The Tale of Mr Ratty

(37 . . .)

We saw Mr Ratty again a few days ago so reluctantly I had to put poison in Mr Ratty’s home. Well I had to make a rough guess at his exact home. My problem is I am trying to avoid poisoning other beasts so where you put poison is very important indeed. Over a period of several days I had no sightings of our furry friend until earlier today when a large ratty beast turned up to eat the bird food. So once again I put some poison where I thought he was . . . . . . Under my workshop . . . . Typical. Well I guess it is getting used . . . . .

Then a few hours later when I went on patrol I found a dead Mr Ratty. I do feel bad about this but my wife hates the beasts and to be fair they will breed quite fast if they get the chance. So I picked up Mr Ratty by his tail and thought I would dispose of him in an old composting bin to avoid him entering the food chain and killing off other critters. 

On dropping him in it, I discovered he was in fact just very poorly and not dead which explained his still floppy state. This left me with that terrible dilemma, to ignore the poor beast or put him out of his misery. So I did the right thing . . . . . Sorry Mr Ratty but I did say sorry; so he has gone to meet his maker now.

Well I think that is enough for now I will be busy for quite a few days but will be back soon to tell you all about it. . . . . . Assuming I remember because my brain is rubbish.

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The Damselfly and the Maybug . . . . . And a Bus

(17...)

We visited the local village market this morning to buy provisions such as veggies, bread, bacon, spicy sausages, butter plus a quick discussion with locals about a bus protest because the local government grant might end for the local bus to the great metropolis of Shrewsbury. Rather ironic because it is probably the busiest bus about for miles and is normally standing room only by about half way there. Still that’s politics for you a bit odd at times.  Then we had a trip to say happy birthday to our daughter and a toasted sandwich at a local grand house with a happy dog that roams about hunting toasted sandwiches

Followed by a visit to a huge greenhouse to buy some plants before heading home and doing woodwork on you know what.  Then a bowl of soup and then I came face to face with a damselfly. It was rather a friendly damselfly and was happy to chat about busses, Maybugs and ponds and the like for a bit before flying off.

After that I did stuff, watched a bit of news on the telly shouted a bit a someone discussing politics on the telly, and then told the cats they were greedy and that ten meals each a day was enough for a huge wild cat, not just your average moggies who chill all day doing almost nothing.

And finally I have been outside as it is very very still and on nights this calm things move about in the darkness. Normally it is just Zombies, but tonight it is a couple of Hedgehogs and a confused Maybug or two. As far as I can tell Maybugs are always confused and that Damselfly certainly thought so. My wife hates Maybugs due to their clumsy flying techniques and general inability to avoid humans. Some folk (such as my wife) are not keen on being hit in the face by Maybugs as they negotiate (or fail to) the night sky.

Then write diary.

Are you wondering what I did yesterday?  . . . .  So am I . . . I can’t remember.

Florence and the Fickleflime

One day young Florence went to the pet shop and bought a fickleflime and took it home. It was a bit of a spontaneous buy because she had never heard of a beast called the fickleflime and it was quite big. But the pet shop owner had given her a small book with all the important things one needs to know in order to keep the fickleflime healthy and happy.

Florence was very happy with her new pet, but when she  showed it to her small brother who had a habit of being rather annoying he pointed and laughed and said what is that . . . . . . . . . .  its really really really ugly

It’s a   fickleflime was Florence’s reply

Well that is a stupid name and why is it blue

Apparently it says in this little book the blue fickleflime is a juvenile said Florence

Well that is stupid why has it got a big scaly red face

Well it says in the book that a big scaly red face means its happy said Florence

Well that is stupid and why has it got such big silly ears

It appears it has big ears so it can listen to its food said Florence

Well that is stupid and why has it got such a big mouth

Well it seems that is so it can eat its dinner really quickly said Florence

That is stupid and anyway what does it actually eat

Well it says here it eats Bens but I think that might be a typing error I think it eats Beans or maybe Buns said Florence

I hope so because I’m called Ben I don’t want that ugly stupid thing to eat me

But with that the fickleflime bent down and in the blink of an eye swallowed Ben whole

AH Said Florence

And they all lived happily ever after. . . . . .except Ben 

Gardens and Motivations . . . . and the thoughts of the Jabberwocky

With the kitchen Diner fast reaching a point of completion and the prospect of a sunny weekend, I was sent into the garden to do battle with the ever impregnable vastness of it. Phew it has grown somewhat in the last month or so since I last took some serious notice of it. So it was a good opportunity to test the newly refurbished Steam Powered Strimmer, a device with a history of great fickleness and the ability to sulk for days on end. But today it was in a chirpy mood indeed and we set off in perfect harmony into the lush greenness of what was once called a Lawn.

