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Archive for the ‘History’ Category

 

We love the life of a Jolly Jack Tar.  Nothing better than a day unfurling a spanker or two and gazing up into the mizzen mast and worrying about the Doldrums.

Whilst up aft for’d we pass the time by singing a shanty.

Here are a few we croon;

• Me Auld Girl’s Blowhole
• Johnny’s Tinkler Is Inflamed
• After 3 Years At Sea Duncan Is Now Dorothy
• I’ve Been Bent Over A Barrel or 2
• Tug Me Rope
• When I Rub Me Barnacles I’m Thinking Of Me Jessie
• Blow Me Back To Blighty On A Good Stiff ‘Un
• Lord Nelson Swung Both Ways

Anyway the west wind blows fare – so adieu me hearties – sing along to this classic!

 

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Oily

There is a squeak on my wardrobe door. Every time I open the door my pet Budgie goes into a catatonic state.

I’ve tried a wide range of ungents, moisturisers and gels all to no avail.

Will you pop in and see me to use your abundant reservoirs of natural emulsifiers to quieten the darn door and give my Budgie the peace she craves and deserves?

Ariadne, Ullapool

Hello Ariadne

I will slip by anytime to check on your wardrobe door.

I have a vast array of elixirs and pungent purifying potions which will need to be applied on the hinges of your wardrobe doors, and locks. And your buttocks. That should do the trick. Whilst there maybe I can tell you about the new company I am setting up, Long and Hard Productions.

Looking for a new PA and I feel you will fit the bill perfectly.

Squeakily yours

Oily

 

 

 

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Hello,

Regular readers of my lies will know I recently joined the reincarnee’s dating agency, “Have We’ve Met B4?”  (www.previouslovepreviouslives.com)

I have met a lovely man! Called Lionel.

In his previous life he was  Julius Caesar and was building Hardrian’s Wall.

Today he works in a brick factory and has built a brick wall in his back bedroom. It’s lucky he works in a brick factory isn’t it!

He regularly pours boiling oil over passers by and on Friday crucified a man who was selling flannels door to door.  The Police have had a word with him about this.  As you would expect.

He explained the misunderstanding and bought a couple of flannels as a peace offering.

I’m going round for Tea tonight. Traditional dress.  I’m a bit worried.  My hammer toes aren’t really set off by a sandal. Still hopefully the inflatable Christian I have bought from www.slaughterthereligous.com should keep his mind off my pudgy tootsies.

I am taking a sherry trifle for pudding.

Agnes

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gingercrowd

THE GINGER SCROLLS – PART  2 THE DEPARTURE CONTINUED……

You can read Part 1 here

 

Friend,

I remain nameless but deign not to remain silent. For my people, a gentle friendly Volk with arms outstretched in friendship for all they come across, remain afloat on their small lard hair vessels, tormented by the loss of their lands and kin.

But lo! Just as our tragedy told, seemed to beckon all hope to the shadowy leather bucket of Norsglkiadrtothonotom we received message in form of salvation from great Lord Protector. Galleothon.

Once a mighty warrior who challenged evil to a mime war and boldly saw evil from the door when he did his smiley face, Great Galleothon protector of our beliefs and spirits in times good as well as those tainted by sadness and despair had come to us. The incant of Galleothon was heard across the heavens in the defence and protection of his people;

earth

We fall grim destiny

Locked upon a baleful wind

That draws us toward a future unknown

Oh Land! Oh ice and snow

What befalls us cannot stay

We shall weep but we vow to return one day

A promise made is a lie denied

seal

Krol climbed the mast of his boat and bade us to listen to his warbling message. He took blood from his wrists and scrawled in a proud fist upon the spider’s web sail that sought the winds solace for our benefit. By his luck he wrote in a smallish hand stemming blood loss but those of us with eyesight weak had to squint mightily to read the tiny words.

We are free

Doubt not your heart

We can see

No end but a start

We sail to Deep South

For have no doubt

Galleothon will guide us well

Away from this cruel swell

To calmer water

That is free of slaughter

 

easter 2

And on we sailed, for once the steel of cold sadness tempered by the thought of new homes and fates with land for us to till in return for our friendship and fealty. Each day we forged further, Mother Sun would appear for longer time, her warmth on our faces and her kindness rekindling our spirits.

The land of the Notalots beckoned……

 

everest copy

 

To be continued….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I was in Tesco’s rummaging amongst the mangoes with a view to buying one for my pudding this evening.  As I popped a fruit into my trolley, I felt a tad woozy and a touch fey.

I had an insatiable desire to free my people from the yoke of Roman tyranny.

The spirit of Boadicea, Queen of the Iceni had entered me!

I applied Brobat Blue woad and with my wonky wheeled trolley chariot, I sought vengeance on the spotty youth oppressing me with her inability to locate the dried apricots in the Storeroom.

She was no underpaid wage slave of questionable literacy and numeracy skills but a Roman oppressor!

I rented the air with a cry of “Death To The Romans!”

The Romans formed a Shield Wall using tins of Kidney, Baked and Borlotti Beans. The cunning curs!

Sadly my uprising came to an abrupt halt when the wonky wheel of the accursed trolley chariot fell off and I skidded to a halt by the tinned fish shelf (Pilchards on special offer by the way).

Mango anyone?

