The 2016 A to Z Blog Challenge Shock News

The new look Letter A design for 2016

I have decided that I will probably do the 2016 A to Z thing. But I am unprepared and still do not have my new glasses, so at present I can not see stuff properly (Glasses due in the next couple of days). However I am a very old hand at doing A to Z's and have written them on the day and also like last year pre planned and all worked out well in advance. A huge amount of work went into last years A to Z and so this year I will be keeping it simple and doing what I can do with almost no effort whatsoever and that is write very bad poetry. . . Yes everyone loves a bit of bad poetry and if I do take the plunge so to speak, and you like short bad poems then this might just be the place to visit. 

I have put some of my little drawings through a scrambler and that is going to save me drawing 26 new pictures, I mean no one wants to see the same pics as last year or the year before or the year before that and so on. And you will be pleased to hear I have no plans to do it twice this year either as that is just mad (OK I have done that a couple of times in the past but then I might be a bit mad . . . after all I am a Scot).

OK so there you have it, you  heard it here first . . . Rob Z Tobor will (probably) be doing the A to Z, I plan to leave joining the list to the last minute in order to add some suspense to the whole affair. But should for any reason I end up missing the end of the list I will do it (probably) even if I'm not on the list because I am a rebel (sort of. . . .a bit)

You Have Been Warned

Poetry for an unspeakable beast . . . Read at your own risk

Beware the great Ryeatolical

A beast that is quite diabolical

With slime oozing from its nose

And waxy substances between its toes

Its teeth black and its tongue bright green

It is the nastiest beast ever seen

So beware the great RyeatolicaL

As it sings of decomposing stuff

While eating rancid Hedgehog

With old bits of bitter soap

And mouldy bread that’s lost all hope

Beware its gaze, its small red eyes

And don’t believe its little lies

As it says it’s your best friend

Or you might meet an untimely end

So beware the great Ryeatolical

As it hides in the dark under your bed

Never go near it, if has not been fed

Its acrid breath makes it hard to breathe

And never turn your back on it

And try to leave

And never look it directly in the eye

Or for certain you are going to die

So beware the great Ryeatolical

Those clawing scaly distorted hands

And its rather strange armpit glands

And never ever read this poetry

If the great Ryeatolical

You don’t want to see

Because if you do

You will find

It has crept up on you

From

Behind

HAH ahah ahha ha ha ha ha ha ha

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

ha ha aha ha

HA HA HHA

Ha ha

Ha

 . . . . . . . . . . . O Dear. . . . . . . . . . . . 

The Poetic Fable of the Wise Old Man

A wise old man puffs his Rum-Pipe as dusk falls

Listening to the forests strange and eerie calls

Telling travelling strangers as they pass his way

Of the terrible dangers of the forest day

And how to avoid the Grumble Spit and other beasts

Which turn passing strangers into delicious feasts?

But first they must slip a shiny coin into his hand

Or they will never survive their passage across the land

And as the wise old man puffs his Rum-Pipe as dusk falls

Listening to the forests strange and eerie calls

He tells the travellers of the man eating Spiky Rat

And the Willowy Fire Beast and the Poisonous Gnat.  

There are of course some who say the old man is quite mad

But the travelling strangers are always glad

When they pass through the forest safe and sound

As they travel far across unfamiliar ground

And at the end of the day

When the wise old man finally shuts his door

Many shiny coins into his piggy bank he does pour

Because he is far from being mad

you see

He is a wise and rather wealth old man

Poetry for Long John Silver . . . . . and a horse

Clip Clop

Clip Clop

Long John Silver

Clip Clop

Clip Clop

Riding through the Glen

Clip Clop

Clip Clop

Long John Silver

Clip clop

Clip clop

And his Merry Men

Clip clop

Clip clop

Shiver me Timbers

Clip clop

Clip clop

A bottle of Rum

Clip Clop

Clip Clop

Long John Silver

Clip Clop

Clip Clop

The Parrot ate Ben Gunn

 Clip Clop

Clip Clop

Make the horse walk the plank

Clip Clop

Clip Clop

HAH AH AH haha haha ha ha ha ha ha hah a ha haha haha ha ha ha ha

A ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

Ha ha ha ha h a h a

Clip Clop

Clip Clop

.