Now I was not really so keen on this at the start of the day but was talked round with the prospect of something exciting for our evening meal such as slow roasted Japanese Godzilladom with crispy fried Welsh Dragon Scales and Wizards Balls. . . . NO NO not those balls, this is a child friendly blog you lot, but truffles and Saffron covered in the gold leaf and crushed fairy wings and sprinkled with the unknown thoughts of the Jabberwocky and a bit of maple syrup. Followed by Ice Cream covered in fresh Double Cream and Walnuts and a bit of Strawberry Crumble.  It’s one of those recipes from that book . . . Fantastic Feasts and How to Eat Them . . .  Written by that well known author  . . . . . . . . . . Ah . . . . thingy. . .  what’s their name?  Apparently it has been rewritten and all those recipes for wizards like roast or barbecued beasts and dragons have been removed as it was making small children cry. So the new book has no recipes and its name has been changed a bit, and have you ever tried to buy fresh eye of newt and wing of bat in Sainsbury’s, its not easy.

Anyway I have cut the grass at the front today and if all goes well will set too on the jungle round the back of the house tomorrow. . . . . AH yes that meal, well due to certain issues and not actually having any Welsh Dragon Scales at present we had Pizza, and the cat ate the fairy, I warned them not to flap those wings near the cat.  Still it was a rather tasty Bat Wing Pizza with a bit of spiced Jabberwocky so I was quite happy.

I am well knackered though so will go and chill for a while.

AH the cat has been sick . . . . . . YUCK.       

A Day in the Life of a Blogger

I have been at the village hall Market today, it is a traditional Friday event so I do try to get to it each week to chat to the locals and catch up on what’s happening. When I say catch up on what’s happening I am not talking at a national or global level, I am referring to the state of folks tomatoes, lawns and whether anyone has seen a Zombie or heard the Banshee in the woods. To tell the truth as a sort of nice slightly reclusive middle class chap who has a fairly chilled life and owns his house and gets by OK; but with a fairly leftish view of politics it might be best not to get into national news and what’s happening as I feel I might be tied up and burnt as a heroic or witch. I mean I would not shoot the last wild Polar Bear in Britain just because it has destroyed your entire broad bean crop and scared (or is it scarred or maybe both) the cat. Which is the sort of thing that happens a bit round these parts and is why sadly I have to announce the news that the last wild Polar Bear in Britain had a bit of an accident the other day while stalking a rather healthy heard of Blight free Potatoes in the early morning sun.  No honestly there are folk around here well into their nineties who can handle a twelve bore rifle like John Wayne on acid. Luckily they don’t read my blog or I would be in trouble for sure. Just in case any of you do read this I would like to add it’s a lovely Polar Bear rug and will make a great centre piece for the harvest supper.

After my weekly pilgrimage to the village market and my now tradition Bacon and Sausage sandwich, Ah yes they sneak a sausage into it now for extra taste, I returned home to continue my DIY on the almost completed kitchen. OK I stopped for lunch and had a few cups of tea and a bit of chocolate cake at one point and, OOOOoooooo yes we did have a short visit by a rather good artist who was passing by from Dartmoor. OK it is not easy to pass by Shropshire from Dartmoor without some effort but she was off to the dentist. Maybe to some travelling 400 miles one way to see the dentist might seem  excessive, but not in Britain, not these days. Anyway she is a very good artist and quite well known in certain circles so I will not mention her name. 

Then after the DIY I have sat down to write a little something for the Blog (this), not as easy as it might appear because folk do not appear to like Poetry . . . OK they don’t like my poetry, and politics is not good either. I know folk sort of like witches and banshees but I write about them loads, and I cant tell you about the Polar Bear because of its unfortunate accident.  We do have Pine Martens near by and also the very rare dormouse a few miles away and luckily they don’t eat folks vegetables so they should be OK, although I am told Dormice are very very tasty in a sandwich with some bacon. HANG ON they told me it was a sausage DAMN, I’m sure there is (was) more than one of them.

