A Fur Result?

You might be gratified to know that I eventually did wake up after my Election/Referendum-induced nap. To be perfectly honest, I was vaguely hoping that the issue which had stimulated the sleep reflex within me had actually been nothing more than an intolerably dull dream - but once reality took hold of my awakening mind, I realised that I'd awoken into the same grimy and slushy morass that had overcome me with torpor in the first place. Life is full of disappointments.

Once I'd woken up with a good breakfast and had a briefing from my benevolent master Caedmon, I thought it only right and proper that I should go round and visit Blaeck Clegge (the Dear Shepherd and Leader of the Liberationist Faction) to congratulate him on such an astounding victory in the Elections - for both his faction's successes in the local Witangemots and for the Alternative Voting System Referendum. A New Age Has Dawned. Meh...

Why did I decide to congratulate him? - you might ask. According to what Beeby See and her other dribbling soothsayer colleagues are saying, he and his Faction have endured the most humiliating defeat of all recorded history (well - since the last one, at least). But I'm applying a kind of reverse logic here; after careful and considered observation, it appears to my feline mind that if Beeby See and her equally imbecilic country cousins call something black, it must be white - and vice versa. Since they all appear to have a natural propensity to either lie or exaggerate at the very least, it only seems reasonable that the opposite of what they're saying is actually true. And what Clegge's Liberationist colleagues have been saying is that they have achieved an outstanding victory through the overwhelming support of the public. This is truly a victory for Common Sense. Well - if that's what they're saying, it must be correct. All of the backroom deals and the reneging of electoral promises has been vindicated by the overwhelming support of the electorate.

So. I went over to Blaeck Clegge's substantial home to try and find him to pass on my hearty congratulations and best wishes. The front door was shut, and didn't open in response to my call. Fortunately, there was an open window, so I made use of it. No one was at home - but I noticed that La Señora Clegge had been in the process of preparing some home-made chorizos; it was evident that she'd been interrupted, and had left the ingredients ready to continue work upon them upon her return. I tasted the mixture; it was saturated with unhealthy gristle, fat, herbs and garlic, and it left an unpleasant taste on my refined palate. I felt strangely sick.

When they return home, they'll find an enhanced version of their chorizo mixture. Suffice it to say that it's that time of year where I moult. Copiously. Blaeck Clegge with have a dietary supplement which will help to compensate for one thing - despite his outstanding successes - that he lacks.

Fibre.

In The AV

Over here in the lovely Kingdom of Northumbria, there's an air of expectancy and excitement. You can feel and see it wherever human beings gather – whether in the streets, the markets, the inns, the fields or their workshops. They're so excited about the forthcoming local elections and – most especially - the Great Referendum on the new Alternative Voting System; there's a definite festive air to the seaside town of Streonaeshalch; bunting flutters in the Spring sunshine; acrobats and mountebanks are performing their routines in the streets, musicians are playing, singers are baring their tonsils and their brown teeth, the mead and ale is flowing down gullets, and everyone is ecstatically happy.

Well – perhaps I'm exaggerating. Just a tiny bit… but I did see a seagull deliver a monstrous payload out of sheer joy – it settled on the al fresco fish supper of the local Alderman. Happy days.

Blaeck Clegge – the Dear and Revered Leader of the Liberationist Faction is very excited about the Great Referendum; he's been harping on about it for about a year, but Liberationists are always intoning about voting reform, since they've never had the opportunity to win a Great Count in their own right. The idea of some hare-brained new complicated voting methodology is their only potential ticket to success, since the outright winners of such elections are seldom those who by a majority of preferential votes achieve the overall mandate.

Having dealt with one set of serial losers, I now turn to the fly agaric-led, chandelier-swinging Redistributionists. Unlike their Liberationist brethren, for whom Alternative Voting is an article of holy dogma, these are divided on the issue. Some are foaming at the mouth in delirious anticipation at the prospect – others are not so wild-eyed and enthusiastic. Edweird the Milliner – the deluded Beloved Chief of the faction has publicly declared that he doesn't personally see the need for the new proposed Voting System, since the existing one has amply served their purposes for seventeen thousand years. And since the Redistributionists have already brought the fine art of vote-rigging to a state of near-perfection, why make the process more intellectually demanding for aspiring cheats? I see the logic.

The Trees – and their Chief Cock and Bluebottle-Washer Caedmeron – have also been ambivalent on the issue. For the most part they've said that they're against the idea, since they purport to be intellectually resistant to change. But they've been perfectly happy in previous times to make radical alterations to the running of the Kingdom by selling it over wholesale to the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire) so that Northumbria is now no more than a mere vassal state or province at the behest of the megalomaniac Emperor Jose Borracho and his sandwich-short-of-a-picnic assistant Hermit.

As for the public - who are being relentlessly force-fed the idea that the Alternative Voting System is a Good And Desirable Thing by Beeby See and other delusional soothsayers – they're simply confused.

