Strike Me Pink, Bite Me Red

Well, the much-anticipated day has finally arrived. I've been so excited about it that I've been sleeping a lot better than usual. After a wonderful fish breakfast first thing this morning, I wandered from Caedmon's hovel to survey what was happening here in Streonaeshalch, and to gauge the mood of the people. Since I'm only a cat, I can make casual appearances, and no one gives my presence a moment's thought - if they even notice me at all.

My port of call was the local school - normally a hive of frenzied activity and noise. When I arrived there, it was closed as if the day were a Sunday. For a moment I wondered if I'd turned up far too early, since I have a different sense of time from human beings. But I didn't have to wait long before I noticed some bedraggled people arriving at the school gate wielding crudely crafted placards. They looked decidedly hung over, and their hair was dirty and unkempt. They were accompanied by myriads of flies. They didn't look at all like pedagogues; they more resembled the occupants of the hedgerows.

Soon, more people showed up with banners and bags of magic mushrooms, which I suspect were brought along to provide them with inspiration for the daunting task that lay ahead of them. After half an hour or so, there was a substantial crowd of educators with their mushrooms and placards. They started to drone, bawl, yell incoherently and jeer. I looked around to see the object of their vocal outburst, but I perceived no one. The mushrooms were evidently working.

In view of the fact that the school only has ten pedagogues on its staff at the most, I was intrigued by the high numbers of people protesting outside the gates, so out of curiosity, I edged a little nearer to the frenzied multitude. It didn't take me long to discern that the greatest majority of the happy throng weren't teachers at all. Their banners were carrying the insignia of the Redistributionist Workers Faction, which I happen to know is a professional political body consisting of magic mushroom addicts, no-hopers, wasters, political fanatics, ne'er-do-wells, luvvies, drunks, homeopaths and various other off-beat specimens of humanity. They all have one common denominator: despite the carefully-crafted name of their club, they have neither experience nor even a concept of industry or labour, since their revenue is provided from Northumbrian benefit groats. One of them staggered towards me with a malevolent gleam in his eye; I read the warning signs, and as my reflexes kicked in, I hastily sunk my teeth into his outstretched hand. I was pleased with the resulting cuts from my needle-sharp gnashers and his howl of protest, but decided I ought to take evasive action and climb a tree to avoid retribution.

Some passers-by - men and women on their way to their market stalls, fields and workshops - growled and sneered at them as they walked by. They too seem to understand that this Strike is a cause celebre for those who regard a life of Riley at public expense as a Divine Right while ordinary mortals suffer the deprivations consequent to over-taxation.

I wonder what will happen when the supply of magic mushrooms runs out? It would be tempting to assume that most of them would wake up from the illusion they've fondly carried around with them. But I suspect that some of them are so ingrained with the collective Redistributionist mentality that an alternative would be too horrible for them to contemplate. I only hope the blood from that protester's hand wasn't contaminated with fly agaric toxins. All the same, I can understand why Leo gets enthusiastic about his fantasy lunches...

Fostering Lost To Posturing

...If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do? (Psalm 11:3)

As much as it grieves me to have to do so, I have to make a confession: I'm getting world-weary and fed up. I attribute my existential ennui to my excessive and morbid interest in the realms of human institutions and politics; there seems to be a flow of drivel coming from the Witangemot, its representatives and the soothsayers - and it's an unrelenting and toxic mixture of disinformation, dissimulation, hypocrisy and cant, with more than a fair share of random goalpost relocation. It's small wonder that humans are so apathetic about such things - unless, of course they become politicians themselves; when that happens, all sort of exciting vistas open up and the world suddenly takes on an unreal glow...

Let me give you a recent example of the cretinous world of human life in this lovely country of Northumbria. Some time ago a godly couple decided that they would like to extend their Christian charity and foster a foundling. (In our morally lax day and age, it's commonplace for loose-living young women to anonymously dump their newlyborn spawn onto the doorsteps of the Abbey or some church and expect some charitable soul to take the tiny mite in and give it a sound upbringing - if the poor bairn doesn't die first.) Since the time when the malevolent Northumbrian State was first involved, the whole process has been gradually and steadily politicised - in keeping with their idiotic social agendas. Because of this, the couple in question had been legally denied the right to foster the child they'd kindly taken to their home and hearts. Why? - Simply because they refused to compromise their Christian beliefs and principles and teach the child that it's perfectly natural and acceptable to lie, cheat, say that white is black, and wrong is right - and to pull wings off butterflies. (There are other issues that I won't go into - this is a family show...)