A Tale of Two Aardvarks or Let Them (and JK Rowling) Eat Cake

I have to say I am rather tired tonight (I'm old you know) having been here and there doing things so I have decided to post an older post from my Aardvark  period, as you know I'm presently in my JK Rowling period. Anyway I need to post some sort of post on the blog because I have discovered there is a critical number of blogs per month in order to keep up and increase the number of page views. . . .  So here is one of the less popular posts from the past I hope you enjoy it (a bit)

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Once upon a time back when nights were nights (much as they are now?) there lived a large and noble Aardvark called Napoleon. He was an ambitious Aardvark with dreams of world domination and leading his army through Europe and over the Alps on the back of Elephants, yes Napoleon was also a little mad. However his dreams were thwarted by his army of aardvarks, as we can tell from the following extract from his autobiography written as he languished in a Zoo on Alba (sorry Elbow) many years later.

“They were rubbish and ill disciplined  digGING holes in the parade ground looking for grubs and  not listening to a single command it was futile, they may have been good at making trenches but trench warfare was quite simply beyond their comprehension

Napoleon the Aardvark was a single minded beast and remained focused on his plans for world domination through his younger years, but he had a secret admirer a young Aardvark called Josephine. Josephine was an aristocratic Aardvark who lived a life of luxury and had rather expensive and unusual taste, particularly in what she ate. In fact she insisted in only eating cake, all kinds of cake from Victoria sandwich to coffee and walnut or fruit cakes to Apple upside down cake covered in cream and hundreds and thousands.

She would often try and gain the attention of Napoleon by taking various cakes to him at sunset and once even took a loaf of bread, a commodity of great rareness in those days. But it was to no avail, Napoleon the Aardvark was a man of few words and he would look down on the cake and say to Josephine in his gruff moody voice  . . . . . . .AH . .  NOT TERMITE JOSEPHINE . . . .

In the end Josephine got fed up with Napoleon and ran off with Lenin the Aardvark although it was not to last due to his rather austere outlook on life, but at the time folk were worried that Napoleon would be dead annoyed. But Napoleon was philosophical and told his friends  . . . LET LEN EAT CAKE   

HAH AH AH HA HAHah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah a ha ha hah ah ah ha ha ha hah ah.


OOOOooo its JK Rowling Birthday in a couple of days so Cake is Good in fact I plan to eat some in a bit covered in Cream. . . .YUM

The plight of Mermaids, Monsters and Mythical Beasts

The World is a place where things change there is little if anything anyone can do to stop it. Sometimes it is for the better and often it is not and most of the time it is impossible to tell if it is for the better or worse.  One of the sadness’s that gets little if any thought is that of the plight of Mermaids, Monsters and Mythical Beasts, O yes I can see a slight look of puzzlement on the faces of many as they dwell on what I am saying. You see many many many years ago such things had a real place in the minds of man, they were real and existed even if they were seldom seen.

When they were seen they were generally blamed for all sorts of stuff they did not do. Folk do stuff like that, blaming mythical beasts is to put it bluntly an easy way out of trouble.  I’m sure we would all happily shout . . . . The Mermaid did it. . . when someone is demanding to know who ate their ice cream.  Of course what happened is science turned up and along with rational thought putting an end to many of the beasts of the past as anatomically impossible or some such reason? Without . . . I will add the slightest morsel of remorse for destroying the deep held believes of many generations.

The thing is us humans need our Mermaids, Monsters and Mythical Beasts and so we are forced to find them in the wilder places of the world and ensure that they have some sort of scientific plausibility. Critters such as Big Foot, Yeti, The Loch Ness Monster as well as many other beasts, particularly of the deep sea and lakes.  But I can’t help but think the day will come when we finally kill them of as well.  And the strange world of unknown large and even small mythical beasts will be no more.

These things are in our DNA they need to be real, I mean just ask yourself why do folk like films like Jurassic World or King Kong or Godzilla its not just simple entertainment it is more deep rooted. Only the problem is it is no longer possible to see them as a real possibility of a world that might just still exist in a small corner of Planet Earth. . . . Like in the film The Lost World, a world that is now lost for good.

The world would be a better place if the possibility of Mermaids was distinctly a real possibility. 