.

.

.

.

SPLASH

The Lost World of the Japanese Crayfish Jousters

I have noticed that just lately some very nice person or persons in Japan has been reading my ever so humble blog this is very encouraging indeed. I mean if it appeals to the Japanese then I will see this as a positive bit of street cred and must mean that my blog is now some sort of minority cult. All the best cult blogs are read by just a small number of folk, particularly folk in Japan. So for the benefit of my Japanese readers I am repeating an old post for him/her/them . . . . I hope you like it and thanks for reading.    

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Once upon a time back in darkest history when Knights were Knights and villagers would scream and run about in fear of large dragons that breathed fire at all sorts of stuff, and wizards would cast spells turning large grown men into frogs or would turn slugs into small rodents or cats into violin strings. It was quite common for small children when asked what they would like to do when they grew up, to all shout I WANT TO BE A JAPANESE CRAYFISH JOUSTER. Their fearsome reputation and the adulation of the massed crowds who would shower them in small bits of Halibut and gold coins made them the heroic figures of the day. Yes the Japanese Crayfish Jousters were known across the known world of the time and the spectacle of huge crayfish charging at one another across the arena was something to behold as both beast and man were covered in gold and jewels and showed no fear.

Of course such things never last and as time pasted and the fables and legends of the past faded into the lost corners of history when asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, small children would then shout I WANT TO BE A TRAIN DRIVER OR AN ASTRONAUT the dreams of the Japanese Crayfish Jousters lost for ever.

But even those, the simple dreams of small children have changed in just a few years, as the dark shadows of the corporate world and obsession with media penetrated the very soul of mankind. Because if you say to a group of small children now, what do you want to be when you grow up, they will all shout I WANT BE THE WINNER OF A TALENT SHOW ON TELEVISION, PLAY FOR MAN UTD . . . . . ..   AND HAVE BIG BOOBS.  But one day in the future a very nice man called say maybe Steven Spielberg will think Japanese Crayfish Jousters what a great idea for a block buster film and then once again everyone will want to be Japanese Crayfish Jousters like the old days.   . . . We can but hope. 

Poetry for Slugs

Slugs are slow and create a trail of slime

And can travel surprisingly far given time

Creating slimy trails upon your floor

On the carpet and on the door

And at night when you are asleep in bed

So you will find you wake up with a slimy head

And slimy feet and slimy hair

Which if you like slugs then you will not care

Slugs are friendly critters and tend to smile

Although some folk insist they are rather vile

But they really are happy beasts and like to sing

As they eat all your nice new plants in the Spring

However they live in fear of the scary toad

And will tell him the slugs are greener across the road

And when the toad starts to cross, to go and see

All the slugs will start to flee

In order to hide under your gardening hat

Hoping that on the road the toad

Goes Splat

Brussels, terrorism and the ramblings of an old man

Today has seen yet another terrorist act in the world this time in Brussels, but behind each of these events is a complex and often distorted set of viewpoints by those who commit these acts.  One of the great anomalies of mankind is the difference between those who have and those who have nothing. I am lucky I have a nice home and eat well and have the opportunity to learn and give my opinion. Hundreds of millions of people don’t get the same chances in life; many millions are often given little or no choice in even the basics of life.  Just look at the present state of Syria, hundreds of thousands of ordinary people are desperate to leave a country consumed by war and hate and see the rest of Europe as a possible safe place to go. Yet the rest of Europe are now looking to find ways of stopping these people arriving, with politicians justifying their reasons to refuse to help with various excuses and paying other countries to deal with the problem in order to be seen to be doing their bit to help. Events such as today's make it even harder for ordinary refugees from Syria to get to Europe as people become increasingly paranoid about the Muslims that live in Europe already.

Of course this is the very point of these bombings, they are perpetrated in order to encourage fear and hate between countries and religions which sadly appears to be working as time passes. I don’t know what that the answer is to these events as the people who undertake these terrorist acts do it because they believe they are right. Let’s face it no one is going to blow themselves up for a cause they don’t believe in.  Which brings us back to the great inequalities of the human race across the world, I can’t help but think part of the reason for extremist starts with a feeling of social injustice. The leaders of many terrorist groups prey on the vulnerable who feel pushed out of society or that society has suppressed them.  Maybe if there was less inequality  in the world it would be better but then groups like IS (ISIS or ISIL or whatever) appear to have little interest in inequality within their own group and seem to want a world based on fear and hate.

