HROTHGAR AND THE LOST VALLEY OF SNOT

 HROTHGAR AND THE LOST VALLEY OF SNOT

The climate was unseasonable cool, with Icey winds blowing directly from the arctic. 

The frost and snow covered landscape glistened in a dazzling white as the weak sun reflected of the frozen surface. Rivers and lakes were equally frigid and the seas were also beginning to ice over. 

It was in to this unhospitable landscape that Hrothgar was to impose his will by subjugating the local inhabitants of the valley of snot and claim the realm as his own. 

 However, a major obstruction to his bid for obtaining sovereignty was the "Bogie", an enormous active volcano that had continually erupted for over a decade. Putrid flows of boiling snot flowed freely down the slopes of the Bogie, blocking numerous passes and orifices throughout the locality, and obstructing freedom of movement across the valleys.  The sinus escarpment and gorge had been unpassable for decades due to the constant eruptions and the pressure to unblock the pathway was immense.  

Hrothgar was unmoved by the elements conspiring against him, and gathered his host about him as he advanced in to enemy territory. His constant companion, "Lem the Sip" was controlling his western flank, and the Eastern perimeter was under the control of the faithful potentate "Bee Chams".

To be continued.....

 

THE MISS ADVENTURES OF HORSINGTON SMYTHE

 THE MISS ADVENTURES OF HORSINGTON SMYTHE

Horsington Smythe sat in the snug enjoying the taste and aroma of his favourite tipple. The log fire crackled in the large open fireplace, with golden fingers of flame shooting up the chimney, drawn ever upwards by the strong gale blowing outside. 

The snow had started a little before breakfast, and now in the mid-afternoon, a couple of feet lay upon the frozen ground. The tethered horses in the courtyard neighed as they snorted billowing hot air through their snouts as they tried to warm themselves. 

The onward journey would be extremely tough, but progress had to be made to ensure that the unravelling constitutional crisis could be curtailed and some kind of normality restored. 

It was now three days since the death of the reigning monarch and the usurpation of the throne by Lord Loafington of Northwood, a blood relative of the recently deceased monarch, but whose ancestor was from the bloodline of a younger sister of the original founder of the ruling dynasty, King Tostig of Neasden.

Rivalry between the various lines of decent that had evolved in to distinctive branches of the Royal family intensified, most importantly between the Uxendons and the Tokyngtons. However less influential individual lines of decent from Tostig were also in existence and were banded under the banners of Preston, Sudbury and Oakington.

Animosity between these groups and the powerful neighbouring Manor of Hearg had also evolved in to minor skirmishes that were adding to the overall anarchy in the country. The Lord of Hearg, Leif Weald of The Stone was of Norse blood and was vengeful to those who crossed him, especially Lord Loafington.  

As Horsington Smythe sat comfortably enjoying his beverage, he was unfortunately unaware of this animosity and totally unprepared for what was about to unfold. Drifting in to a state of semi slumber, due to the heat from the roaring open fire and the consumption of alcohol, Smythe thought of the good times and days of yore. 

To be continued....    

LOAFMAN AND THE GOLDEN SLOP BUCKET

 LOAFMAN AND THE GOLDEN SLOP BUCKET

Madge stood behind the bar and pondered life.

 Was it worth the aggravation and hassle for the measly wage she received ? Probably not.  However, noticing the Loaf at the bar she swiftly pulled a pint of long life and placed it in front of him. 

Acknowledging the freshly poured glass of amber coloured bubbles and gas, Loaf pulled a few pence from his pocket and placed the coins on the bar. His seat at the bar was positioned in a corner between the saloon and public bars, adjacent to a doorless aperture that allowed free movement between the bars without the need to open doors. Beside him were cluster of additional bar stools awaiting the arrival of Loafmans band of beer breathed brethren. 