As for me – I suddenly feel very tired and my eyelids are getting heavy. I'm going for a nap. Wake me up when it's over. And don't bother telling me the result…

Where The Truth Lies

If there's one characteristic that the soothsayers and politicos can never be accused of (including those of honesty and integrity), it is consistency. The more I hear them drivelling on about the death of the Great Enemy Olaf Ladensson, the more puzzled I get, and my whiskers get twitchy. 

There's been ecstatic rejoicing and back-slapping about the demise of a Viking religious fanatic, whose life and activities has been surrounded by what can best be described as a foggy aura of mystery, hearsay and legend. There's no definite proof that he departed this mortal life when and in the manner described; all we have is the accounts of the legend-makers and fantasists, which are paraded as Gospel truth. Furthermore, it has been reported by the soothsayers that the cadaver was disposed of at sea from the side of a boat by some jolly jacks - to the sound of solemn sea-shanties. Thus the legend continues. Was he discovered after years of diligent searching - and did he actually die from a well-aimed arrow to the skull? Or did he actually contract some noxious pox and fade quietly from the scene some years ago? Or is he still alive, selling fly agaric from a vegetable stall in a shambles somewhere? Was anything ever said about him really factually verifiable?

Whether he was real or not - and whether he died in the manner described or not, there's a lot of noise made about him.

In the meantime, real Cyrenian people and their offspring are being accidentally murdered by the ill-equipped raggle-taggle band of anti-O'Daffy rebels, who are being encouraged by Anglo-Saxon and Frankish military advisors, along with their biscuits and pet rabbits, all cheerfully supplied by the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire). These killings happen day by day in the sacred name of Demockery-cy without much fuss.

Apart from the moral bankruptcy of the unwelcome interference in Cyrene, it's bizarre - to say the least - that our soothsayers and politicos expend more hot air and rhetoric over a will o' the wisp fantasy like Olaf Ladensson than the issues of real life... or am I missing something here..?

Bogey On Down

Well - following the excitement and feeding frenzy around the Wedding of Prince Walthelm and Lady Gytha, things had started to settle down. The deferential and sycophantic slobbering of the soothsayers had started to diminish, and once again attention was turning to the Cyrenian war, where the delusional, khat-chewing psychopath O'Daffy has been getting a pasting from the combined forces of the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire), who are acting as military advisors and toothpicks to the raggle-taggle Cyrenian rebels.

And then the announcement came. Olaf Ladensson - the legendary Viking homicidal maniac and religious fanatic - has been killed. Really.

Olaf Ladensson was a legendary figure, whose purported aim was to win the entire civilised Anglo-Saxon world to the Norse customs, gods and the Eddas - the Nordic holy book of fairytales and heroes. A noble aim, if you like that sort of thing - but unfortunately for Olaf and his crew, the majority of Anglo-Saxons simply don't give a monkey's for their offbeat beliefs. Some of them - my own master Caedmon included - are devout Christians, who would never renounce the Gospel. Since Olaf Ladensson recognised this reality, he purportedly made it his mission to use gentle persuasion to tenderly woo the Anglo-Saxons to his beloved religion. So they tell us that he inspired his faithful and equally fanatical followers to go berserk in busy marketplaces, and kill as many Anglo-Saxons as possible. This they did - with deadly effect. They also burned buildings, causing devastation and severe loss of life.

Oddly enough, after the main atrocities attributed to this Viking had been committed, the hysteria whipped up by the politicians and the soothsayers about Olaf Ladensson gently and gradually dwindled. In the meantime, Great Security Measures were taken to intimidate ordinary travelling Anglo-Saxon folk. At every settlement they passed through, their belongings were assiduously searched for weapons - just in case they were actually Viking infiltrators on a crazy suicide mission. Everyone was now a suspect.

And suddenly, after years of silence, lo and behold! Olaf Ladensson has been found and summarily executed. And there are some elections coming up in various places. Hmmm...

If Olaf Ladensson hadn't existed, it would have been necessary for Those Who Know Best to invent him. He's been very useful figure - like Father Christmas, Elvey Preslode or - perhaps more appropriately - The Bogey Man. And now he's gone.

Time for a new one, I suspect...

Now You See Him – Now You Don’t

The word 'cynicism' comes from the Greek word 'kynos' – which is their term for those tail-wagging, barking idiots called Dogs. How dogs are associated with cynicism is beyond me: I'll have to ask Caedmon about that. In my book it should be 'cattacysm'.

Please excuse the articulation of cynicism you're about to read – I realise that it's not a characteristic normally attributed to kitty cats, but regular readers of this blog should be well used to it by now…

Here goes. It's so delightfully reassuring that the politicians and the Royal Family have such highly tuned foresight and moral principles to live by and work with. Like the prophet Moses carving a path through the open waters of the Red Sea, they too - in their own little way - blaze a moral trail for their unreflective and bovine followers to deferentially follow. With exemplars like that, we have every reason to be confident of a great future for the Kingdom of Northumbria.

I feel so much better now: it's akin to the paroxysm of relief experienced in making a long-deferred colorectal statement.

