Wednesday, 13 May 2015


The Northumbrian Kingdom is slowly crawling out from the devastation, desolation, destruction and biscuit unleashed upon the populace following the Decisive Victory of the Tree Faction in the recent Great Count. The sound of whining can still be heard from the divided ranks of the Redistributionist Faction, Beeby See, Guardy-Ann and their myriads of hangers-on, who, in uncharacteristic bitterness and rancour, accuse the Northumbrian population of crimes against humanity for failing to share their magic mushroom visions of free money, lavishly salaried unemployment, diversity co-ordinators, pigeon psychologists, bongo drumming, dog breath, ethically-sourced lentils and beansprouts. It's all so very sad, and despite my feline nature, I'm finding it very difficult to stifle a tear or two - my claws are quite sharp at the moment.

Despite the gloomy picture I've tried very hard to portray for your doubtless fertile imagination, dear reader, I should also inform you that all is not lost. Despite Dagwald Caedmeron's swift summoning of his newly appointed henchmen (most of whom have undergone a precipitous career change, substituting broomsticks, black cats and cauldrons for ministerial responsibilities), some remarkable events have already taken place.

Much to the amazement of astounded onlookers, the Arthurian prophecy has already come to pass; Nigwald the Forager has emerged from his two-minute sleep of the centuries, and as their resurrected Leader, has promised to restore the Kingdom to its rightful heritage - unshackled from the bonds of the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire). His legions of acolytes - who are diffused throughout the Realm, though only having one champion on the Witangemot talking shop - are enthralled that their Supreme Mentor has emerged Phoenix-like from the ashes. Merlin, however, is nowhere to be found…

Edweird the Milliner has fled the Kingdom, and has gone into a self-imposed exile on the Isle of Patmos, where he hopes to receive similar apocalyptic visions to those of St. John. He'll be lucky if such an experience comes his way, since his industrial scale consumption of hallucinogenic mushrooms has squeezed any notions of godliness from his psyche. For all that, he leaves behind a curious legacy. Your Cat has already witnessed legions of devout Redistributionist pilgrims purchasing fragments of his shattered monolith. It seems to give them some measure of comfort, and it's great business for those entrepreneurs who saw the opportunity for a quick Holy Groat. At least it makes a change from the usual rabbit's foot charms…

Monday, 11 May 2015


These are grim and grimy days, my dear readers. The Kingdom of Northumbria is recovering from the results of the Great Count, and along with the sound of incessant whining from the Redistributionists, there can also be heard the sounds of wailing in the hallowed halls of Beeby See - as well as her bitter and twisted soothsaying sister, Guardy-Ann. The shovelling of the shattered fragments of Edweird the Milliner's slab of unattainable promises into waiting carts also breaks the stony silence of  the Northumbrian air.

Since Edward the Milliner fell on his sword following the demise of his dearly departed friend Edward the Spheres - the mendacious and charmless confectioner of magic mushroom delights - the Redistributionist camp has retreated into paroxysms of grief and bitter regret. A great deal of energy has been spent on their part in the process of soul-searching, wondering why the feckless, unwashed masses who comprise the electorate have chosen Dagwald Caedmeron and the Tree Faction instead of their own hallucinogenic, hand-wringing fantasies. All manner of fantastic explanations have been proffered by their shamans as to why their confident augury promising resounding victory was false. (It has never occurred to these dear and troubled souls that the majority of Northumbrians have sufficient nous to realise that Caedmeron's leadership was an infinitely better prospect than another five years of bankruptcy, high taxation and biscuit - despite Beeby See's relentless and tiresome prognostications of evil cuts, death, doom and desolation. Bless.)

The Liberationist Faction have also suffered heavy losses, and the sight of a remaining politico from their contingent is now worthy of a crowd of excited, pointing onlookers. Nickwald the Clegge has also decided to impale himself upon his sword, thus making a lasting testimony to his dedication to his faction and their extinct principles. It's all so very sad. The Alliance Administration is no more, and requiem masses are to be held throughout the churches of the Realm. Ding dong.

Nigwald the Forager - the charismatic ale-swilling, fast-talking leader of the Northumbrian Independence Faction - has also joined the ranks of the dear departed, and has hinted that - like King Arthur of British legend - he may return from Avalon to restore the Kingdom and rescue it from its Holy Roman Empire enemies. Until then he will sleep of the just failed.

However, Caddy Boy is hardly in a position to stamp his indelible footprint on the face of the Northumbrian body politic; the heavy losses on the part of the Redistributionists have been also inflicted north of the border by the Caledonian Realm Alone Praetorian faction, headed up by their sinister high priestess, Nickwealth McSprat. These people are by no stretch of the imagination either reasonable or civilised… Caddy and his crew have their work cut out.

As for your Cat - frankly, I couldn't give a rat's raspberry. I'm hungry, and I want some fish.

Monday, 4 May 2015

Edweird the Milliner's Magnum Opus

As the day of the Northumbrian Great Count approaches, the springtime air - puncuated by the mellifluous sounds of birdsong - is being permeated with the sounds of frenetic activity. This - I might hasten to add - is not only the increased amount of rhetoric, rhubarb and biscuit proceeding from the frenzied chops of the major faction politicos, who are all desperately vying with each other for a coveted slice of the Northumbrian cake: there's another noise ringing through the air. It's the sound of hammer and chisel.

Edweird the Milliner - the High Priestess of the Redistributionist Faction - is carving his magnum opus on a stone tablet, which he desperately hopes will adorn his view of the rear garden, should he be fortunate enough to assume the mantle of Prime Politico in the next Northumbrian Administration.

Upon this stone he's carving out the plethora of magic mushroom-fuelled promises, guarantees and an assortment of fantastic objectives that he's set himself in the hope of winning over the hearts and minds of the long-suffering Northumbrian electorate. Good luck with that, Eddy. (Bless.)

In the light of the previous record of the Redistributionist Faction in bringing the Kingdom to the point of bankruptcy under the benign and cheerful tutelage of Guffmund the Brown (whose objective was to rescue the entire world from the jaws of prosperity and solvency: a mission that he successfully accomplished in cahoots with his moneylender friends), it's highly unlikely that the electorate will be sufficiently impressed to cast a decisive vote in the favour of his gawky successor. The more likely outcome will be an indecisive one, where the balance of conviction on the part of the voters will be shared among all of the competing factions, which includes the Caledonian National Faction, led by Nickwealth McSprat, the successor to their Chieftain Emeritus Angus McTrout (why do they have fish names? your Cat wonders), and Nickwald the Forager, the fast-talking, slow walking, beer-quaffing impresario of the Northumbrian Independence Faction. The Liberationists - headed by Nickwald the Clegge (why do they have names that have connotations of theft? Your Cat wonders) - are destined for blessed annihilation as a punishment for reneging on their promise not to introduce Kindergarten charges for the legions of trainee pigeon psychologists, diversity coordinators and beehive accountants . A lot of bartering will take place with Dagwald the Caedmeron to decide who shares the executive decisions.

At the very least, Edweird the Milliner's monolithic enterprise will stand as a reminder for future generations that he actually existed. More likely it'll be his epitaph. Sic transit gloria mundi.

Your Cat is as excited as the soothsayers about the forthcoming result. I'll let you into a little secret. Although I'm a mere Cat, I'm still able to cast my vote along with the humans. And in these days of moulting my winter coat in readiness for the summer months, I've already cast my vote at the feet of Dagwald Caedmeron. And I feel so much better for having done so, too.