The Pithlyiffion one of Naturer's Fantastic Beasts

The Pithlyiffion is a strange and wondrous beast indeed, one of the truly Fantastic beasts of history and one not to be trifled with (yes its one of those odd British sayings again) and one not to be put in a trifle either.  And its rather bizarre attributes were summed up in a poem by the great Samuel Taylor Coleridge that went as follows

Beware the Pithlyiffion, the strange and wondrous beast

Sitting high up in the Forrest trees

With its poisonous and deadly lick

And although it resembles some ancient mythical bird

It has a rather strange defensive trick

It falls to ground wrapped in its wings

Like a rather large house brick

Of course as you might expect of poems from the founder of the Romantic Movement, the poem goes on for at least half an hour and involves all sorts of things from seagulls and sailors to dancing with Victorian women in clearings in the woodland.  But the key points about the Pithlyiffion are well covered by this short extract.  You see the Pithlyiffion has a very poisonous lick indeed and although in general people recover, should you be unfortunate to be licked on a scratch or open wound then death is a distinct possibility. Some say that Coleridge had a pet Pithlyiffion and that it was to blame for his untimely death.

And as the poem says, despite the fact it has wings and does look like a bird its wings were made of an almost indestructible membrane which it would indeed wrap round its own body. In this way nothing could hurt it. It had no real enemies in nature, except the usual one mankind, who discovered that by boiling the beast for several hours it became an incredibly useful paste that could be used to seal the boilers of steam engines. What was unknown was that the Pithlyiffion only bred once every ten years and lived for almost two hundred years. So by 1873 with the loss of its breeding habitat in the wild the last Pithlyiffion died.  Unlike the Dodo which lent itself to being stuffed and displayed in a glass case, a popular Victorian pastime the Pithlyiffion once it died would turn to fine dust which would blow away in even the slightest of breezes. A fact that led to it becoming a creature of legend rather than fact. There are some who say the dust from the body of a dead  Pithlyiffion has substantial magic powers and that many of the legends of magic from mans history are the result of this, but we will probably never know for sure.  All we can say is that it must have been a truly fantastic Beast.       

(Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them) or Harry Potter Returns from the Dead. . . . PART ONE

After the terrible death of Harry Potter and all the young wizards on Halloween and the subsequent closure of Hogwarts and its brief commercial success as a theme park it vanished from the minds of men and quietly became a ruin.  No one ventured to it as there was talk of terrible beasts and monsters that roamed it's corridors their footsteps echoing through the building.  It was a bad time to be a wizard and those few who survived those terrible events of Halloween were forced into the everyday world of muggles, something they hated, but as the old saying goes . . . . . needs must. . . . . (I know old sayings are silly we just don't know what the needs must do, but it’s a saying).

One such wizard was a Professor Brian Dumblecox who had managed to make a successful career in the sciences of us muggles and became a bit of a celebrity turning everyday objects into stuff that just confused folk using what he called Quantum Mechanics.  We all know he really meant Wizards Magic we are not stupid are we?.

One day Professor Brian Dumblecox’s young son called Higgs was rummaging about in a strange old bookshop only accessible by walking between the walls of M&S and W H Smiths when he came across a book called, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.  Having bought the book with his pocket money five pence Young Higgs returned home where his father Professor Brian Dumblecox looked and nodded in a knowing way and pointed to the map of the universe on the wall and said

Its time Master Higgs, you have discovered the bookshop.

Yes dad I DON'T know how I got there I was going to W H Smiths.

We live in a multi-dimensional world Master Higgs and you have entered the world of Wizards.

But you said it was Quantum Mechanics dad I watched you on the television.

No son that is just a cunning trick to confuse muggles, we are talking about the world of wizards and you now have to go and fulfil your destiny.

But I’M too young to go on X factor.

NOOOO Not X Factor

And I have only had three dancing lessons, I don’t think I’m good enough for Strictly yet.

O for Gods sake Master Higgs you have to go and restore the Great Harry Potter to Life, Back at Hogwarts where he will become Headmaster and make more films.

WOW like Frankenstein’s Monster with lighting and a bolt through his Neck.

Look son I'm getting angry if you don’t behave I’ll play one of my Albums.

Sorry Dad

Now here is a large Jug with a mummified cat in and a jar of ash from the Wizards Ring of Fire where Harry and the other wizards died you must go now and enter the ruins of Hogwarts where you will discover what you need to do.

With that Young Higgs set off on his intrepid journey with his new book and a ticket for the train, a large jug with a mummified cat and a jar of ash.

He took one last look at the house as he set off down the street his dad shouting after him. . .  AND beware the Wicker Man. . . .  Young Higgs gave him the thumbs up and thought to himself. . . Don’t stare at the vicars van. . . How odd.

