Named And Shamed

Aside from all the arrests and the ongoing discussions colorectal statement-slinging of the politicos and the soothsayers concerning the Great Prince Ruprecht Evil-Merodach Eavesdropping Scandal, I've a great piece of news to share which will doubtless bring some welcome beams of joy to our present dark and foreboding landscape. 

The new baby daughter of Dagwald Baecern – the inarticulate but fabulously wealthy former mascot of the renowned Madcaster Untied football team has been named. Hooray for Bekkers! What a great day for such auspicious news! 

Ever since word got out that the latest addition to the substantial Baecern tribe had entered this vale of tears, the entire Northumbrian Kingdom has been anxiously waiting for an official pronouncement concerning the name of the new mite. Moreover, the iconic Baecern name is widely known beyond these shores, and in the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire) and even within the distant, legendary shores of Ultima Thule, people have also been eagerly listening out. 

Dagwald Baecern exemplifies everything that makes our lovely Kingdom of Northumbria and its politics and its entertainment so great and desirable. It's a story of rags to riches; born in a bakery in the East Saxon Kingdom, Dagwald dazzled his contemporaries by his formidable control over a pig's bladder, and his ability to propel it through the air in a curved trajectory has earned him a fearsome reputation as a penalty kicker. Many a time he has rescued Madcaster Untied and the Kingdom squad from ignominious defeat by a well-aimed kick. Many shins have permanently suffered as a consequence. 

But Baecern is a modest, uneducated and simple man, who quietly married a shy prima donna entertainer called Viradecthis – a girl of equally humble origins and wildly expensive tastes. They live modestly in a palace, surrounded by servants and their formidable tribe of children. The soothsayers have found them to be an endless source of interest – despite Dagwald's inability to string two coherent sentences together. What has provided the soothsayers with a significant amount of material to disseminate through the Kingdom is their bizarre choice of names for their progeny. 

And the name of the latest addition to the Baecern clan is called Wade Eleven And Three Quarters. A pretty name, isn't it? I believe she was named after Dagwald's footballer colleague Wade Rune. 

Nevertheless, I expect the little mite will grow up to be ashamed of her name – along with those who inflicted it upon her. My prediction is that when she's grown up, she'll change it to something anonymous like Winifred – or Ethel. Such a pity…

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...

All's Fair In Love And War..

Despite the fact that I'm a cat - a member of the animal kingdom - I'm nevertheless intimately familiar with the language, social habits and values of humankind. This is attributable to the fact that I've spent the greatest part of my life in the company of humans - and Caedmon in particular. I owe to him a great deal of my understanding of what makes people tick, and I've consequently acquired the ability to observe people and form my own conclusions.


Anglo-Saxons are - for the most part - a noble breed, with a highly developed sense of justice and fair play, and unlike their more excitable continental counterparts, they possess a disposition which is markedly reserved and undemonstrative; they're also masters of understatement, which is usually accompanied with a subtle hue of underlying sarcasm. Less reflective foreigners perceive Anglos to be placid and taciturn, but this isn't generally the case. Of course there are always exceptions to the rule; every settlement has its resident hothead or blabbermouth.


All this considered, I've found it not a little surprising that Cyrstréow of Blodfag, the wife of previous Witangemot leader Tondbert of Blodfag has recently publicly divulged quite intimate details about her relationship with husband. As a result, the soothsayers have been twittering endlessly like awakening birds in the Dawn Chorus. One consequence of this is that Caedmeron - Supreme Allied Commander-In-Chief and Head Cock and Bluebottle Washer of the Tree/Liberationist Alliance Administration - has suddenly decided to singlehandedly declare war of the land of Cyrene and its demented, psychopathic, khat-chewing despot O'Daffy. Perhaps he wants to inspire admiration in his missus too: stranger reasons have underlined military and political decisions…