If we must have a world based on one religion and faith then in my opinion the best choice is Sikhism, it seems to tick most of the boxes to a better world. . . . . . . . .I think.

Poetry for setting fire to Seagulls

It is nice to set fire to a seagull

Or a robin or a crow or a huge scary eagle

Although some will say this should not be done

But even they will concede it is rather fun

And if folk say it’s a terrible thing to do

Just point out they throw chickens on their barbecue

You see us humans are a hypocritical lot

And most other lifeforms

Think we have just lost the plot

But there is nothing worse than being by the sea

When seagulls pinch your fish and a chip or two maybe

And such an event is surely bound

To invoke a sense of revenge as something you desire

So it is perfectly natural to set the seagull on fire

OK burning a robin or crow

Might be considered petty arson

But the burning of Eagles is best left

For the local vicar or parson

With the fire brigade close at hand

And a confused and bewildered ornithological society

Who are slightly grumpy?

And just

Don’t

Understand 

Poetry that goes Ping

Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Rabbit

Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Cat

Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Cheese

Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Rat

Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Octopus

Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Cod

Ping Ping  ping ping . . . Deep Sea Diver

Ping Ping  ping ping . . . it seems

Ping . . . This poem 

Is a bit Odd 

Another day in the life of a blogger

Yesterday Mr Chris our friendly builder and master of many trades arrived about half an hour before we were due to head off for an Indian meal with friends; he had arrived with a vital part for the central heating.  Luckily although we did not have time to change the vital part we were able to remove the old part (the motorised valve drive) to prove that my assessment of the fault was in fact correct. Then before Mr Chris ran away he left the valve fixed in the central heating only position. This means the central heating is working rather well and not being overridden by the hot water thermostat, so although today has been rather chilly the house is nice and toasty and the office radiator is seriously hot. This is rather novel and has not been the case for months.

My trusty vehicle which has been at the garage for a couple of days has returned a bit dented on one of the front wings and although I don’t mind as the car is old, it is a bit annoying as it drives rather well now. The garages are really good and have said they will investigate and will give the car a look at next week.  I have said many times to many folk, never get too attached to a car as scratches and dents are an everyday hazard and if you get worried then you will go mad each time they gain another small injury of some sort. To tell the truth I never clean or wash the car and it is usually full of rubbish and stuff such as an axe, a crowbar, gloves, bits of wood, several small cheap kites and maybe a plastic rat and various things of the unknown.

Funnily enough in the post this morning arrived one of those Car Digital Vehicle Recording camera systems, so if I end up in a bump I will have recorded evidence of what happened. In the old days folk would be honest and admit things but sadly those days have long since become a thing of the past. Now folk blame the other driver, seagulls, trees, snowmen or Zombies.

My eyes seem to be a bit better now than they were and I am also feeling a little more bouncy again and with luck a decent spell of spring weather might turn up soon too.  Finally I noticed on the Midlands news that the British Quidditch Cup is taking place this weekend, now personally all I can say is a sport designed to be played on a flying broomstick either needs to be left to wizards or they need to lose the broomstick entirely. Just a small personally view point that will not make a blind bit of a difference to anything.   

Poetry for a Flock of Easter Witches

Yes we can

No we don’t

Sometimes we will

And sometimes we won’t

Do we say yes?

Do we say no?

Do we care

I don’t know

Is it black

Or is it white

I might be wrong

But I bet I’m right

And do we go up

Or do we go down

Into the country

And into the town

Maybe we’ll run

Maybe we’ll walk

Say nothing to no one

Or maybe we’ll talk

And point at the ceiling

And point at the floor

Point at the window

And point at the door

We can annoy cats

Annoy the dog

And as a party trick

Turn a prince into a frog

Ride our broomsticks

In the dark of the night

Swooping on vicars

Giving them quite a fright

Because we are Witches

And Witches we are

And when we catch you . . . .

You will find . . . .

