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.
Saturday, 20 June 2015
On The March
Tuesday, 2 June 2015
The entire civilised Dark Ages world is reeling; these are dark and foreboding times, dear readers. The soothsayers have been chirping and bleating about the same matter for ages now, and in reaction to their latest outburst, the entire Northumbrian population is wandering in a state of ashen faced bewilderment, barely comprehending the gravity of the news that has so suddenly imposed itself upon their consciousness.
Schlep the Bladder has resigned. Weep, ye heavens, and be amazed. Blow your nose.
After a reign of thirteen thousand years upon the Holy Roman Empire Football Association - a realm characterised by steadfast righteousness, integrity, honesty, humility, civility and biscuit - Schlep has been deposed by a cabal of power-hungry ruffians, mountebanks and professional bribe collectors after falsely charging him with being an incorruptible good egg.
The entire world is waiting with baited hooks and breath, wondering what is going to happen next.
Your Cat is wondering how this news is going to affect the feline population. I've worried about it for all of fifteen nanoseconds...