Feeling a slight hunger pang, he looked across the bar towards the jars of pickled eggs and the plastic container containing an assortment of cheese and onion bread rolls. Drips of condensation ran down the inside of the perspex bread bin, adding to the allure of its contents. After consuming a rubberised cheese roll and slippery pickled egg, Loaf composed himself and finished his first pint with two huge gulps. Just as he placed the empty glass on the bar he was greeted by the familiar greeting "all right geezer" as Winyard pulled up a stool next to him.   

Following swiftly behind him were Dr Doyle and the effervescent Pat LVO Cannister.  Noticing their entrance, Madge recoiled behind the ramp and steadied her nerves for the afternoons rumbustious imbibing session.  Pulling a wad of tenner's from his hip pocket, Pat gestured to those at the bar and shouted boojar ! then swiftly instructed Ted, as Madge had turned her back, to poor five double Roughness with no ice. 

Dr Doyle grinned as the foul smelling liquid was consumed by Loaf and his acolytes with gay abandon. Slamming the glasses upon the bar and breathing deeply each and every member of the team shouted boojar. As was tradition, the last to finish the creosote tasting liquor was to take a forfeit by buying the next round, and as usual the looser was JC.  Momentarily the attention was removed from the diminutive looser as the team turned their necks in unison to see who had just walked through the pubs creaking saloon bar door. 

A rakish character with a slim black moustache and wearing a check flat cap glided across the bar and placed his himself upon a bar stool. Removing his shoulder and elbow patched tweed jacket he glanced at the clientele and slightly raising his cap gave a quick sharp wink.  The Bounder, as he was known, ordered a single whisky and started to read the racing post, ignoring all others.

 Loaf shuffled through his duffle coat pockets and eventually located his rizlas and pouch of tobacco. Deftly rolling a thin but satisfying roll up, he pulled a silver zippo from his trouser pocket and whipped it across his stubbled face, thus igniting the orange flame.  Drawing on the thin cigarette was extremely satisfying and a large grin spread quickly across his face. Reaching for his pint he was reminded that his glass was empty and that JC had to fulfill his forfeit and purchase the next round pronto. Jay, he roared, get them in mate, it's like the Sahara in here !   

Suddenly there was a load commotion emanating from the public bar, quickly followed by the sound of smashed glasses and ash trays being slung across the room. Unnoticed by the group as they concentrated on the bounders entry, Messrs. Penfold, Gammon and Mullins had entered by the other door and were making themselves at home. Ted picked up the soda syphon and gave each of them a quick blast but soon gave up trying to intervene and returned to his duties at the other end of the bar. 

A minor squabble at the darts board quickly abated as Big Ian picked up his stool and advanced towards the Baxter brothers, and all was again quite, except the banter of Loaf and his team of imbibers. Pat glanced at the clock checking on the time, in full knowledge that 2.30pm would mean a change of venue as the pub closed until reopening 5.30pm.

 However, all would be ok as the Carlton Lodge drinking den, situated less than 10 minutes away, would welcome them all with gleeful expectation that their tills would be ringing with gay abandon as countless spirits and beers were purchased and consumed. In the interim, Pat had removed his upper clothing and was using a pool cue as a microphone, much to the annoyance of Madge and two old boys cogitating in the niche between the two seated bays opposite the bar at the front of the pub. 

Time passed and all imbibed.

 Pat collected a handful of coins from the team and started pumping the jukebox with the small change. Within seconds Rod Stewert's Maggie May was blasting out across the bar with Pat extending the pool cue in to the face of the Horse. This was quickly followed by Cool for Cats, When you're in love with a beautiful woman, Eton rifles, Sultans of swing, and In the navy. Old man Benfield slowly sat up from his seat and pulled his wife to her feet. Within seconds they were dancing to the music on the juke box. Although he could hardly move, she was spinning and gyrating at great pace and finished her set with an age defying splits. 

