Tag Archives: story

‘Tub-Thumping’…

*

‘O Mister Wot

What have you got?

Are they the keys to Browning Street

In your back pock…’

*

“Infernal racket!” A bleary-eyed Big Bee emerged from beneath the cushions of his couch and blinked in the over-bearing light of the bunker.

“Ever so sorry, sire,” smiled Teigue-the-Fool, “I didn’t realise you were still here.”

“Trying to think,” said Big Bee.

“Ah, you may need more than silence to navigate this little predicament.”

“But we have more than silence,” smirked Big Bee.

“Another one bites the dust?”

“Nothing like a minister falling on his sword to keep the vultures away, what…”

“What’s Wot got to do with it?”

“What indeed,” grinned Big Bee and said nothing.

“Oh, I get it,” hazarded Teigue, carefully placing a finger on the corner of his mouth, “no body is talking about the six hundred million lateral flow test results that went missing.”

“Missing?” laughed Big Bee.

“Lost?” said Teigue, raising his finger in the air.

“Deliberately destroyed to preserve the pro-lock-down narrative.”

“Can I quote you on that, sire?”

“Don’t be silly, Teigue, of course not.”

*

… ‘O Mister Wot

Just like Pol-Pot

The trail of deaths

Lie hidden from the flock…’

*

 A Questionable Science:

Love and Death in the Time of COVID 

by Stuart France and G. Michael Vasey

‘The Gallows and Gibbet Inn’, proclaimed the sign, which singular nominal ought really to have aroused, if not my shackles then, at least my suspicions. 

Too late, Anu was already tugging me over the threshold into the warmth, and the light, and the sound of voices, and music…

…They were all in there!

Black Jack Davey… Teigue-the-Fool… The Miller’s Son… The Sorcerer’s Apprentice… H.R.H. the Lord of the Elements, and one-hundred-and-one other far less savoury characters.

Most of them in their cups. Reprobates all! And what a tale they had to tell.

If you have ever wondered why all the public houses are shut.

You had better pull up a chair…

*

Now available in paperback and Kindle formats on Amazon

 

 

 

Bottom-Rock…

*

Big Bee stood contemplating his overlarge leather travel-bag.

“Stay-cation?” asked Teigue-the-Fool.

“If only,” smiled Big Bee, “unfortunately, men in my position can’t afford such luxury.”

“Busy… busy… bees,” sang Teigue, shaking his rattle.

“Indeed,” continued Big Bee, “and my plan to vaccinate the world by the end of the year has almost come to fruition.”

“You sound like a Bond villain,” said Teigue.

“Bond villains don’t save the world, they destroy it,” sighed Big Bee.

“Quite,” said Teigue, and then, “almost?”

“I just need to convince the rest of the K-Nine countries.”

“Ah,” said Teigue, “of course, most other countries of the world outside those of the K-Nine already have the ‘pandemic’ under control, and without the use of a vaccine.”

Big Bee looked blank.

“I-ver-mec-tin!” pronounced Teigue, with a flourish.

“Insufficient clinical trials,” blustered Big Bee.

“No need for clinical trials if it works in the field,” smiled Teigue, “which it clearly does, and without the initial spike in deaths the vaccine rollout initially produced, and it already has a forty-year safety record.”

“Damn I-ver-mec-tin! Damn, damn, damn I-ver-mec-tin!” growled Big Bee, clenching and un-clenching his hands, into and then out of fists, and shaking them alarmingly. “We’ll see.” He zipped up his travel bag with a resounding ‘zing’.

“Portugal?” asked Teigue-the-Fool.

“Portland bloody Bill,” snarled Big Bee.

*

 A Questionable Science:

Love and Death in the Time of COVID 

by Stuart France and G. Michael Vasey

‘The Gallows and Gibbet Inn’, proclaimed the sign, which singular nominal ought really to have aroused, if not my shackles then, at least my suspicions. 

Too late, Anu was already tugging me over the threshold into the warmth, and the light, and the sound of voices, and music…

…They were all in there!

Black Jack Davey… Teigue-the-Fool… The Miller’s Son… The Sorcerer’s Apprentice… H.R.H. the Lord of the Elements, and one-hundred-and-one other far less savoury characters.

Most of them in their cups. Reprobates all! And what a tale they had to tell.

If you have ever wondered why all the public houses are shut.

You had better pull up a chair…

*

Now available in paperback and Kindle formats on Amazon

 

 

 

 

 

 

Traced by Angels…

*

‘Of wheel-tracks there were none just strange,

narrow paths across the moorland.’

*

*

With the dust well settled over the Living Land Workshop, and already two days into our vacation, we found ourselves in search of a map.