In other words, the Northumbrian State - ruled by our noble King Alhfrith and administered by the Witangemot government (headed up by Caedmeron - the Supreme Allied Commander-In-Chief and Chief Cock and Bluebottlewasher of the Tree/Liberationist Alliance factions) hates the values from the teachings of the Bible and the Holy Catholic Church and prefers to see generations of children grow up to be as twisted as he and his friends are. They must hate the Almighty as well. That's perilous ground to be on. You don't mess with Divinity - unless you don't give a rat's ass for your eternal soul...

Oh - and by the way - the child at the heart of this controversy is only an infant...

Caedmon is deeply unhappy about this, and so are the monks. So is the Abbess Hilda - she's furious: I could hear the explosion from a mile away. I reckon that the Bishop of Jarrow is going to get his ear bent imminently...

As for me, I'd much rather it were Caedmeron at the receiving end of the Abbess' verbal lashings. I'd love to help: I have a feline friend called Leo who would love to impart the fear of the Almighty into these secularising fools...

Love's Libraries Lost

As the Tree/Liberationist Alliance Witangemot administration approaches its 9^th month, the antipathy and resentment from the Redistributionists smoulders away. Not content to have taken 13 years of power to bring the Kingdom of Northumbria to colossal debt and the brink of bankruptcy, they continue to snipe and growl at any measures taken by the Alliance to address the economic problems they created. Each day brings yet another litany of public spending cuts, gleefully announced by Beeby See and the other soothsayers, who report it with the faux gravitas of a child snitching on a companion to the school headmaster.

The most recent furore has been about the reduction of services to the libraries. Since the Alliance is on a campaign to reduce public expenditure in a bid to reduce the gargantuan mountain of debt (kindly bequeathed by the Reds), it was deemed necessary by the central Witangemot to reduce the amount of money apportioned to local authorities. Consequently, various public sector jobs have been axed, and as I've already stated before, a multitude of diversity co-ordinators, pigeon psychologists, cat license administrators, fish quota accountants and environmental health enforcement officers have been released from the burdens of toil and wages. Furthermore, services like libraries have been obliged to continue with reduced numbers of librarians and archivists – and they've been forced to reduce their opening times. One of the soothsayers reported that a renowned novelist referred to the impact of expenditure cuts on libraries as tantamount to child-abuse. Most of the children brats I see don't haunt libraries in the first place – unless they're abnormally intelligent or geekish. To be seen entering such a place would reduce their status in the eyes of their contemporaries; to die in a shop window would be a more desirable alternative. They contribute to their own development by hanging around street corners, drinking mead, chewing magic mushrooms and behaving with the dignity and decorum of a herd of half-starved pigs when the swill arrives. I would love to introduce them to my mate Leo.

Absurdities like this are never far away from the public arena; Edweird the Milliner and Caedmeron recently had a lively exchange of views in the Witangemot over the strategy to reduce the Northumbrian debt. Weirdy postulated the all-familiar fantasy idea that the Alliance should have encouraged business in order to improve the economy – rather than reducing services to enable the debt to be paid off. Caedmeron countered that by asserting that you can't encourage business when the moneylenders aren't making loans – and anyway, you can't spend what you haven't got to get you out of the debt you're already in as a result of spending what you never had in the first place. (You didn't get that, did you?) Needless to say, the two leaders started to brawl. Edweird came off worse – he had two black eyes to add to the ones he already possessed.

It's amazing what theatrical stunts these clowns will pull to maintain their elaborate illusion. It's great entertainment – and it suitably occupies me until the next Ð Factor. I can't wait for Erik the Pickle to appear on 'Strictly Come Morris Dancing'…

History - Whose Story?

All this tormented feline brain wants to do is to switch into standby mode, relax and purr, stalk a few small rodents and birds - and have some semblance of normality.

Unfortunately there are so many things happening in the human realm that get my whiskers itchin' and my tail a-twitchin'. (And by the way, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the ways of the cat kingdom, a cat's twitching tail is generally a sign of hostility and annoyance - not the delirious expression of pleasure so beloved of the unreflective mutt community.)