Following the Mesopotamian and Bactrian military fiascos which deprived countless people of their lives, Tondbert of Blodfag deservedly earned for himself (and his fly agaric-led Redistributionist Faction) a reputation for bloodlust, rapacity, duplicity and treachery - all achieved through a silken tongue and a stage presence worthy of an accomplished actor. To give him credit, Caedmeron hasn't resorted to subterfuge to justify battling with O'Daffy and his psychotic cut-throats; the Anglo-Saxon sense of fair play appears to be the principal motive. The revenue from Cyrenian olive oil, silks and spices may incidentally have some bearing on it - but nobody ever mentions that. On the other hand, this could simply be the implementation of a devious plan by the power-crazed megalomaniac King Jose Borracho and his half-witted henchman Hermit to bring yet another country under the yoke of the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire)..


For my part, I don't give a monkey's about the Blodfag marriage or - how it works; it appears to me that they're displaying the prurient mentality of the vile soothsayers - and the imbeciles who lap up their scatological offerings..


I'm sure they have earned a great deal of awe and respect from the window-lickers. They've earned none of mine.

The Rigged Riot Factor

Things are tumultuous here in Streonaeshalch and in the Kingdom of Northumbria. It appears that  The Ð Factor is rigged. A contestant from the show - a portly Irishwoman with a loud voice - lost her place in the running following a poor vote and promptly disclosed this devastating piece of information to the eager soothsayers, who - in characteristic fashion - have disseminated this news throughout the Kingdom.


The consequences have been catastrophic; myriads of young people have been rioting on the streets and creating wanton damage, and hundreds of costumed municipal thugs have been mobilised on the streets in an attempt to contain the rioting youngsters. Reports of disturbing conduct have filtered through; one child was seen urinating on a municipal monument, and another was seen climbing it and hanging from it like a drunken monkey. Thousands of groats' worth of damage has been reported.


In one incident, Prince Ethelbert and Princess Cartimandua were besieged by a rabble of youths demanding vengeance. Understandably, the nobles were alarmed and dismayed by the outburst. So was I; it simply wasn't necessary. The ordinary people of Streonaeshalch have been very unhappy with the turn of events.


The Witangemot have announced a state of emergency - which gives their costumed thugs free license to apprehend and beat up anyone they wish - whether innocent or not. Needless to say, many scores are settled during such exigencies...


Simon the Cowl and Brendan the Monk have gone into hiding; the organisers of the contest are in fear for their lives.


I can't help feeling that there's more to this than meets the eye. I wonder if this is yet another example of events being manipulated in order to suit the nobles, the King and to achieve some devious objective?


Tonight's show is going to be very interesting - if it's allowed by the Witangemot to proceed. I hope the Card'll win.

Rune-y Tunes

It's not only the politicians who are the subject of conversation in the town. I've heard a lot of people - mainly men - talking about Wade Rune. I asked Caedmon who he was; he told me that he's a young man who plays a team sport with a pig's bladder called football. He's a very wealthy young fellow, because he plays for one of the best-supported teams in the Northumbrian kingdom - Madcaster United. Even the accursed Vikings have heard of him.

Why are the townspeople talking about Wade? Seemingly it's because he recently played a different kind of game with Madcaster United's Pictish manager MacFergus; he indicated that he didn't want to play for the team any more. This created an enormous hoo-ha with the soothsayers, who immediately concluded that he would go and play for Madcaster Town and so they proceeded to pronounce doom on United, placing it under the most abominable curses. But the crisis didn't last very long; Wade Rune has changed his tune and generously agreed to continue to play for Madcaster United, and everyone has breathed a huge sigh of relief. Well - not everybody. Rune was wealthy before this took place, and he's going to be even richer now. The Streonaeshalch men are very resentful of him, since they still have to work hard for very little; Rune only has to fart, and he's already generated thousands of groats.

I think it's great. Rune can afford to buy a kingdom if he wants to - and a cat sanctuary for poor moggies who have fallen on hard times. I've heard that he's very keen on old kitties..