Let me explain. I'm sure you must be aware by now that the soothsayers are ceaselessly haranguing us with hideous tales of barbarity, cruelty and viciousness from the Cyrenian and Syrian despots, who are being relentlessly castigated for robustly resisting attempts to unseat them by their respective detractors, who are allegedly fighting to establish Freedom and Democratic Government in their homelands. Apparently, it's not good practice for a tribal chieftain, king or emperor to defend his position from usurpers. Perhaps they should benignly smile while allowing their opponents to plunder their realms and massacre their households.

If these rebels are fighting their fellow countrymen to establish the kind of 'democracy' enjoyed in the lovely country of Northumbria and the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire), they're in for an ocean of disillusionment. But I'm not the cat to tell them; that's for them to find out by their own bitter experience.

Among the invitees to the Great Royal Wedding (and I saw this on the guest list that Feaxede liberated the other week) was the Emissary of Syria. In view of the fact that the guest list was drawn up a few weeks ago – when the first stirrings of dissent and brutal governmental suppression had manifested themselves – it's a surprising choice, but who am I to question the infinite wisdom of Those Who Matter?

Anyway. One day before the Great Weeding Wedding, it has been announced through the soothsayers that the Syrian Emissary's invitation has been withdrawn.

Hardly has the poor fellow dusted off his ceremonial robes, scimitar and turban when he's had to put them all away again. It says a lot for courtesy, doesn't it? What kind of imbeciles make invitations that they subsequently retract? No, I don't understand, either. And with forethought like that, we're really going places, folks.

What Bugs Mister Lugs?

It's been a relatively quiet Easter; the politicos have been ensconced in their own constituencies, so the babble of the political turkey farm has been relatively quiet. It's given me a pleasant break - and provided my master Cademon with an opportunity to redirect his own eloquent writing skills. I'm very pleased with his efforts: I've taught him everything he knows ;-)

Of course, the soothsayers haven't been as quiet. Like disembodied spirits lacking a place of peaceful repose, they've been flitting to and fro, wringing their hands and relentlessly jabbering away about the Cyrenian and Syrian internal conflicts (which are infernal, and far from internal, since the Holy Roman Empire - which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire - has been assiduously meddling). Naturally, the soothsayers have also been doing what they do best - waxing eloquently about all inconsequential things that bedazzle the Northumbrian public - like the forthcoming wedding of Price Walthelm and Lady Gytha. It gives them something to do. Bless.

One of Beeby See's favourite lackeys has been in the news himself today. I'm not permitted to mention him by name, since he's paid a lot of money for the Supreme Moot to place an order forbidding others to mention it. If I were to do so, I would be fast-tracked into membership of the august Dead Cats Society - and I'm in no great hurry to join the throng yet. But I can say that he is blessed with rather pronounced lugs, and it appears that he is a big buddy of the last 15.5 Redistributionist Faction leaders. Mr Lugs (for that is what I will call him) was engaging in behaviour which - to say the least - called his marriage commitment into question. So - to preserve his good name - he's hidden behind a Moot Order.

But there are a couple of things which don't stack up in my feline head.

First of all, how can you preserve a good name which you haven't got any longer? Hiding behind an expensive Moot Order doesn't undo facts about unpalatable behaviour; facts are facts are facts - and they can't be changed. It just proves that we have the best judicial system that money can buy - and it also demonstrates that a fool and his groats are soon parted. And however carefully they're suppressed, eventually truths come seeping out.

Another non sequitur is this: if Mr Lugs was so concerned to keep his name out of the grasp of the soothsayers, why did he sell his story to the soothsayer Dellimell, who is now at liberty to parade the sordid story to the universe and his dog? Did she offer him a more goodly sum of groats than the others? Did he take out the Moot Order so that he could sell his worthless tales to the highest bidder?

I asked Caedmon to explain this to me. He said he'd give it some thought. I'm still waiting for the answer - but I'm not expecting one.

An Easter Greeting

Caedmon writes: 

As before at Christmas, I'm giving my old Cat a break from his frenzied activities. He's such a busy creature: we humans can learn a great deal from him and his fellows. As Solomon says in the Proverbs, "Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways and be wise." I just wish that he would attend more to the things of the Church - but then, he's a creature who by definition doesn't share in responsibility for the Adamic Fall, therefore he doesn't have the same soteriological needs as we humans.

Today is Easter, when we celebrate our Saviour's resurrection from the dead. This is a glorious day - not because He isn't risen any other day of the year -  but because today brings these issues into sharp focus. He died, He lay buried, He rose again from the dead. History is unable to remove these facts.

The Church has many enemies ranged against it; these are dark days: in fact they are referred to as the Dark Ages by many godly and reflective people. But we are reminded at Eastertide that we are not simply on the winning side - we are on the side that has already won. Christ rose again from the dead - and there is nothing that anyone can do to reverse this. Therefore those enemies of the Christian Church and Gospel are not only losers - they have already lost their cause. They are simply working out their loss in various ways. Of course, the outward appearances suggest that they are winning the fight against the Lord of Hosts and His influence. But their victories are Pyrrhic and temporary. Death, evil, futility and hopelessness can't overcome Light and Life - it is simply impossible.

A Happy and blessed Easter to you all. And may the Light shine with increasing brightness upon us all.

Caedmon