Caedmon was an early English Christian poet who lived in Whitby in the 7th century. The writer of this blog has no pretensions to such exalted gifts, and for this reason (as well as the fact that the name has already been taken) has chosen his Cat. They say that a cat can look at a king; this cat certainly does that. He's also had a good Christian education from his master, and he's quite prepared to use it when necessary.
Tuesday, 20 September 2011
What Goes Round..
As the Liberationists' Annual Unfortunates' Outing And Picnic gathers momentum amid all the clamour and tumult in the illicit camp of Rosedale Farm, it's gratifying to know that someone has seized the initiative. Hooray for Common Sense!
Húne the Horehound - a discredited and dissolute luminary of the Liberationists' Faction - has been pontificating to the assembled window-lickers about Saving The Planet and Protecting The Poor Little Polar Bears from the Rising Tide of Melting Icecaps. Bless.
This brilliant man - whose natural intelligence is as highly elevated as his awe-inspiring moral credentials - has advocated that the destitute and long-suffering Northumbrian public should endure the biting cold of the Northumbrian winters and forgo their home fires - because they contribute a great deal of smoke into the atmosphere, which causes the world's climate to heat up to boiling point. Reports coming from the Sacred Mushroom Leader of the Global Warming Cult Who Is Never Wrong - His Holiness Archbishop Georges Moonbat - have stated that cod and haddock can already be fished from the polar seas ready-cooked and ready to eat. Fast food! Yummy!
To solve this Colossal Conundrum, the Horehound has proposed that a greater number of windmills be built in the Kingdom, so that the rapidly warming air can cool as they rotate. And all the people can also have the benefit of freshly ground flour with which to bake their bread and cakes, since this will be a useful by-product of the rotating blades. It'll certainly cut out a lot of back-breaking work for the women of the households, who have to labour over the querns each day to grind their grain.
I think it's a brilliant idea - particularly for Húne and his lovely friends; they're the ones who profit from the building of the windmills. I'm sure they'll huddle and shiver in their opulent houses like the rest of the public. I wonder what King Alhfrith and the potty-mouthed Queen Hillida think of the idea? I bet they're willing to give it a go...
But there's one slight problem that Húne hasn't addressed. And I don't believe that his magic mushroom-chewing friends have thought about it either. How can the Northumbrian people benefit from the new technology of windmills and ready-ground flour if they've already frozen to death in their unheated homes from the combined cold of the winter and the chill factor of the rotating sails?
Either Húne the Horehound is incredibly depraved - or simply barking mad/stupid. Having carried out a straw poll among my friends Caedmon, Feaxede the Fox, the Abbess Hilda and the monks, the consensus is that he's both.
I hope that the Costumed Thugs come over soon and evict these Liberationists from Rosedale Farm - and drive them from the camp. I've come to the conclusion that they do more harm than good...
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