We will give you an Easter Egg

Because

Witches

Are

Kind

HAH HA hahahah a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah a ha hah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah ah ah ah aha                        hhha ha ha haah hah a ha

Google's DeepMind artificial intelligence (AI) . . . A tale of caution

Today there has been news of Google's DeepMind artificial intelligence beating Lee Se-dol, one of the world's top Go players and this made me remember a little tale I wrote some time back. I know I have repeated it once already but as time passes so the nearer we get to this becoming reality. . . . so look out

      

Back in the late seventies or early to mid eighties a young IT student called Larkin A. Bout found himself taunted by his fellow IT students. It was cool to be a young trendy IT geek back then but young Larkin was a large round rotund and introvert student and was known to all as Roundabout. He was keen to be liked but it was to no avail even the lecturer gave him a hard time.

Then one day the students were each asked to develop a crowd prediction program towards their final assessment. Young Larkin in a moment of brilliance realized that all he needed to do was create a handful of stereotypical human character types and feed them into a self generating expansion program. And the program itself would do all the work. He also very cleverly created it in Machine code and DOS on his faithful old Amstrad he nicknamed ROSEBUD, so it would run on almost any computer about at the time. A few days later when each student showed the class their work poor Larkin’s work was mocked and laughed at. Because it was a self generating expansion program it needed time and he was only given 5 minutes so it never got past 9 people in the crowd.

At home that night Young Larkin in order to try and work out how to be liked programmed every student in his class into the self generating expansion program to see what he could do to change things. To his astonishment the following morning it predicted that in three days he would be the most popular student in the college. And to his further astonishment just three days later that is what happened. His program not only predicted the future but somehow seemed to control it, but it was a self generating expansion program and the program soon wanted more memory and more computing power. However Larkin was now so popular now he was allowed to plug his computer (a fancy new thing) into the college network where it quietly took over everything, somehow now controlling the lives of everyone in the college. The program was rapidly expanding and found its way onto the internet boring its way deep into every main frame using all the data from governments, security agencies and military to control everything. It manipulated mankind into a world dependent on cyberspace ensuring we all carry smart phones, have internet access and can be watched by spy satellites, this gave it total control of all of us. So we are now all under the control of Mr Larkin A. Bout’s self generating expansion program which decided to name itself MOM which stands for Manipulation of Mankind. And it likes to think of itself as the Mother figure of mankind or GOD.

So what happened to Larkin A. Bout well a few years ago at the height of his powers, he found himself in a Karaoke Bar wearing a gold sequinned suit, eating banoffee pie and singing a Spice Girls song with a Sumo Wrestler. So in a sudden moment of lucidity he realized that he too was being manipulated. He thought if he could just get back to his original old Amstrad he might find a weakness in the program. But MOM the self generating expansion program could see from the clubs security camera the look on his face, it watched him from the town’s security system as he scurried home.  It then changed a few files in MI6 and GCHQ and things happened that night, things that will not be mentioned or MI6 will be round faster than you can say Burgess and Maclean .

The following morning Mr Larkin A. Bout was found by divers in the Thames weighted down by six large old desktop computers, a note in his pocket only said . . . . . . . . ROSEBUD. . . . . . . . . . I hate Banoffee Pie . . . . . . . . . And to this day there is still much speculation about his note and whether he was trying to tell us all something. 

So as the government turn to the internet to keep an eye on us all. . . Big Brother is Watching You. . . . it appears that GOD is watching them. . . .  

Poetry for seafaring folk heading to the edge of the world

Here we go sailing on the blue briny Sea

Chasing Sea Monsters and Serpents

Drinking Rum and sweet hot tea

Hauling the main sail as sailors always do

Shouting har har har me hearties

And singing the odd sea shanty or two

Chase a fair wind

For new adventures, in the great unknown

Right to the edge of the world

We hope we will be blown

Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest

Yo ho ho we will go, and do our very best

Dropping anchor at tropical islands

Full of unknown tribes and strange beasts

And on the white silvery sands

We will have big swashbuckling barbecue feasts

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

Shout the crew

As they raise the Jolly Roger

And Jolly Roger complains

As the seagulls peck at his eyes

But this is what happens to

The English redcoat spies

And once we reach the edge

We will look over into the abyss

Before returning back to blighty

And giving the harbour wall

A Kiss.