A big map.

One which showed in greater detail the ways and by-ways of Old Cornwall.

*

*

We had done well that first day, discovering a goodly number of the most obvious and easily accessible sites…

But this was going to need precision.

*

*

We had a name.

We had a description.

We even had a picture, and now, we had a good map.

We could not fail, could we?

*

*

 

‘The Cavalry’?…

*

‘I remember when I was with Special Forces…

Seems like a thousand centuries ago…

We went into a camp to innoculate the children.

We left the camp after we had innoculated the children for Polio, and this old
man came running after us, and he was crying, he couldn’t say…

We went back there, and they had come and hacked off every innoculated arm.

There they were in a pile… A pile of little arms.

And I remember…I …I …I cried… I wept like some grandmother.

I wanted to tear my teeth out.

I didn’t know what I wanted to do.

And I want to remember it.

I never want to forget it.

I never want to forget…’

Colonel Kurtz, Apocalypse Now!

Chapel-en-le-River…

*

“There was one thing.”

“Oh yes?”

“Well, two things, really.”

“These days ‘really’ is not a precise term, but proceed anyway.”

“No, no of course not… it’s just that, it struck me that the stones were conceived as shadows.”

“Shadows of what?”

“The ancestral realm.”

*

*

“And the second thing?”

“We’re being haunted.”

“By what?”

“By a shape!”

*

*

“It’s a Cop.”

“Look again.”

“It’s still a Cop.”

“Or a very big Long Barrow.”

“But it’s a hill.”

“Look again.”

“It’s still a hill.”

“Or a very big Long Barrow.”

“They didn’t build Long Barrows that big.”

“Why not?”

“It’s absurd. It’s preposterous. They simply couldn’t have.”

“They built Silbury.”

“Silbury’s not a Burial Mound.”

“No, but the ‘Archaeos’ used to think that it was.”

“The ‘Archaeos’ are always getting it wrong.”

They think it’s a hill.”

“They thought all the ‘Motte and Bailys’ were mediaeval.”

“Precisley, it’s definitely a big Long Barrow.”

“It’s not definitely anything but what makes you so sure?”

“Numbers.”

“Numbers?”

“Most of the sites hold a lot of people and there are thousands of them. A lot of them would have taken huge numbers to construct and there are thousands of them and yet, the burials are relatively few. Even at the massive sites…”

“Where are all the bones?”

“I knew you’d come around to my way of thinking.”

“Especially on Ilkley.”

“We know Ilkley’s a Necropolis…

“…And yet, there are hardly any cairns.”

*

Still Stone-Less At-Chat…

*

“No one in their right mind believes that stones can walk.”

“Despite the fact that the Folk-Record is unequivocable on this point.”

“It is also unequivocable about stones dancing, and drinking from streams.”

“I may be able to clarify the streams. They may be underground.”

“They may even be telluric currents, but you promised.”

“That, unfortunately, is deductive reasoning for you. It was the only bit of wall we had not checked.”

“We had so checked it… last time.”

“Only from a distance and that does not count.”

*

*

As it turned out there proved to be another bit of wall we had not checked.

Also distant and too far away to consider once the snow started.

I mean, really started.

There were compensations though, like the trees and the wildlife.

*

*

“Are you sure it isn’t the Throne-Stone?”

“Not near enough to the wall and the gate.”

“But the wall is a mnenomic. Your mind could easily have contracted the distance.”

“Not the right size, or colour.”

“Like that’s not easily accounted for.”

“Maybe you’re right and I’ve discovered a new species of stone, which can walk!”

“But that would be a New-Old species of stone.”

“So perhaps it just went for a stroll, again.”

“What, in the snow?”

“…We did.”

*

Field-Mouse…

*

Field-Mouse was out gathering wild-beans for winter when Buffalo came down to the meadow to graze.

‘He will mow down the long-grass with his prickly tongue and there will be no where left to hide,’ thought Field-Mouse, ‘I will offer him battle, like a man would do.’

“Ho, Buffalo!” squeaked Field-Mouse, “I challenge you to a fight.”

Buffalo went on grazing.

Field-Mouse repeated his challenge but still Buffalo went on grazing.

With his third challenge, Field-Mouse laughed contemptuously at Buffalo’s inaction.

“You had better keep still, little one,” said Buffalo, still grazing, “or I will come over there and step on you.”

“You can’t do it!” squeaked Field-Mouse in defiance.

“If you don’t be quiet I will certainly put an end to you,” said Buffalo, quietly.

“I dare you!” said Field-Mouse.

Before Field-Mouse had quite finished, Buffalo charged at him…

*