Loaf nudged Pat and pointed to the clock. Meanwhile in the Carlton Lodge, fresh pristine ice blue disinfectant blocks were being strategically deposited in the gents, and fresh ice removed from the ice compartments of the two kitchen fridges, so as to fill the plastic ice buckets on the bar. Loaf drew hard on his fag and tilting his head back blew the toxic smoke in to the air. His thoughts were drifting towards The Lodge, and whether the Canadian would be waiting for him in pole position.  

Last orders was signaled by Madge as she rang the bell ten minutes before closing time. After a flurry of activity at the bar, multiple shots were consumed by every member of the team, and the last dregs of beer drained from their pint glasses and mugs. 

  To be continued...

WHY DIDN'T THEY ASK CHARD?

WHY DIDN'T THEY ASK CHARD?

It was a mystery to all those left....! 

Why in god's name wasn't Chard asked for his opinion ? It was not as if it was too complex  a question for him to contemplate, even though it was not within the bound of his normal field of excellence. 

A simple reference to Chard may have saved many lives and resultant collapse of civilisation. Quantum theory is not everyone's cup of tea of course, but Chard was fully aware of the implications of ignoring its basic, if complex, theorem. 

The Outer Hebrides had survived most of the subsequent terror and destruction, but was still a bleak and unhospitable place to be in mid-February. 

DR DOYLE AND THE JADE SAFARI

 DR DOYLE AND THE JADE SAFARI 

Alfred Applesnot was past his prime and his many enemies knew it, and to be fair, so did Alfred. 

His great adversary, Dr Theopolis Doyle was well aware of his predicament and suggested that he followed him on his quest to obtain the fabled "Jade Testicle of the Serengeti".

 Dr Doyle had recently being enjoying the benefits of being created the perpetual curate of the small but wealthy village of Ambalshit, but had an itch to obtain the sacred Jade Testicle.

 Many believed it to be no more than a myth, but the good doctor had other ideas, mainly due to an old manuscript that had fallen in to his slippery hands, whilst recovering the Munich Horn on an earlier escapade to Europe. The Munich Horn  had been a tricky affair, with many occasions when those involved believed all was lost. However, after eventually coming back to blighty with the goods, the nefarious Doctor was in good spirits. 

The manuscript revealing the location of the Jade Testicle was an added bonus, and one that could not be overlooked by the ever ambitious Dr Doyle. Alfred was determined to outwit his adversary this time, and wrench the fabled testicle from Dr Doyle's blotchy but muscular hands. Alfred had turned down the chance to be involved with the Munich Horn, but regretted the lost opportunity to outwit Dr Doyle. This time things would be different and Applesnot would claim all the glory of recovering the Jade Testicle, and returning if for detailed scientific analysis and interpretation.

To be continued.....

COURT OF APPEAL INVOKES PRAGMATIC SANCTION

 COURT OF APPEAL INVOKES PRAGMATIC SANCTION

Dramatic scenes at the Turdoxian Court of Appeal unravelled when the judges unanimously passed an appeal invoking an amendment to the Pragmatic Sanction of 1713.  

This codicil confirms the rights of Turdoxians to inherit the crown of the Holy Bohemian Empire, including both male and female offspring, and those of all denominations and religions. 

To be continued........

APOCALYPSE BANANA

 APOCALYPSE BANANA

Lord Loafington stretched out his feet in front of the burning hearth, and twiddled his moustache.

Burning coals slowly tumbled and cracked in the open hearth, as they exuded their gaseous ether. Streaks of blue and yellow light flashed through the flames as Loafington feet warmed to the ambient heat. Hands placed firmly on his chest, and smiling with a ferocious grin he slowly dozed off to sleep.

However, his slumber was quickly abated as glass shattered in the window pane and fell abruptly to the lushly carpeted floor. Waking with as start, Loafington turned his neck and blurry eyes to the source of the commotion. A large brick wrapped in newspaper and tied in a sinuous knot lay before him.

