Wednesday, 11 April 2012
With regard to yesterday's posting, your Cat has to freely admit that he has a confession to make. They say that an open confession is good for the soul, but in my case - since I'm a member of the feline branch of the Animal Kingdom - I'm not sure that I possess what the human theologians refer to as a psyche, so I'll leave them so argue that out between themselves - until they come to fisticuffs. Whatever.
To return to the matter in hand - I was guilty of a factual inaccuracy in my report yesterday (à propos the rude interruption of the annual Northumbrian Celebration of the Longboats). Although I don't have the theological imperfection characteristic of the human race which they refer to as original sin, I'm still capable of errors of judgement and of misunderstanding, nevertheless. Of course, the soothsayers are supremely qualified in these fallen attributes, which they've honed to an almost otherwise unattainable degree of perfection (or should that read imperfection?). Where they don't actually succeed in misunderstanding or scrambling the facts behind their reports, they simply invent them as a form of entertainment, which serves to enhance the sales of their services. You won't see such a frank admission of guilt in any of their reports as the one you're about to read, since their innate hubris and stupidity forbids such expressions of regret.
Now for the correction: the culpable rogue whose aquatic antics put an unwelcome halt to the progress of the aforementioned race was not Aburr Gut-harrdur; it was another Viking hothead answering to the name of Aburr Hamsturr. Should the former happen to read this (if he in fact can read), then I hope he accepts my heartfelt apologies. Some of these Vikings are tender and sensitive souls, which explains why an entire legal apparatus has been assembled in the Northumbrian Kingdom to cater for their acute, delicate flower sensibilities.
You have to admit that to a mere Cat such as I, these names sound annoyingly similar; all Vikings seem to be called by either Aburr, Olaf or occasionally Erik. These two gentlefolk have other remarkable similarities, too; they're both built like bearded bears, and they both wave their Sacred Eddas around (best understood in the original unintelligible Norse), chew fly agaric, and harp on endlessly about the disgraceful and decadent Anglo-Saxon nation which feeds them and graciously supports them and their numerous families in their sanctified idleness.
I also believe that they're both responding to an enforced invitation to adopt Ultima Thule as their homeland. They have some fun times ahead -especially if they get an audience with Bugrake O'Barmy - the Supreme Chieftain of that undiscovered land of plenty - or Elvey Preslode, the elusive, crooning Deputy Chief..