The Star Turn

Yesterday was a pivotal moment in the Tree Faction's Annual Unfortunates' Outing and Picnic. Or so the window-licking Tree acolytes would have me believe.. I've already passed my judgement.

As promised, Tondvig the Blur Dagwald of Caedmeron gave his definitive performance at the Ð Factor beano. I spoke with Caedmeron beforehand, and he told me he was going to give it his best shot, and a life in Political Leadership was the only thing he wanted - more than anything else in the whole wide world. I tried to look sincere as I wished him the best of luck. I'd already overheard Caedmeron's strange bird that instructs him in the ways of rhetoric and public oration, so I had a shrewd idea of what was to follow. All that remained was the actual performance before the judges.

With characteristic smoothness in his stagger, he strode onto the daïs and proceeded to sing his heart out. A number of verses were delivered immaculately in a different key from the mood music that was being used as his backing. The audience grimaced. Some wept or slept. Some passed wind noisily at both ends. Others died. On several occasions, his impeccable timing caused to him to start a verse half a bar behind the orchestra. I heard one of the admirers in the audience refer to it as "syncopation", but I know for certain that it was what is referred to in musical circles as a cock-up.

He sang about cats (there seems to be a strange obsession with cats at this Picnic), and hard times a-plenty; he deviated from one of his verses and praised the Northumbrian public who were paying off their debts to help the poor, moribund economy and the suffering leetle cheeldren of the Moneylenders. The original verse enjoined the noble Northumbrians to :

"..pay the Moneylenders' dues,

you know you simply can't refuse.."

This change of message caused no little controversy among the soothsayers, who were drunk with excitement and mead.

In the last verse, Caedmeron stepped up his performance and delivered a fortissimo anthem in praise of the mythical 'can-do' spirit of the Northumbrian people on their journey to their long-lost inheritance. Paradise is over the horizon (where it was yesterday, and will be ten thousand years' hence). It was rousing stuff. The enraptured crowd jumped to their feet and cheered in response to the sound of drawn swords from the Picnic's Thug Praetorian Guard. The judges were nowhere to be seen.

I crept into a corner, curled out a brown verdict - which I left uncovered - and promptly left. I'd had enough..

Tree Cheers

I've been having a simply marvellous time at the Tree Faction's Annual Unfortunates' Outing And Picnic. Considering the fact that this faction doesn't have a ruling mandate in the Witangemot – because it has to grudgingly share power with the feckless, magic mushroom-masticating Liberationists – it's surprisingly upbeat and optimistic. The mushrooms are certainly working: the Northumbrian economy is in tatters (if it exists at all), the long-suffering, overtaxed people are tightening their tunic belts, the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire) is tightening its malevolent, vice-like grip on the Kingdom, drunkenness and crime abound – and all's well in the world. Ah, bless.

When I mentioned the other day about the new theme of Fashion, I had no idea that the Trees were going to pander to popular culture – but they have. And how..

Last night I sidled along to a little Picnic side event and was frankly astounded at the unfolding spectacle; it was a full-blown version of the Ð Factor. I parked on the lap of a cat-friendly elderly lady and watched, fascinated. I hope I didn't purr too loudly..

All the line-up of the present series was there; the panel consisted of Brendan the jovial Irish monk, and the three new songster judges: Tulippa of Constantinopoulos and Keldra of Roeland, two female singers, and Gaedrich of Baerleow – a bearded minstrel from a bygone age. The assembly hall was packed, and the audience was a motley assortment of young and elderly Tree window-lickers and knuckle-draggers.

The first act was May Trees – the Northumbrian Kingdom Home Secretary. She sang a tender ballad in an assortment of random keys about a criminally insane immigrant who – despite his heinous crimes - was allowed to stay to reoffend in the green and Elysian Kingdom of Northumbria because he had a faithful pet cat called Fiddles. The words of the song brought grunts of indignation from the audience; such was their emotional power. I wasn't sure what they felt about the performance: I thought it was perfectly awful, and in response, I dug my claws into the unfortunate elderly woman whose lap was supporting me. I had to apologise and go onto an excessive charm offensive to maintain my place.