Let me explain my unrest. Edweard the Milliner appeared in the sacred portal of the soothsayer Beeby See recently - a place that he and his ilk are known to haunt with monotonous regularity, given the more than evident sympathy that the allegedly impartial Beeby See displays for the Redistributionists. He was asked by Beeby's minor stooge Maerr whether the Redistributionist Faction accepted any responsibility for the state of the economy of Northumbria, since it was under the previous Red Witangemot administration that the financial collapse first manifested itself. An audible gasp was heard from all those humans who have a sense of perspective and aren't idiotised by the bread-and-circuses handouts of the ruling elite and the puerile knockabout of politics. Why were they shocked? Because Edweird the Milliner denied that the Red administration bore any responsibility for the mess of the Kingdom's finances.

As I recall (and Caedmon has confirmed this to me), the Red Faction held the Witangemot office for a full thirteen years. When they first took over from the Trees, who'd held office for years beforehand, the economy was thriving and the birds were singing. The good people of Streonaeshalch were going about their daily business, and life was comparatively good. This state of affairs continued for some time, and before long the Red chancellor - Guthmund the Brown - took the kudos for the stability of the Kingdom's finances. No more boom and bust. Whatever. In fact, he was simply claiming credit for the work of his predecessor, while selling off the Kingdom's gold to the Bulgars at bargain basement prices. After all - what did we need it for? Anyway, the money would come in handy for more diversity coordinators, pigeon psychiatrists and fish quota accountants. Full employment. Jobs for the pals. Big wages - loads of groats and fancy coats.

The moneylenders were given permission to do whatever they liked; life was good, and the living was easy. They started to take liberal doses of magic mushrooms, and consequently their collective judgement was impaired. They started to loan groats to goats and to sell debts to each other in an attempt to profit from these bizarre transactions. No. Really.  After a time, things started to unravel - as they always do when the fantasy bubble bursts.

And now Edweird the Milliner (I'll spell his name this way from now on - you don't mind, do you?) has denied that the Red administration had anything to do with the calamitous state of the economy. I'll tell you something: Feaxede the fox doesn't believe him. My big mate Leo doesn't, either.

But I'd bet my whiskers on the notion that there are human beings out there who do believe him. But can he just rewrite history like that? I don't think so. Truth has a nasty habit of catching up with those who repeatedly invent lies. The Creator defines truth - because He's the objective Truth behind everything. The likes of Ed Weird can fool other thinking humans, but they can't fool a cat, a fox or a big cat. And if they think they can fool the Creator, they're even bigger fools that I first thought.

Climate Conference Apprentice

I hear that one silver-haired member of the Witangemot Supreme Governing Council - a certain Húne - known as 'Horehound' - has been to some exotic location in Ultima Thule for an expensive drunken orgy conference dedicated to the eradication of Global Warming. For the benefit of the readers who might be blissfully unaware of this matter - this is a scare-story put about by soothsayers like Beeby See and the Witangemot which has been designed to frighten the public with apocalyptic stories of sea levels rising and enveloping poor frightened little polar bears. This - so they tell us - is because human beings have been lighting too many home fires and bonfires; blacksmiths and potters are particularly guilty of this, owing to their need for fires in their kilns and forges. The net result of this is that the amount of soot and other noxious gases released into the atmosphere is causing the temperature of the earth to increase. Whatever.

As I look out on this frosty landscape here in Streonaeshalch, I can't see for the life of me what they mean. I'm sure that there must be some reasonable justification for this story, but since the puddles here are frozen solid, the cattle troughs are full of ice and nobody ventures out into the freezing cold unless really necessary, I'm at a loss to see why they are so confidently asserting this. Since it comes from Beeby See and the Witangemot, it must be based on fantasy. The desired outcome for the political and soothsaying illusionists who put on stage plays for the unreflective members of the population is - wait for it - Money! They will raise lots of money by imposing additional taxes, leaving a population in poverty - and in fear of their lives should they be tempted to light a fire on a winter's day. I know how it works. Whatever.