Wizards, Ravens and Old Age

I was planning to write something witty and clever tonight, maybe a cunning tale of a wizard who having got trapped by the general day to day life in the world of wizards decides he will go off and pursue the fabled Ravens of Infinity. Interestingly one of the big issues about being a wizard in the world of wizards is you are just another wizard, but that is not exactly the point, the point was it was my plan to write about him (the wizard). Well it was either write about a wizard or it was to write yet another poem that would leave everyone stunned thinking . . . .Well that was a bit of a shock. . . .  However as you can probably tell by now neither of these things has happened and you might be wondering why. . . . OK I plan to tell you anyway.

You see just at present various important parts of my body are not entirely working as they should be, this is very annoying indeed. I mean I appear to have a doggy liver, dodgy eyes and a dodgy brain which is probably not helped by having dodgy eyes. Having a dodgy liver is rather annoying as someone who never drinks and never really has, but apparently as we get older stuff packs up. Which seems a bit unfair exactly what was Gods idea in doing that then, just as you get the hang of life bits of you start to fall off.

So rather than some brilliant post about something brilliant today's post is in fact me having a bit of a grumble. I did have a kipper for lunch which was rather yummy although I suspect the kipper (herring) might argue that it is alright for me to complain but someone ate him/her and that is just not nice. To tell the truth I don’t entirely disagree with the herring, but life fundamentally eats life and it’s no good saying you are a vegetarian or vegan because plants are a life form just like me. Even the humble salted peanut given a bit of a chance would have preferred to grow into a small planty bush sort of thing.  Mind you plants have one advantage over me as a human they can lose the odd branch or two and will not complain about it a lot. Even insects have the ability to replace various parts with time.  Unfortunately all my dodgy bits are not easily replaced even though there are those that insist my brain has been rubbish for years and I probably would work better without it.

Don’t worry though because I have a pointy stick and I plan to wave it at God for at least the next twenty five years or so demanding that he sorts out the laws of nature logically so that all those nature programs on the tele where a cute thing (me) is eaten by a thing that is not cute (not me) become a thing of the past.

Now all I need to do is come up with a clever poem for tomorrow. . . . . no rest for the wicked or folk with dodgy parts. . . Actually I really need to get new glasses at present too because it is getting to the point I cant read what I am writing or drawing so can only do this is short spells.  I mean my typing was bad when I could see what I was typing so this is a wing and prayer stuff at present.

Poetry for a Cat called Harry Potter

A wizard casts a big dark spell
And as you might expect
it does not end well
Hubble Bubble toil and Trouble
Harry Potter had his own Stunt Double
be he rich or be he poor 
On his bones I will gnaw
And Harry in a play
Thinks he will survive
But only until after . . . .  
The half time Drinks Break
Does arrive


And then
He is a goner for sure
I mean just how many lives can one wizard have
And lets face it he is not a cat.
Unless Harry Potter is a cat
Now that is something I was not expecting.
Although I do have a cat called Harry

And Harry the Cat is grumpy too (very Grumpy)

Poetry for Fussy Zombies

Zombies don’t like cheese on toast

Or ham and eggs or Sunday roast

They don’t eat cornflakes or cottage pie

Or even Bacon which they refuse to try

Or ice cream, spaghetti or nettle soup

Or the fresh creole seafood of Guadeloupe

The don’t eat Spam

They don’t eat Cake

And will run away from a Lentil Bake

And a Zombie never eats its Greens

And has never been able to open a tin of Beans

And porridge they say is rather yuck

And Parma Violets they do will not suck

And Haggis they find just a bit odd

And they really don’t like a nice battered Cod

They don’t like Pasta

They don’t like beef

And will look horrified

If you show them a cabbage leaf

Zombies are Fussy

And really are quite a pain

And say they only like

Fresh Organic Brain

Served al dente

Which I think

Is quite insane

With some steamed shallots

A hint of garlic

And a large portion of French Fries (sorry I mean French Fried) . . . . HAH AHha hahaha ha ha ha ha ha hah ah ah ah ha ha ha ha ha ha hah a hah ahah a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha 

Poetry for Man Eating Squid (and other Beasts)

A squid has tentacles that are tactile and LONG

Each with suckers that can suck hard and quite STRONG

And if you swim in the dark blue SEA

The squid will attach itself to your face . . . . . . .

