Non-raptured, Enraptured, Ed Captured

After such an eventful week, I'm exhausted! There's only so much that a poor little old Cat can take.

Last weekend was marked by the great Cosmic Rapture Non-event of Harold The Campsite's prognostication. I wasn't expecting it to happen according to either his timetable or his specification - although I've no doubt that the Redeemer will one day return to wind up this present order. As I'd already expected, old Campervan's already re-defined the non-event as a 'spiritual' phenomenon. That's what these flim-flam merchants always do: it's the oldest - and most unimaginative - trick in the book. The next Cosmic Rapture is going to happen in September, when the holidays are over, so I would advise you to keep a note of it in your diaries, in case you miss it. I wonder what holiday plans old Campers has this year? I hear that Cyrene and Bactria are sought-after locations these days.. I see a regular one-way traffic of longboats replete with with soldiers destined for those shores - I think it must be to their taste...

And then - no sooner had the excitement had abated - when, lo and behold! Bugrake O'Drama, the silver-tongued King Of Ultima Thule came to bless these humble shores with his impressive physique, his oratory and his common touch with the window-licking aristocracy and soothsayers, whose deference reflex went into spasm. He certainly went down a storm over here - but oddly, nobody can now remember a single word he said. Funny, that.

He's now hypnotising audiences in the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire). The degree of bankruptcy of the kingdoms he visits will substantially increase; he has very expensive tastes. I wonder if he managed to get a loan from the Northumbrian taxpayer through the good graces of King Alhfrith? If he did, it's my guess that he's already spent it.

And now - to add the capstone to a glorious week - Edweird The Milliner is getting married. Today. In Nottingham, a Mercian settlement south of the Mighty Humber. This occasion is marked by an uncharacteristic lack of publicity, unlike the Walthelm and Gytha bash a month ago. Even Eddy Boy's most slavering and sycophantic soothsayers like Beeby See and Guardy-Ann aren't invited to the wedding ceremony and festivities. I hope they can make room for all of the Milliner children. I'm sure that the select band of guests will be sipping from the finest champagne from the vineyards of Charlemagne. These Redistributionists certainly know a thing or two about living the high life - at taxpayers' expense, of course.

Actually, I'm going to let you into a little secret. I happen to know the butcher who was commissioned to supply the meat for the main course, and I paid a clandestine visit to his storeroom when he was busy. I took a sample bite out of every chunk of the reserved lamb joints, and I can categorically say that they're delicious. Those guests are in for a treat. I hope they don't mind the teethmarks...

O have it on good authority that Edweird the Nuts - the slobbering and mendacious Shadow Chancellor - will be giving the Best Man's speech; I think the content of his discourse will suit the assembled guests well, as he specialises in fantasy. I can only guess that they've taken their umbrellas - a great deal of wet weather proceeds from his mouth when he speaks. I hope they've also had the presence of mind to bring their cushions; it makes me feel tired to contemplate it...

I hope Edweird The Milliner and his bride have a great time and a delightful honeymoon in Tripoli. I hear it's lovely this time of year. It'll give them an ideal opportunity to catch up on some Redistributionist gossip with their old friend the crazy, khat-chewing, chandelier-swinging despot O'Daffy.

Happy days.