I've been watching the entertainment known as 'The Apprentice' lately. Last night was the Final, when Father Simon the Cowl Aellan the Sugardaddy chooses between the two remaining contestants for the coveted prize of a place in his workshop. I would dearly love to get Húne and his other fairy-tale spinners into Egbert's pottery, coat them in glaze and shove them into his kiln - and shout, 'You're Fired!' Caedmon thinks that's very unChristian of me - but I keep telling him that's what happened to Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-Nego in the Book Of Daniel. I suppose Leo's cage is an alternative. Daniel knew about that, didn't he?

The Hard Cell

As well as the current obsession with the weather, the soothsayers are gabbling about the latest proposals by the Tree/Liberationist alliance concerning prison reform.


This whole issue is naturally saturated with the usual irony that permeates Politicoland. During the campaigns for the Great Count (where the sticks of voting members of the populace are counted from the respective bins of the faction candidates), each of the politicos took great pains to reassure the electorate that their faction would press for firm penalties against the miscreants and ne'er-do-wells who infest Northumbrian life. Thieves, robbers and other felons would be incarcerated. End of story. Full stop.


In reality, the prisons have been filling up at such  an alarming rate that the amount of available space for up-and-coming offenders is running out. Offenders are having to book their offences in advance. Prisons are now being crowded with people who have publicly used inappropriate language, or have been overheard to have voiced their concern about the excessive amount of attention and resources lavished upon the Vikings and other minority groups. Criminals - including elderly ladies - who have dropped apple cores in public spaces, or allowed their dogs to leave brown statements on the streets have been filling the cells at an alarming and unprecedented rate. Needless to say, the hardened killers, violent robbers and other villains have treated them with particular disgust, causing all manner of tensions within the prisons. Riots have been reported to have broken out, and some felons have been in fear for their lives. Beeby See has told us, and the other soothsayers have also joined the chorus. O tempus, O mores.


The Witangemot Supremo Clerk for Justice is a rotund buffoon with a dismissive, devil-may-care manner. He has decided that it would be in the interests of Northumbria (and justice) to allow the fly-agaric dealers, the bandits and the violent to be released from prison early so that the real criminals - the fly-tippers, the dog-foulers, the unlicensed cat owners and the public airers of unorthodox opinions - can serve their sentences and pay their debt to society. Magistrates at the Moots have been told to send the violent offenders on special courses so that they can become diversity co-ordinators and fish quota accountants. No kidding.


Needless to say, many ordinary people (when they're not occupied with The Ð Factor and the tittle-tattle surrounding it) are very alarmed and angry about this. Once again, a faction has broken its promises and has back-pedalled on a solemn pledge. It all looks so familiar - like the Liberationists, who before the Great Count took an oath declaring that they would never increase schooling fees. Of course, the Reds are shouting the odds about it all like drunken oafs. But the present administration is only continuing what they'd been doing for years.


As I see it through my green eyes, the biggest criminals are the puppets who dance and sing in the Witangemot. They have neither the moral insight nor the spheres to stand up and oppose this nonsense. They are paid well for their services. They can swan about, busy with their own importance - but I can see right through them. And even Caedmon - usually more concerned with sublime and eternal things - is starting to cotton on to the idea that these idiots are not the Lord's instruments for righteousness after all. When authority rewards the evil and punishes the good, something has gone terribly wrong. Where's the prison? Inside the cell - or out?


They all need a dose of Leo. I just need a strategy to get him out of that cage...

The Criminal Kingdom

Well, amid all the gloom-and-doom reports from the soothsayers about the snow and cold weather (attributed to global warming, which, we are told by Those Who Know, has been occasioned by the excessive use of bonfires and home fires by careless humans), a little ray of sunshine has emerged.

This little interval of light relief is connected with the disclosure of private correspondence and the substance of private conversations that I mentioned the other day. Yes - like the weather, it's an issue that rumbles on at a relentless and monotonous pace.

It would appear that some high-ranking official described the Kingdom of the Kievan Rus as a 'criminal state'. Shock and horror. The soothsayers have confidently told us (and they should know) that it's being run by a cabal of predatory gangsters and thugs who have - over a period of some years - jostled each other into positions of power, authority and wealth within that vast realm. If what we're given to understand is correct, there are no rulers who operate according to the principles of honesty, integrity and kindness.