Regards,

Agnes

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gingercrowd

We posted a week or two ago about the great scrolls found in a Canister in Norway by Robert Hamstrangler, Norway’s greatest anthropologist and hot water blower upper that told the story of Ginger Volk.

You can read Part 1 Here; Part 2 Here; Part 3 Here, Part 4 HerePart 5 Here, Part 6 Here, Part 7 Here and Part 8 Here.

Following the tremendous reaction garnered around the world and beyond we are pleased and nearly honoured to bring you  Part 2 of The Scrolls.

There remains a debate amongst egg heads about Part 2. This is because it is not universally accepted by the shadowy Supreme Ginger Council that the Scrolls are indeed an accurate portrayal of the history of the ginger people and have in fact been completely made up.

This view has already featured on BBC 2’s excellent documentary series, “Smug bastards with nothing to be smug about being smug about things that nobody really cares about but allows them to travel the world, doinking dusky maidens and prattle on about the future of the Planet”.

Sadly our budget only stretches to sausage and chips in the local café served by Hilary a part-time orthodontic technician with a phobia for railings.

As with Part 1, an editorial decision has been taken to focus on the story and leave out the more technical elements contained in the Scrolls. This is particularly pertinent to one item.

The lard hair boats. 

For those interested in discovering more about lard hair boats we recommend;

“Fat and Follicles – Ghingar boat building techniques and methods” by Douglas Sandwell OUP (635 pages and a pop up keel).

“Sculpting in Lard – fat myth or fat fiction? – Douglas Sandwell – OUP 230 pages (Out of print).

THE GINGER SCROLLS – PART  2 THE DEPARTURE CONTINUED……

The Story So Far; The remnants of the Ghingar have been forced to flee their loved homeland in the north as a result of attacks by the warlike tribes, the Hups, Cups, Jups and Lups who blamed the Gingars for the famine and joylessness visited upon their own lands by the refusal of the Sun to return to them after the long winter months.

Making good their escape in the lard hair boats designed by Rep the Carpenter, the remaining Ginghars are dealt a further blow by the suicide of their beloved Princess Treytel after her betrothed Vos, turned into a dolphin.

Only the brave words and sincere heart of the warrior Krol girded their loins. At the end of Part 1, the Great Lord Protector,  Archangel Galleothon arises from the deep of the deep bits of the ocean to provide the heartbroken folk with hope and succor for their long journey into the southern seas and their untold future.

Their great journey now unfolds like a Cos lettuce leaf in a Waldorf salad. Enjoy.

We begin with Vos’ Lament for the death of his love Treytel……..

When told of her death he could not be solaced by friendly hand or pilchard snack as befitted a part man part Dolphin. Deep, deep into the eyes of Krol did Vos look as he bobbed in the swelling sea. Aghast at the news of the death of his love he forgot to float and sank into the deep. He hoved into view and cried out these words;

Stitch my wounds they have come undone

Rebind the ties that tether me to sanity

My heart bleeds useless sentiment

As I visit your memory

This breaking, raw, flailing pain

Swirls with unctuous ease

Around my mind

As to what if and perhaps

 

Youthful, stubborn pride

Earnest wishes of a mendicant fool

Return to me stolen years

Of the loss of you

 

Cold cold my mind’s eye now lies

No longer towards the sun and future untold

But to hoar frost breath of far behind

earth

The Sun’s rays fall cold upon my soul

Embers of their fires warm no part of me

I am frozen in essence and form

Bereft of all that I know to be true

If I had known what I know now

I would have died for the memory of you

No love will conquer your loss

No hope will instill peace in me

This septic, taunting pain endures

As brute reminder to my folly

seal
Friend, tell me how to forget her

Because I cannot

I will not, shall not

My last breath shall shape your name

My last thought shall capture your smile

My last heartbeat will be broken

And when the worms that will dine on me rest

They shall spell your name

 

easter 2

Rip and tear my flesh

I have no need of it now

Salt these opened sores

A foolish life I have made

But a life I know must be lived

And true

To all those things

I hold dear 

everest copy

 

You above all

I wish you well

As I depart dead hopes

Now decaying and pustulant

But like a child’s first unsteady steps

There will be a world of untrampled dreams

To set foot upon once more with undisguised glee

I love you

But I must source peace

To tie me to sanity’s calm purpose


Tears soaked our cheeks as these words, whispered with a sadness as was never heard before or since, fell upon our souls like the dust from a traveller’s sandals.

Vos fell beneath the water as the life of the careworn mariner in the northern seas bade him to come forward. Like Treytel, he too was now lost to us.

To be continued….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Oily,

I am afraid of the dark. As a Vampire this causes issues regarding my work-life balance.

I’ve lost my torch.

Vlad, Bucharest

Oily Replies;

Vlad, I once shot a camp vamp romp in Voslovovitrichbitchstitchvitch.

Early 90’s. Wonderful part of the world. The rolling mountains like a fair maiden’s heaving bosoms. Except with goats on them.

The women were very hairy and manly. May well have been men now I think about it. The alleyway was dark, the local brew strong.

As she tenderly growled she picked me up and threw me over her shoulder assuring me that Igor was a girl’s name in that part of the world. And who was I to argue. Especially with two broken ribs.

As the song goes “Fang Heaven for little girls……..”

Oily

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