Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Noxious Vapours And Nuptials
Amid all the recent delirium about the peaceful riots in Yorvik this weekend, it hasn't escaped my attention that the soothsayers have been busy, flying in the scaremonger stratosphere with stories of noxious vapours emanating from the secretive, distant Oriental Kingdom of Japan.
Since the tragic earthquake and tidal wave which afflicted those distant shores a few weeks ago (resulting in severe loss of life and property), reports are spreading like wildfire of noxious humours, fumes, poxes and plagues emanating from midden heaps that were displaced and damaged by the seismic disruption. Since we're all subject to the moods and whims of the climate, winds have reportedly wafted around these noxious fumes, leaving trails of desolation, distress, despair and disease in their wake. No. Really.
And now, Beeby See and her pimpled companions have been spreading gloom and despondency stories about wind-borne contamination reaching our shores here, and the Northumbrian public are consequently quaking with fear while the soothsayers are joyfully telling them of an oncoming outbreak of some plague, pox or whatever. The bodycount is going to be enormous. The stench of death is going to be ubiquitous. The gravediggers are going to have their work cut out for months to come. The apothecaries are going to be running out of potions and poultices for the hapless people. Woe, woe and thrice woe. Whatever.
As a result, there's a burgeoning market for entrepreneurs who are selling nosegays on the streets to the gullible; they're selling like hot cakes. They have all kinds of miraculous powers to protect and heal, apparently. Whatever. There's never a shortage of suckers and people sharp enough to take advantage of their anxiety. Sleazeballs.
Frankly, I'm getting bored with hearing this scary stuff in its infinite variations - and it doesn't seem to let up, either. The only genuinely noxious vapours are those which continually emanate from Beeby See's various orifices. She and her pals are in continual production.
Among the foreboding clouds of gloom and disaster, a bright light has come to beam its benevolence upon us. Edweird the Milliner is going to marry. Hooray for Eddy boy! We're all ecstatic with joy here in Streonaeshalch. The bunting is already being washed in readiness for the great day when he and his female companion tie the knot. At least five of their snot-caked children will also be participating in the festivities, which will be held in the Danegeld-dominated Mercian settlement of Snottingham.
I hope it's not going to upstage Walthelm and Gytha's grand royal beanfest at the end of April: that would be most unfitting. I do hope the noxious vapours are kind to them on the occasion of the Milliner wedding; if Eddy's juvenile brother Dagwold is to be the best man, he'll have to compete with other vapours, though. I believe pulses, leeks and onions are going to be on the menu at the great feast afterwards...