 Noticing immediately that the newspaper was the Telegraph and not he Times, his first reaction was that the offending article had been thrown by a dissenting tenant of his vast estate. Unfurling the paper he quickly noticed that a copy of the North Allerton Gazette was also encompassing the missile. 

 Recent rent rises had enraged many in the village, and in particular the white collared element who had been hit by higher increases. 

 At the local hostelry a recent meeting had been attended by dissatisfied members of the local solicitors office, the villages dentist and apothecary and also the veterinary surgeon, at which much dissent was shown towards Lord Loafington. 

The source of this outrage was not only the rent rises, but the new imposition of the title Banana, to all who approached the Lord. The level of betrayal and dissatisfaction was heightened by the recent events surrounding Loafington's recent dismissal and loss of commission from the Cavalry division of the Kings Mechanised Imbibing Battalion. 

To be continued.....

 

THE DARK DAYS OF BITTERNESS AND HONEY

THE DARK DAYS OF BITTERNESS AND HONEY

Luke sat motionless staring out of the window and contemplation the task before him. It was not going to be easy, but none the less, it was essential that he completed the duty that he had inherited.

 His hands twisted in to contorted shapes as he considered his options. Of course, the most obvious way forward was to contact those in the know, and try to unravel what had gone so disastrously wrong.

 His hands reached in to his trouser pockets to locate his small black notebook. Pulling it from its warm but strangled lair he fingered the pages searching for names, clues or anything that may help. After a few seconds he paused his search and stared at the small book. The name "Brunner" was prominent on the page and was underlined and thickly circled in red ink. 

 Scribbled notes referring to a number of names were just about legible as he took in the enormity of what he was about to do. Grabbing his phone from his inner jacket pocket he slowly dialled the number of the President and Chairman of the revered society that was previously known as "Boojar".

 He looked out of the window and noted that thick globules of snow had started to fall, and was settling quickly. 

 The dialling tone burred in the background for a few seconds and then a dark deep voice answered -

    "Hello!, who dares call me on this number ? ".

     "Hi Her Brunner, its Luke, I'm the son of one of your old confederates, and id like to discuss some business. I found your number in an old note book together with those of what i believed to have been other members of your gang".

    "Ah Luke, replied the disgruntled voice. I wondered when you would be in contact !" 

To be continued......  

THE APOTHECARY OF SAN JUAN

 THE APOTHECARY OF SAN JUAN

The tired old chemist sat on his stool trying to keep cool from the blistering heat outside. 

As cold sweat ran down his neck, his palms were too moist to hold the tweezers in his fingers, and any kind of enterprise had to be delayed until the heat relented.

 Under pressure from the local lord to complete the task before sunrise had placed an unbearable pressure on the weak and slumped shoulders of the old man.

 He knew only too well that failure was unthinkable, and the lives of his family were endangered if he failed to complete the task. The lead deposit that had been provided was of superior stock, but it was never going to transform in to gold as he had been instructed. He understood only too well that the alchemy myth was about to be exposed, as was his neck to a noose, garrotte or sword.

Lord Constapacion had been quite exact in his words as he instructed the chemist to transpose the elements as required. "Gold by dawn or your head will be fed to the Condors". 

Transmutation was a lie, and the feeble old man knew this only too well. However, unless he came up with the required product he was doomed, and what would happen to his numerous grandchildren who depended on him for their survival. Thinking fast he decided that his best option was to contact Madame Methane, an old adversary who had perfected  a peculiar modus operandi for survival. 

Madame Methane was renowned for expertise in the production of odious gases and may be able to ignite his mission to create gold.

 

To be continued......

THE BARON OF NORTHWOOD GOES TO TOWN

 THE BARON OF NORTHWOOD GOES TO TOWN

Lord Louis Loafington, the 4th earl of Northwood and Neasden, has bewildered passers-by and somewhat gobsmacked bystanders, by parading through the streets of Northwood with an unfurled umbrella and fully extended penile erection, whilst shouting "tumbleweed banana" !