TO BE CONTINUED 

PART TWO

Fantastic Beasts that do not eat Harry Potter

Is this the terrible Beast that finally eats Harry Potter and all the Wizards

Well NO

(I have to draw my own fantastic Beasts not like some)

Sorry I have been very busy and  will be busy tomorrow but after that 

I WILL BE BACK

Ok I may be back before that who can tell.

DAMN all this Exciting stuff and I have no time to tell you about it.

When I say exciting I am not entirely telling the truth.

Did you know Harry Potter hates Kippers

JUST SAYING 

A Brief Guide to the Principles of Evolution, Biodiversity and the Herd Instinct

I can hear some of you saying . . . How come we humans have two legs and two arms and a head and stuff. . . . .  and it’s a good question. You see it’s all to do with evolution and although humans are a smug bunch who like to say to every other beast on the planet Ya Sucks Boo the truth is we are not as unique as some would have you think. You see just think how many critters have four limbs and a head at the front end, and dispose of food at the other, the list is huge.  Even birds have four limbs; it’s just that two have turned into wings giving them a rather clever method to get about. Whereas in our case the front limbs are arms and the back ones legs, allowing us to do stuff like ride a bicycle and poke about inside our ears with our fingers or type blogs about Evolution.

Evolution of course is a long process it takes time. . . . (I say time but as we learnt previously time does not exist it is merely a ratio of the movement of individual things in relation to the movement of other things as defined by the movement of a particular object used as the standard. . . . . but folk call it time). . . . . . . . Man now sees himself as Top Dog in this process which is very silly as we are not dogs, and shows the foolishness of us humans.  You see mankind is a relative newcomer to planet Earth and some critters have been about for ages and there are more of them too. But in most cases these critters are small, big critters have certain issues in terms of survival, they need space, they are susceptible to environmental change and humans like to eat them or jab at them with pointy sticks a bit, as its fun.

Now as time passes evolution would normally predict that biodiversity will increase, but us humans are always keen to eat new species so most of the meal sized things are sort of becoming extinct.   One of the odder aspects of man is that we are critters of habit and could be classed as one of the worlds herd animals like Cows or Wildebeest, an old survival instinct from the days when we were shoals of fish and huge prehistoric scary things ate us.  This is why we tend to take revenge on big beasts now and get our own back by eating them, but our in built herd instinct is also why we all wander round IKEA and huge shopping precincts in a rather predictable way allowing ourselves to be brainwashed into buying loads of rubbish like plastic dinosaurs.               

One final experiment you could try yourself, get two friends to dress up in raggedy clothes and cover them in tomato sauce, then get them to stagger out of the public toilets on a busy street as you shout Lookout Zombies Zombies run for your life . . . . . .  I think you will find folk will run on mass in the opposite direction much like the Wildebeest do from a Chinese herbalist.     

A new colourful theory about Neanderthal man and the origin of Art

Last night as I struggled to draw something interesting like a mad dog eating a Vampire Lemming that had been distracted by the arrival of Mechanical Zombie Aliens riding giant Goats. The thought went through my mind that where did all this drawing stuff start. The reason I thought that was because my drawing was taking on a distinct prehistoric image, more dinosaur (the Fidosaurous) than dog. The earliest drawings of course being those of strange beasts on the walls of caves by Stone Age man some ten thousand plus years ago.

As I pondered this thinking why would they suddenly do this (draw and paint on cave walls), after all Lions and Bears don’t, I had this sudden flash of genius. You see if you look at the last few ancient tribes that live in the world today, one of the things they like to do is dress up in costume and paint their faces and bodies.  Most folk even now like a good party or carnival and will paint their faces and dress up in fancy dress and feathers at the drop of a hat.

So it is a small step from covering yourself in paint and leaping about with your mates to using the paint on the walls of your cave to cheer it up a bit. . . . . This may not sound very exciting but it is, because what it implies is early Neanderthal man was not just a hairy club carrying grey sort of chap, but was a colourful and bright chap with each tribe doing its own distinct thing to distinguish it from its rivals.

Now some of you will be saying that is all well and good but so what . . . . . Well I am letting the world know of my theory of the origin of Art and the shock news that the very early ancestors of mankind were in fact a jolly colourful bunch. . . . By announcing this now I should be in time to get some sort of award before the end of the year, something shiny with my name on it is large letters. . . . . A Nobel Prize for History would be good, to go with the one for Science. . . .   