The next act was by the Supreme Clerk of Justice – a rotund, bumptious buffoon with a dismissive, devil-may-care attitude to life and the price of fish. He sang a merry ditty with a variety of themes in all the modal scales imaginable; the first verse was a denial of the factual content of May Tree's previous song about the faithful moggy; he then sang about the glorious Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire) and how terrible it would be if the Kingdom were to leave its tender, loving embrace. The sound of massed, synchronised gagging and vomiting almost drowned the noise of the applause following his performance.

Following these terpsichorean attempts was a succession of acts by various Tree politicos, singing about Kindergartens (Dagwald the Willard) and Debt (Oswine). Caedmeron is set for a special performance tomorrow..

After these performances, the four judges quietly conferred together, and calmly but firmly delivered their verdict to each singer in turn.

The repeated issuing of the words "I'm sorry…(pause…).. but I'm going to have to send you home" followed by hysterical tears became monotonous after a while, so I leaped of my host's lap and headed for the buffet to root around for a nice fish supper..

Look Left, Look Riot

Monday again - and I'm pooped! It's been such a busy weekend, what with helping Caedmon to fill in the Census forms for a number of poor illiterate Streonaeshalch residents and everything. At least that's over. I managed to persuade Caedmon not to fill in the 'religion' slot on his own form. He reluctantly agrees that it makes sense. Fortunately, kittycats are exempt from filling the forms in, so I haven't had that dubious pleasure. However, I did manage to put 'Brain Surgeon' down as the occupation of one large and intellectually-challenged gentleman. I was relieved that Caedmon didn't notice - otherwise my intestines would now be gracing a stringed instrument somewhere…

Census aside, there's been such a lot going on lately. My poor little feline brain is reeling from the relentless cascade of events that have been taking place this last couple of days.

On Saturday I heard all about the Big Protest down in Yorvik, the Capital City of Northumbria. Myriads of diversity coordinators, schoolmasters, pigeon quota accountants, fish psychologists and assorted environmental administrators converged on the city, waving placards bearing unintelligible and badly-written slogans damning the Tree/Liberationist Alliance Administration for their brutal cuts to public expenditure. They were accompanied by assorted partisans, artisans, labourers and hangers-on from the various trade guilds (skilled and unskilled), schoolchildren, toddlers, university students (complete with with bibs and comforters) and - to everyone's surprise - representatives of the concerned gentlefolk from the leafy shires and hundreds. An uneasy alliance, I suspect.

They headed en masse for a large area of common land where people usually put horses, pigs and sheep to graze, and they were addressed in grand style by - among other tub-thumpers - Edweird the Milliner, the Dear Leader of the fly agaric-led Redistributionist Faction. What a day it was! There were celebrity luvvies, musicians and picnics, and the mead and ale flowed freely. The sound of jaws masticating the magic mushrooms broke the occasional tranquillity of the afternoon. Until Edweird spoke. And the faithful followers weren't disappointed. He loudly proclaimed that this was a fateful day, and that he was Boadicea the Briganti Warrior Queen, who was once regarded as a British heroine. As the rhetorical dams burst, he went on to  proclaim that he was a Berliner (which is a kind of Westphalian doughnut) - and the crowd roared its approval. (I wonder what flavour the jam was? My preference is strawberry.) Those mushrooms must have been wonderful, Eddy boy. How's your guts and your head today?

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Yorvik, other protests were happening. These protesters were a less sedate and civilised bunch. They were young thugs, dressed in black and waving clubs and anything they could lay their hands on. They set buildings alight, and scuffles inevitably ensued with the Municipal Costumed Thugs. These protesters were mainly zealots of the Redistributionist Workers Party - a chandelier-swinging, halfbaked offshoot from the official political faction, which has designs on a worldwide Red empire. I don't know why they name themselves as Redistributionist Workers - most of them have no idea what work actually is, as they're too busy plotting the downfall of the established order, chewing hallucinogenic fungi and drinking mead and ale at the expense of the public purse.

After the magic mushrooms wore off, the rioters were either arrested or allowed to go home with a thick ear to their anxious mothers, where a warm bowl of porridge awaited them. How nice. The poor citizens of Yorvik are picking up the pieces and tidying up the mess. Once again.

But what these imbecilic window-lickers have failed to accept is that they themselves are the reason for the financial crisis that have made the expenditure cuts necessary, since they've all been cheerfully draining the taxpayers' money on their frivolous, illusory enterprises for centuries. But I don't think they're listening. Their brains aren't wired to accept unpalatable things like facts. That's why the magic mushrooms are so popular, I suppose...