 His progress was slow, due to his breeches being wrapped around his ankles as a by product of his removing his undergarments, so as to place them upon his head. Beneath his impromptu crown, his long thin greying locks were shoulder length and swept back from his forehead. Spectacles were poorly balanced upon his nose but stubbornly remained in place. 

 Allowed to continue his regal precession by a bashful and somewhat bewildered police constable, he finally abated his march at the bar of his local golf club, where he is the current president and head honcho.

 Explaining his current extended predicament was due to his mistakenly swallowing Viagra rather than his blood pressure pills, he expressed his wish for the bartender to provide him with the previous evenings slop bucket so that he could quench his ravishing thirst. 

 Sinking the contents with a rumbustious haste, he quickly pointed towards the top shelf of the bar and whispered that he required a very, very large vodka and coke, with no ice or lemon. A jar of pickled eggs soon followed and was accompanied by pork scratchings and salted peanuts, with entangled human pubes and added urine at no additional cost.

 However, anal tugnuts were at a premium, and had to be paid for at an extortionate rate, and were therefore dismissed. 

 With his thirst and hunger suitably sated for the time being, he wandered over to the window and sat down in his favourite chair, a large wicker creation in the style of a rattan throne from China. When seated comfortably, he reached in to his breast pocket and withdrew a folded sheet of yellowing paper. Pushing his spectacles up his nose, he unfolded the script and began to scan its content.

 The words were brief, but again and again his eyes focused on the signature, that of the notorious Dr Theopolis Doyle. A salty sensation filled the Lords mouth as he salivated at the thought of meeting up with his former compatriot and fellow imbiber. The memories came flooding back, both good and bad, and thoughts of his fellow contemporaries began to fill the cavernous voids of his mind. 

 The "A Team"  had disbanded decades ago, but its exploits lived on in his thoughts, memories and desires. The "Mitre" club house and its supporting bases were all either destroyed or converted in to hostile and unsterile environments. However remnants of the "A Team" still resided in his immediate vicinity and although not in regular contact, Lord Loafington was aware that they would respond to a clarion call for assistance and attend a meeting in a temporary bivouac. 

To be continued.......

CACAFUEGO - THE BISHOP OF GOODWIN SANDS

 CACAFUEGO - THE BISHOP OF GOODWIN SANDS

The spume bathed the foreshore in its frothy residue and coated the flotsam and jetsam, as the week sun set over the windmill perched on the towering cliffs. Further to the west a band of dark cloud threatened the tranquil air and envisaged a savage maelstrom. 

The low lying island was always susceptible to stormy weather, but recent erosion had heightened the risk of the the land being subdued by the seas. The island was already substantially smaller than when first obtained by Cacafuego, the self-proclaimed Bishop of the Goodwin archipelago, from the beleaguered Godwinson family.  

Cacafuego was not a native of these Isles but had been invited by the Godwinson family to assist them in their troubles with the current ruling elite. He hailed from the heartland of Castile but had spent many years in Andalusia and the land of the Berbers, infiltrating Arabic culture, science and mythology. Being of mixed heritage had influenced his thoughts and judgements, although he was neither a devout catholic or Muslim. Indeed there was talk of an earlier Jewish heritage and his catholic line being that of a Converso.

After arriving upon the shores of Sussex, and swiftly moving along the coast to Kent, he had quickly made friends with the local aristocracy, and assisted the remaining Godwinson's in their endeavour to regain the lands and estates that had previously been torn from the family. The remaining lands in Kent and Sussex were quickly re appropriated and the status of the Goodwin's appeared to have been restored. However, all was not well.

Cacafuego has been granted an estate that encompassed low lying islands that were situated a couple of miles out to sea, adjacent to where the white cliffs come tumbling down to an area of marshland, that extended north as far as the Wantsum channel and the Isle if Thanet. In former years the Islands had provided a particularly good base to monitor the comings and goings of shipping to and from The Isle of Thanet , and also the longer expeditions from Flanders, Burgundy and the Gaulish cost.

