Motleyculturalism

I hardly get the chance to catch a tasty morsel of mouse before yet another piece of political imbecility reaches my ears. Caedmeron - the Supreme Allied Commander-In-Chief of the Tree-Liberationist Alliance government went to see his partners in crime politics in Westphalia – one of the continental regions of the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire).

While he was there, he made a speech to the assembled window-lickers dignitaries in which he announced that multiculturalism in Northumbria has failed. As soon as these words reached my ears, I knew that they sounded familiar: only a matter of weeks beforehand, the Westphalian Senior Apparatchik had said the same thing with regard to the conditions in her own country – to the applause and adulation of the assembled knuckle-dragging hordes. Funny, that – I thought she’d been part of the problem..

What has been happening? Well, it’s apparent that for some considerable time, doors have been held wide open to the conquering hordes from Barbary, Tartary, Kievan Rus, Bulgary, Ultima Thule, darkest Anatolia and the Levant. They’ve arrived in boatloads and cartloads, bringing with them their strange hats, esoteric religions and bizarre customs. They’ve settled with others of their own communities and set up shops to sell the sloppily-butchered cuts of unknown animals with unpronounceable names. They’ve wandered in their national garb through the streets of our lovely Northumbrian towns, expressing themselves by means of guttural grunts and glottal stops. They’ve demanded the right to pursue their own foreign ways and customs (at Northumbrian public expense) without the need to assimilate themselves into mainstream Northumbrian social life. And - without so much as a challenge – the Witangemot has granted their every request. No kidding.

One consequence of this is that these influxes of foreign invaders have caused a great deal of anxiety among the aboriginal Anglo-Saxons. Even the Vikings are getting nervous about this development.

Another effect of this cultural barrage is that Anglo-Saxons are starting to ask themselves why this has been allowed to happen. Some are even wondering what it means to be Anglo-Saxon – which is quite odd really, since they were two separate cultures once upon a time..

Furthermore, this been happening elsewhere, too – hence Caedmeron’s slavish imitation of the Westphalian senior apparatchik’s address to her lackeys. To me it sounds like empty posturing designed to reassure those gullible enough to be taken in by it. For sure, nothing will ever be done. That’s politics – wind and words.

So – what’s it really all about? I asked Caedmon about it, but he had no perspective on the matter. So I spoke with Feaxede the fox; he’s a shrewd character, and he’s pretty switched on with regard to the devious ways of the theatrical business of politics. His take on it is that the Witangemots of the respective nations in the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire) are being forced by the kings, moneylenders and nobles (who pay the politicians’ wages) to allow these foreign hordes to come into the various places in a bid to dilute and undermine Westphalian, Frankish and Anglo-Saxon culture; it makes it so much easier to control them when they’re suspicious of each other – and at each other’s throats.

I think Feaxede is smart to reach this conclusion; he’s obviously given the matter some thought. I hope that the Northumbrian people are as clever as he is – but I’m not holding my breath…

The Rigged Riot Factor

Things are tumultuous here in Streonaeshalch and in the Kingdom of Northumbria. It appears that  The Ð Factor is rigged. A contestant from the show - a portly Irishwoman with a loud voice - lost her place in the running following a poor vote and promptly disclosed this devastating piece of information to the eager soothsayers, who - in characteristic fashion - have disseminated this news throughout the Kingdom.


The consequences have been catastrophic; myriads of young people have been rioting on the streets and creating wanton damage, and hundreds of costumed municipal thugs have been mobilised on the streets in an attempt to contain the rioting youngsters. Reports of disturbing conduct have filtered through; one child was seen urinating on a municipal monument, and another was seen climbing it and hanging from it like a drunken monkey. Thousands of groats' worth of damage has been reported.


In one incident, Prince Ethelbert and Princess Cartimandua were besieged by a rabble of youths demanding vengeance. Understandably, the nobles were alarmed and dismayed by the outburst. So was I; it simply wasn't necessary. The ordinary people of Streonaeshalch have been very unhappy with the turn of events.


The Witangemot have announced a state of emergency - which gives their costumed thugs free license to apprehend and beat up anyone they wish - whether innocent or not. Needless to say, many scores are settled during such exigencies...


Simon the Cowl and Brendan the Monk have gone into hiding; the organisers of the contest are in fear for their lives.


I can't help feeling that there's more to this than meets the eye. I wonder if this is yet another example of events being manipulated in order to suit the nobles, the King and to achieve some devious objective?


Tonight's show is going to be very interesting - if it's allowed by the Witangemot to proceed. I hope the Card'll win.

Smelly Brown Stuff Happening

At an awards ceremony last night, Caedmeron - the beloved Leader of the Tree-Liberationist alliance government - is reported to have responded to a question by saying "Sh*t happens."