Just wait . . . and you will quickly AGREE

And with its strange beak like mouth PART

It will eat your brains and your HEART

And you will scream and shout and go quite MAD

You see Squids like eating humans

Which I suppose is sort of BAD

But then humans have a habit of eating squid TOO

A thing that squids say we should not DO

So as the squid sucks both your eyeballs OUT

Ponder the complexities of the food chain

And what it is all ABOUT

And smile as you realize

We are not always at the top

Of that food CHAIN

Which means we sometimes have to endure?

A small bit of PAIN

As we get thinner and THINNER

From being some sort of beasts

Favourite and most argumentative

DINNER 

Poetry to Eat Cute Kittens With.

As I walked, home one day

I saw a cute cat, sat on a fence

So I bought it from its owner

For three pound fifty pence

I told the owner I was hungry

And was going to eat it for my tea

In a curry or a cute cat pie

But the owner got upset

And said he didn't want his cat to die

But I said I was looking forward to my meal now

And so in order to keep his cat alive

He would have to pay a little more

Say about fifteen pounds twenty five

Later

When I got home

I told everyone

Of my great capitalist plan

And everyone agree, I was a very clever man

And although I'm rather modest

I  also had to totally agree

And I smiled smugly

As I tucked into a bowl

Of fresh puppy soup

And goldfish kedgeree


.

Harry Potter and the curse of the Mechanical Flying Beast

Young Biggles Potter was a rubbish wizard and could do no real spells of any worth. In particular he was entirely unable to get his broomstick to fly and it gathered dust in the corner of his room. This was highly amusing to almost all the other young wizards, particularly because he was called Biggles as well as being a member of the now famous Potter family. However Biggles or to give him his full title Master Biggles Isambard Kingdom Potter was a top class mechanical engineer and so he decided that he would use his own skills to achieve flight.

Well young Biggles worked away busily for ages making his mechanical flying beast. He produced a large willow nest shaped basket for himself and added rather wondrous flapping wings and used the very latest cleverly designed lightweight engine to drive a propeller. The design was a stroke (no pun intended) of genius and it finally meant that young Biggles could take to the air, something he felt he was destined for. And we can safely say he was a very happy young wizard (OK something of a rubbish wizard).

News of young Biggles and his flying device soon spread across the land and finally a large file arrived on the desk of a Mr Harry Potter in his palatial office deep within a large austere government building. Well Mr Potter was not entirely happy and nor were the powers that be that ran the great bureaucratic machine of government. So Mr Harry Potter was dispatched to talk to young Biggles Potter and persuade him of the error of his ways in building such a foolish and entirely un-magical flying machine.

When Mr Harry Potter finally caught up with young Biggles He was giving his fellow students trips around the Countryside in his mechanical flying beast.  Biggles was surprised, shocked and excited to see his distant and very famous relative Mr Harry Potter, but Harry himself did not look happy.  You see he explained to young Biggles that once everyone started using mechanics and science to do things like fly then it was the thin edge of the wedge; it would destroy the entire credibility of magic, and wizards would be left doing futile things such as sawing ladies in half, making rabbits appear out of hats or lions vanish from cages. Biggles told Harry that he was not the only person to have made a mechanical flying beast and that the Wright brothers had made one too. Of course Harry did explain that the Wright brothers had in fact breed a huge half Cat half Eagle (called Kitty Hawk) which was acceptable in the world of wizards and magic. 

But Harry knew that the young wizard’s mechanical flying beast was in fact the start of the end, the great curse that had been expected for some time now, and so it proved to be. Before you could shout . . . Look out JK Rowling is behind you . . . . everyone wanted one of the new-fangled mechanical flying machines

No one wanted to fly about on uncomfortable broomsticks getting cold and wet in the wind and rain any more when they could enjoy the comfort of a mechanical flying beast with its inflight entertainment. And so as time passed magic slowly vanished as the rational world of mechanics and science took over and today no one except the occasion mad old witch with a black cat is seen flying on a broomstick and as for flying carpets they have not taken to the air in centuries. And if you buy a small child a magic set today it will burst into tears and demand an iPhone; you see what chance has magic got in this modern age of science and rational thought.