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.......