I can only marvel at the sublime profundity of such a response - and the depth of thought and accumulated wisdom that gave rise to it. I've indeed found this maxim to be true; inevitably I find that it "happens" whenever I visit my kitty tray or a patch in the garden for some colonic relief. I hastily bury the outcome, since it's neither fragrant nor pretty. Caedmon certainly doesn't like it either; my scatological offerings usually prompt some wry word of protestation. I sheepishly slink out of the room, and in a state of exhilaration brought on by the release of my bodily endorphins, I joyously bound around the hovel and finally collapse in an exhausted heap, and take a welcome nap.


Stercus accidit, as the Romans used to say before their language became a liturgical fossil. But who exactly makes it happen? Is it the result of some inevitable natural processes, the outcome of the providential hand of the Almighty, or is it merely chance?

As I ponder over my recent discoveries in the realms of Witangemot, human political life and the sordid labyrinth of intrigues that surround it all, I've come to conclude that - despite the fact that there's always an element of uncertainty in the world - there are those who make it their interest to make it happen for the ignorant and hapless majority.

The Great Terror

Although I'm only a cat, I've come to realise that those who really rule this Northumbrian kingdom behind the facade of the Witangemot and the 3 factions are more than happy to use scaremongering tactics to keep the Anglo-Saxon people worried and distracted.

As I've mentioned before, the Vikings are often held up as a threat to our Anglo-Saxon and Christian way of life. They have entirely different values from us, and they worship a foreign god; their religion dominates their entire way of life. They are reputedly ruthless in battle, despite the fact that they wage their warfare in the name of a supposedly compassionate deity called Odin - who seems to rely on them to do his dirty work for him. We have a few communities of Vikings already here in Northumbria, and they're generally very industrious, polite and quiet. I met one of their cats once - he was a friendly fellow once he withdrew his claws from my face.

The other day, some wreckage was found on the beach a few miles up the coast from here; the remains of Viking weapons and ship's timbers were found by a young man as he walked on the beach. Immediately there was uproar, as the word was passed around by the soothsayers - who are renowned for their loyalty to their mysterious paymasters. With one voice they immediately told the Northumbrian people that this was a portent of a great invasion, and that great courage and vigilance was needed by all. Consequently the ordinary folk are in a perpetual state of agitation, and the consumption of mead has risen sharply. (By the way, the soothsayers have also lately told the people that mead and ale are severely dangerous and destructive, so it's safe to predict that the price is going to increase within a few weeks.)

Caedmon told me that he's seen it all before; he and the monks at the Abbey aren't too concerned. He says that even if the Vikings do eventually come in force and take our land, the Lord God is in control - and they'll only do what He permits them according to His sovereign will. He also thinks that if they do come, it will be God's way of disciplining the Christian church and the Anglo-Saxon people.

He's probably right (he usually is), but for my part I haven't forgotten those 3 words of those nobles I heard in the forest: "..divide and rule.." Maybe the Vikings will eventually invade us; there are lots of stories from all over the place of raids and incursions into our territory. If they do arrive, I hope they deal with those duplicitous people who really run the show around here and give them a good hiding. I think they deserve it.

Cat And Dog

As I wander around Streonaeshalch on my quest for knowledge, fun and food, I wander into various neighbourhoods. Apart from the inevitable and often painful challenges from other cats who resent my presence (although I mean no harm), I find my perambulations most revealing. I overhear conversations between working men in the fields, building sites, workshops and the alehouses (the fires are very warm and welcoming this time of year) and the women doing the housework, the breadmaking and the weaving. Inevitably I hear a lot of conversation about the Witangemot leaders, their tribal factions and the latest policy issue. What I find so revealing is the sense of animosity that exists between the supporters of the various factions. Many of those around the town who support the Redistributionists expend a great deal of energy and bile criticising the ruling alliance of Trees and Liberationists - and imputing to them the worst of motives. Conversely, the Trees' supporters are equally disparaging and venomous about the Reds, whom they regard as a self-serving clique of losers, whose sole wish to share their misery with the rest of mankind. Liberationist supporters seem to fall into two camps: those whose philosophy leans towards the Reds, and those whose loyalties are more allied to the Trees. There are some interesting exchanges of views between them..!

This sense of animosity is very intense. On various occasions I've witnessed fights breaking out between Reds and Trees - usually as a result of a little too much mead and ale. But what dismays me is the incessant name-calling and the tendency these people have to hide behind tribal loyalties. Why don't they talk to each other instead of childish posturing? Nobody actually thinks about their cherished ideas. It's almost as if they all get someone else to do their thinking for them..

Today I think I came to realise why this posturing and animosity is such a part of human culture here in Northumbria. It happened when I wandered off my usual circuit and ventured into into the woods. While sitting on an oak tree branch looking for a hunting opportunity, I saw two horsemen approaching. They were evidently wealthy men; their clothes were more colourful than average, and they wore golden rings and scabbards inlaid with garnets and gold ornamentation. They were evidently taking a break from hunting wild boar, and they were slowly riding, deep in conversation. Only three words from one of them reached my ears before I disappeared into the undergrowth: "..divide and rule." Then the penny dropped, and I understood.