The Lord of the Goodwin Islands was ideally placed to exploit merchant shipping for tolls and ransom, and also receiving portage fees for the privilege of anchoring along there flat coast. Cacafuego was often away from the Islands and his deputy governor, Cannious Ciderson was placed in charge of fee collection and other administrative duties.

The largest property on the Island which was jointly occupied by Ciderson and Cacafuego, was located just inland from the Kellett Cut, and comprised a fortified Manor House and moated Keep. A small Abbey was located a little further inland and was the seat of Cacafuego's diocese when practicing as a Bishop.  The Bishopric had been unceremoniously conferred upon him by the Archbishop of Canterbury, who favoured his protection on Canterbury's Southern and eastern flanks. 

It was now two winters since Cacafuego appropriated his fiefdom, and the winter was bleak. The first snows had come earl, and by early November the land was deeply frozen. Huge globules of snow fell from the sky for what seemed an eternity, covering the bleak landscape with many feet of snow. As each fresh snowfall accumulated upon the lower layer, the ice became stronger and thicker, and the permafrost was almost impossible to breach. The seas around the Islands were almost completely frozen, with ice blue icebergs tumbling about the remaining unfrozen cuts and channels.  

Cold grey mist swirled about their feet as the encroached on the marshes edge. Although the Wantsum was still open water, huge areas of marshland bordered the ancient passage way, making access to the waterway uneasy and dangerous. Nearer the open sea, the prevailing currents ensured that sandy deposits has accumulated about and above the original marshland and provided a dry sanctuary from the bogland. Indeed these sands had built up in time to such an extent that the coast line had been changed so that the mouth of the Wantsum had narrowed and forcefully moved in a northerly direction.

 As a consequence of this long shore drift, acres of dry new land had built up preventing further ingress of the sea at times of spring tides and stormy weather.  The sandy soils were unable to support many crops , but basic food staples such as Corn, peas carrots and cabbage could be grown. Grass was also abundant, enabling the new land to adapt to becoming pastures and this supporting cattle and sheep. 

 To be continued.......  

THE SPERM DONORS DAUGHTER

 THE SPERM DONORS DAUGHTER

Agatha Wristdottir was a lonely child. 

Growing up in the wilds of north eastern Iceland was an unnerving experience for a timid isolated child. The barren landscape was either smouldering in steam from thermal activity, or frozen by the abundant snowfall and ice.

With little company other than her mother, Brigida Olafsdottir, Agatha was extremely withdrawn and inward looking, continually inventing friends in her fragile mind, out of fleeting glances of other inhabitants, farm animals or wild animals. 

Her father, Wristson Wristsactionson, was a complete stranger to her in her early years as he maintained his ethereal existence as a full time professional sperm donor. His daily activity was both physically and mentally exhausting as he performed his monotonous task every thirty minutes, so as to fulfil his gloopy daily quota.  

His product was collected in a series of Perspex containers that although shaped like a test tube, were in fact wider and more robust than the standard tube used by chemists. Storage was not normally a problem due to the low temperature of his homeland, but strategically scattered across the countryside were hidden portable freezers, powered by thermal energy, that were available for emergency use.  

Agatha, due to her fathers absence, had grown attached to a friend of his mothers who was also very handy with his hands. A semi retired merchant seaman by the name of Olaf, was a distant cousin of his mother and lived in the next settlement. He was often available to help around the home and was considered by Agatha as a gods send in due of her fatherless position. He was particularly good with his hand but  they always seemed to smell of stale fish when in the presence of Agatha and her mother.

However, Agatha had no real connection, emotional or otherwise to Olaf, and considered him below the status of herself and her adoring mother. Agatha did love his spicy meatballs though, and she believed that they were packed with so much flavour that it was worth any other inconvenience that his presence may invoke. His special sauce was an old family secrete and probably involved ingredients from Ireland, where his distant relatives on his mothers side had hailed from.

