the North Neasdon Gazette, detailing nefarious and illegal events at the Golf club, had set him back in the eyes of his acolytes and enemy's alike.  The incident had left an indelible mark on his already blemished record and destabilized his various attempts at achieving political and historical greatness.

A friend since childhood, The Honourable Quincy Throgmorton was married to "Tallahassee Timpton-Smyth", the famous socialite who had an infamous lesbian affair with Felicity Martini, a fading call girl from Kilburn. They were both associate members of the infamous and notorious North London Gang known as the "Hacienda Boys", named after the gangs late founder "Hercule Roy Hacienda", and now headed by Big Vernon Cruickshank and his gay lover, Jock "the snide" Jenkins. 

Unknown to the Hacienda Boys, Quincy was also a full member of the shadowy group known as the "Zoot Gang", formed by Johnny Boondocker, Bunny Schniedersnap, Lord Curlington, Racey Micklethwaite, Marmalade Atkins and Sebastian Fassbender. 

"Marmalade Atkins" had spent many years in Tanganyika dealing in the pygmy slave trade, illegal ivory and narcotics. He was known to move in the same circles as East Africa's most dangerous Arms dealer "Ivan Terrablanche", who had moved up from The Cape many years earlier, so as to escape from "Mickey Mangtoute" and his cut throat gang of bigoted extortionists and murderers.

Bartholomew Bloghead had made many acquaintances during his shady career in politics, but none as nefarious a the incredulous Doctor Theopolis Doyle. Although originally trained as a medical Doctor, Dr Doyle had never set up practice, and concentrated on his specialised subject of criminal Psychotic behaviour. Aided and abetted by a rag tag band of seedy delinquents and semi alcoholic roustabouts, 

Doyle was well acquainted with the criminal underbelly of polite society. He frequently visited the fleshpots of old Europe and was a regular customer and acquaintance of every high class "Madame" west of a line on a map drawn through the cities of Konigsberg, Warsaw and Athens.

Bloghead studied form, and was well acquainted with the exploits of Dr Doyle.

To be continued.....

SEISMIC RUMBLINGS AT THE COURT OF GOOD TASTE

 SEISMIC RUMBLINGS AT THE COURT OF GOOD TASTE

Good order was in short supply at the recent opening of Professor Imma Northernbugger's latest experimental project in debauchery. 

Located in the old town at the intersection of Love Lane and Humberto's Back Passage, the modest building exudes Northernbugger's standard hallmarks of precocious ignorance, intolerance and attitude.

 The Professor has significantly failed to nullify his tendency to offend, and has inordinately succeeded in offending all classes and sub-structures of society. Indeed, as a project of distaste, he has proficiently exceeded all of his previous dubious enterprises with his latest carbuncle. 

From an early age Northernbugger has followed a path trodden by a plethora of  Victorian and Edwardian disciples of antisocial behaviour, and was a founding member of the"Grit and Spit" architectural movement.

 Grit and Spit had been originally initiated whilst the professor was still in secondary education at his local grammar school, whilst experimenting with his sexuality and corrosive materials. The idea was taken forward by the teenage Northernbugger and after the passing of several patents by the relevant authorities, the entity was legally incorporated with himself as chairman and majority shareholder. The remaining shareholding being taken up by his reluctant father and uncle

He had been earmarked by his father to work in the local shipyard as a welder or riveter, as had his brothers and cousins for generations before him. However, Imma Northernbugger realised that life amongst the flames and scorching heat created by the pounding and stretching of steel was not for him, and he stealthily plotted a more sedentary lifestyle from his early teenage years. 

Many hours misspent in the chemistry lab and science faculty had nurtured a curiosity that manifested itself in a need to create structures that others solemnly abjured. 

To be continued......

THE FLAMING COCK OF TOLEDO

 THE FLAMING COCK OF TOLEDO

All was still, but not quiet. 

The air conditioning unit hummed in the background like a mutant bumble bee on heat, and the fridge buzzed like a drug crazed welsh hornet. In the corner of the room a large bed creaked as its incumbent scratched his balls and coughed. 

Although Raymondo was asleep, the overweight behemoth slumped in the bed was moving in an irregular and involuntary manner as he dreamed about his long list of unsuspecting and innocent female quarry. He lived alone, but lusted after many unsuspecting female colleagues, friends and associates.

 Various inadequacies had left him involuntarily without female company, although he had previously unsuccessfully dated a number of girlfriends in his callow and immature youth.  

As the alarm clock rang out is shrill screech, Raymundo opened his eyes and rubbed the sleep from them. However, this action only managed to transfer gluttonous night emissions from his sticky hand to his face, and clog his peepers with foul smelling muck.

The heat in the room was overpowering, as Raymondo had slept with all the windows shut and the heating system turned up to its maximum limit due to a control unit error. The heating had won the battle against the creaking air conditioning unit, and the resulting extreme heat meant that his body was smeared with foul smelling sweat, and he stank of stale socks.  

However, the shower was not for him, and he quickly dressed for the days mercantile obligations.

Raymondo Toledo had been educated to a relatively high level as a child due to both his parents being qualified physicians, and employed at the local mental hospital.

 His mother was a relapsed alcoholic from Galicia and his father a defrocked Castilian priest, but this had not stopped them obtaining placements at the county asylum. Raymondo was also enrolled at the hospital, but not in a medical sense, but was gainfully employed as a mortuary assistant with additional duties in the adjoining crematorium. 

He often sat at the crematorium furnace in a trance like state, staring dewy eyed at the flickering flames through the glass inspection window. This would often bring a stirring to his loins and pleasurable excitement as his membership stood to attention in anticipation of the gas jets further igniting and increasing the intensity of the burn. 

Raymondo had always been aware that is sexual orientation was strange and somewhat disturbing, but had dismissed therapy as an unwanted intrusion in to his intricate and dangerous mind. His tendency to get an erection at the slightest glimpse of an unprotected flame had dubiously earned him the name of Toledo at an early age. He was unsure of the etymology in the structure or choice of the moniker, but had accepted it all the same.  

To be continued......