What has caused the soothsayers to twitter all the more is that the aforesaid correspondence is also associating Borislav the King of the Kievan Rus with the same gangsters. So a kingdom that is powerful and influential within Christendom is actually a vipers' nest of thieves and murderous brigands. They are exploiting the poor through protection rackets under the guise of taxation and terrorising them with the sword. They are seizing lands and driving the original inhabitants out - without so much as a thank-you. They are milking the land of its natural mineral and vegetable resources and making a lot of money for themselves on the back of it all.

As a consequence of these disclosures, King Borislav has been obliged to unequivocally declare that he has nothing to do with such people. His Kingdom is a model of righteousness and integrity, and he has never compromised his good name. Whatever.

It makes me snigger behind my paw. The irony is exquisite and delicious. It's almost as entertaining as The Ð Factor ! I wonder how long it's going to be before our own King Alhfrith is going to have to publicly deny that he's power-mad, on the take, beating serfs with rods and entertaining floozies when the Queen isn't around? When is Caedmeron going to have to stand up in the Witangemot and publicly declare that he has never run a protection racket, broken a promise or sold magic mushrooms to small children? When is the Redistributionist leader - Edweard the Milliner - going to look his fellow humans in the eye and say with a straight face that he has never danced with the Devil? And one question keeps revising my feline cranium and it won't lie down: what makes everyone imagine that Northumbria is any different to the Kievan Rus? Are they eating the mushrooms?

I visited Leo in my travels yesterday; I like to see a cat whom I can admire and respect. Although he's in his cage, he's quite happy. He has plenty of meat, and his noble owner seems to like having him around. But I get the distinct feeling that Leo is biding his time, waiting for something. If he ever gets loose, he'll sort these petty despots out. And it won't be pretty.

A De-Christianised Christmas

The snowy weather continues here in the Kingdom of Northumbria; the soothsayers have been bleating incessantly about the disasters which are unfolding in the cold. They're such cheerful souls; I'd love to let my pal Leo free and introduce them to him: that would put their pessimistic world view in a new perspective! The more I think about it, the more attractive the idea becomes. I'm sure Leo would love to meet them, too. He has a hearty appetite - which probably explains his halitosis problem. I'll have to recommend fish to him - perhaps he needs a change from raw meat..

One piece of gossip that has been coming to the fore is that Caery - a previous Archbishop of Canterbury - has launched an initiative to help Christians bring back some self-confidence - especially at a time when the Witangemot factions have been doing their level best to change the culture and de-Christianise the Kingdom. The latest example of their insanity is the instruction that Christmas is no longer to be called Christmas. To me, the whole idea is barmy - as is the reason that these dunderheads give for the policy. Their fatuous rationale is that they want a fair and egalitarian Kingdom where minorities like the Vikings can feel that they aren't being excluded by the Christian majority or offended by the Christian religion. I know a few Vikings who have settled around here, and the idea of Christmas doesn't cause them to burst into tears or leap about in paroxysms of rage. In fact, they have their Yultid festival around the same time, and I know that they like to get the best of both worlds. They also respect the Christian faith - although they worship their own gods. How do I know? - Because I've seen them and gatecrashed some of their gatherings. Although they like to come across to the Anglo-Saxon majority as a bunch of sombre sword-wielding thunderers, they're actually good fun - and - contrary to popular opinion - they don't spitroast cats over an open fire. If that were the case, I don't think I need to say any more..

The problem is not the Vikings. The real troublemakers are the Witangemot illusionists and puppets, because they've managed (through the substantial inducements of their wealthy paymasters) to grease the soothsayers' palms to make sure that they parrot out the same old tedious egalitarian drivel and scare stories. I suppose they think that if they tell people often enough that Christianity is a Bad Thing, they'll eventually believe it. Some are doltish enough to be taken in by it all. For my part, I would love to see the Abbess Hilda dealing with these people. She wouldn't take any prisoners. Caedmon says he wouldn't wish the Abbess on his worst enemy - and I believe him.

So - what of Christmas and Christianity? Well, I don't see any change here. The monks carry on their services and prayer. Christmas is still a time for contemplation of the Redeemer's birth. Politicians and their fanciful agendas come and go - but some things are permanent and immovable because they're divine in origin. Caedmon and the monks aren't bothered. Frankly - neither am I.