Many Icelandic women could trace there ancestry back to Ireland, from where there distant relatives had been kidnaped and transported to Iceland by Norse and Swedish Vikings.  

To be continued....... 

RAY THE DUST IN CONVERSO OUTRAGE

 RAY THE DUST IN CONVERSO OUTRAGE

Recently uncovered documents from the early century allegedly appear to confirm that Ray the Dust, sometimes known as El Raymondo, is a "Converso", and not a pure member of the brethren that established the Duck Flat Cap Society. 

His hidden ancestry has only come to light after a search of the Vatican library by undercover agents working in a joint venture for the Catalan secret police and the North Neasden gazette.

The documents allegedly clearly show that the Dusts early family were of Jewish extraction and in the 12th century were located in the Extremadura region of Spain.

 Having moved to the state of Aragon to escape persecution, the documents allegedly indicate that the family converted to Catholicism to settle in with the community, and obtain work. The archives of the Duck Flat Cap Society allegedly indicate that his heritage had been uncovered by Driver Chard, but his allegations had been mothballed due to a lake of creditable evidence.

 Speaking on the subject at a recent meeting, Bazzer The Gravedigger contributed to the debate by confessing that he had heard Ray the Dust speak in tongues, which after reflection he believes may have been Yiddish Spanish. This was backed up by testimony from Pepe Le Puke who also confirms that unintelligible mumbles emanating from the Dusts lips whilst asleep, may be pigeon Hebrew or some form of Yiddish creole. However, it was expressly proposed by Chelsea Dave Duck and Basher Hurley that theses gibberish mutterings were no more than drunken babble induced by an abundance of the fermented grape, grain and hop.   

To be continued  ..............

THE BEARD OF ROMULUS

 THE BEARD OF ROMULUS

Facial hair was not tolerated at the court of Romulus, and a bearded or otherwise hirsute face was ripe for dismemberment and scarification if seen by the Emperor .

 Emissaries to the inner sanctum were forewarned and a shaving cubicle was located at the entrance to the Emperors chambers where naked female slaves would remove the offending bristles with obsidian blades cloaked in goose fat, candle wax and crushed bone. 

However, after a long weekend of revelries and heavy drinking to celebrate his favourite mistress giving birth to a further bastard, the Emperor awoke from a deep and heavy slumber to find that a thick beard had enveloped his facial features. 

 His chin was covered in thick black hair that continued up to his ears and cranial hairline, and spread down to his neck and chest.  Furthermore , his chest, armpits and groin were a virtual follicle forest, and had its inherent resident wildlife consisting of fleas, ticks and ringworms. 

To be continued.......

DOLLIS HILL LINK TO HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE

 DOLLIS HILL LINK TO HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE

Recent documents unearthed at a secret location in North West London have disclosed that an attempt to revive the Holy Roman Empire, was attempted by members of the Duck Flat Cap Society during the recent Covid lockdown. 

Supervised by Commander Edmondson of the Red Guard, otherwise known locally as Dave the Teach, the society had devised a cunning plan to reinstate the Holy Roman Emperor and revive the former state that used to encompass modern Germany, Switzerland and northern Italy.

The position of Emperor was to be bestowed on the late Driver Chard, with  Chelsea Dave acting as Regent, from the three year interregnum between the Chard's untimely death and the crowning of Chelsea Dave as Emperor. The crowning was to be by the Pope, but if not available, Barry the gravedigger was lined up as a replacement.  

New Regal regalia was to be established, and based on the currently lost regalia of the Presidency of the Duck Flat Cap Society, comprising of an old toilet cistern chain and a rubber bath mat. However, a number of members of the Holy Roman Empire sub committee were opposed to the proposed incumbent, and in particular Little Legs Parkes and Basher Hurley who threatened a schism.  

To be continued.......

THE WIND OF SHAME

 THE WIND OF SHAME

As they waited for their cab, Dr Doyle and his small entourage of cronies huddled together for protection against the inclement weather.  It was still early in the morning but last nights alcoholic effect was beginning to wain, and the need for booster shots was evident.

The battered Mercedes drove in to view with its windscreen wipers working furiously to extinguish the flotsam and jetsam thrown up by the turbulent weather. 

As usual, Dr Doyle entered the front passenger door and placed his overweight arse in to the welcoming refuge of a sick covered seat. The rest of the roustabouts squeezed in to the back seats and shuffled about until all of their corpulent and unwashed bodies were secure.

 As the taxi engaged gear and began to enter the sparse early morning traffic, they each individually glanced back at the hotel that had been their refuge the previous night. The various incidents were unsettling to all involved and each inhabitant of the cab shivered as they recalled the nights biggest surprise.

The mini cab driver gruffly inquired of there destination, and suggested the airport. Shaking his head and thick red neck, the Doctor drew in a deep breath and explained that he wished to be taken to a run down area of town adjacent to the canal and derelict Victorian era wharfs and docks. 

Dr Doyle's target was a well known establishment was situated next to a small humped back bridge over the canal, which was renowned for selling good fried breakfasts, cheap well stocked ale and lager, and the best stout in the city.

The pungent smell of formaldehyde was still thick in each of the groups nostrils as they exited the vehicle and strolled nonchalantly towards the shabby structure of the building. A gaggle of geese swam eagerly towards them as they approached the entrance, eagerly awaiting some form of reward. However, they were not expecting the half brick that was flung in there direction by the Doctor.

Pushing the door open, the team scanned the premises seeking out there target. Eyes darting from left to right soon settled on the large, overweight and balding character seated at a large table by a window, with a flickering candle on the checked tablecloth. A  small tot of Jameson's sat in front of him, beside a freshly brewed cup of black coffee and an empty ashtray.

 Noticing the arrival of Dr Doyle and his associates, he gestured for them to come over to him, and gently stood up.  

To be continued......

MAD ALBERT - THE LOST YEARS

 MAD ALBERT - THE LOST YEARS

Much of Mad Alberts life has been documented in a variety of digital and non digital documents, but a vital part of his storey has so far eluded publication. 

As teenager learning how to live in the relative tranquillity of rural Wembley, he was astonished to learn that a number of agricultural fields adjacent to the main railway line between Euston and the North West of England, were earmarked to become an aerodrome for the fledgling aircraft industry.

The land had been part of Wembley Farm for centuries, and was ultimately owned by the local Lord Of The Manor, who resided in the mansion known as the White House which was located at the Wembley Park Estate. 

As a child Albert had often traipsed across the hay fields with his friends and marvelled in the ability of dragonfly's to hover over ponds and ditches and the agility of frogs as they leapt about the margins of the drainage ditches and dew ponds. One of the fields was agricultural in its use, and grew on rotation market garden crops such as potatoes, peas, cabbages and turnips.  Albert and his chums would often purloin samples of these vegetables and haul them home for supper.  All this was to be lost if the aerodrome was completed and the land enclosed behind barbed wire forever. 

 A cunning plan was required to prevent this and Albert began to think !

Deep in thought, Albeit wondered how best to derail the intended destruction of his beloved countryside, and decoded that the best course of action was to copy his father and uncles and take to alcohol to clear his mind and liberate his thoughts. So even though he was only of tender years and no taller than a garden gate, he started pinching tankards of ale from the garden of the Norfolk Arms public house.

 As the years passed and he grew taller and older he was able to gain an entrance to the public bar and covertly order tuppence worth of cheap porter and stale ale from the governor. He didn't know this at the time, but this development was to eventually bequeath him with the epitaph of "Mad Albert".

To be continued.....