Proof of the eccentricity of life in the Country and therefore Alien life by default

I was pondering about what to write about as life ticks by in an almost normal fashion at present. This is good but also rather bad as the very nice Steven Spielberg is hardly likely to rush to the rolling hills of Shropshire to make the film of ordinary life in the county even if we have a few Zombies roaming about and Aliens in the woods pursued by Mr Jones in the nude who is in turn pursued by the police as folk complain that Mr Jones is in the woods naked again.  And then there are the Lemmings of Petrograd, The Dark Creature of the Undergrowth, Esmeralda catapulting the goat in the general direction of the out of town supermarket, Freddie teaching his ferrets to do tricks, and the odd Banshee at night.

So you can see it is hard to find new and interesting stuff to write about although I did think I saw an Alien at the Commonwealth Games last night on the TV running in a race, but he did not really do very well so that can't be right. Unless a virus has afflicted the aliens and they are suffering like they did in the film the War of the Worlds (the old film not the newer rubbish one)

Anyway as I was saying I was pondering that there was nothing to write about when an advert in the local County Times came to my rescue, it is good when stuff like this happens because it shows that I don’t make this stuff up it all really happens out here in the sticks.  You see tomorrow is Tough Harry’s Fun Day in Churchstoke and they have all sorts of things going on, but one particular item caught my eye (no not like catching a ball).

Yes its true there will be DANCING SHEEP. . . . . .WHAT? . . . . . .  I have not seen dancing sheep before and until now did not know that sheep danced. I have no plans to go and see the dancing sheep I am just satisfied that just for once I have hard evidence of the bizarre events of life here, and besides I have a horrible feeling I might just end up disappointed if I go. . . . . . .. . . .

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Serpents at the seaside

Today involved a trip to the beach to a place called Barmouth, so called because it is the where you find the mouth of the Bar. A huge serpent sort of beast with a large mouth that eats things as is traditional with huge serpents.

It was a nice day although there was the one cloud that insisted in hovering about between us and the sun, but it was OK because in general it was quite warm.  Anyway that was about it nothing else happened so I am off to draw the Bar now . . . time permitting as a picture of it will give it far more street cred, than me just sort of saying we saw this huge thing that ate folk and scared the donkeys. They did not look happy donkeys having to spend their day giving small children rides up to a post and back, It was not very far even for a small child or bored donkey. Still the Donkeys cheered up once the serpent ate the children and the parents ran about screaming, I’m sure the next high tide will remove all the blood and bits.

The sand dunes appear to get bigger every time we go there too, but it has been a while even the falling down barn has been repaired. . . . . .when did that happen.

I know this is very boring but I have Writers Block and I have been out all day (at the beach). . . . 

O is for Obsessively Observing the Outstanding Odysseys of the Open Oceans.

As we know from yesterday’s story Poor old Captain Nigel Nash became haunted by the stories of Sir Napier Winky Knapsack and started to become bitter and twisted and would wake up in the middle of the night shouting . . . .  A Double Winky Burger with cheese and eyes sorry I mean fries. . . . . .  It was more that an old sea dog could take, and so he decided to return to his Ship the Nautilus and Venture out into the ocean to explore the great unknown.  With him this time was a young artist called Oswald Offwhite who was rather good at drawing large fish. It would not be unreasonable to say young Oswald was obsessed with the creatures of the ocean and his one big chance in life, a commission to paint the portrait of HRH the Queen was a disaster when the final work turned out to look the spitting image of a turbot. Yes the Queen was well known for spitting all over the place but it was never mentioned yet alone painted on a fifteen foot by seventeen foot portrait, even if folk said it was a remarkable likeness and made them feel like having a fish supper down by the old docks.

AH DAMN I got slightly distracted.

 Captain Nash and his crew sailed off into the sunset for many years having many many adventures fighting pirates and large monstrous beasts while young Oswald Offwhite obsessively drew the outstanding odysseys of the open oceans in minuet (sorry minute)  detail.  Many of these strange beasts had never been seen before and Oswald (known to the crew affectionately as Doris) would accurately record them in his works. The originals of his work are still a prized position of the Natural History Museum to this day.

Then on 15^th May in the year of thingya time ago they just happen to stumble upon the thought to be extinct Dinosaur  . . The Aardvarkasaurus Wrecks  . . . . so called because of the rumours of its destruction of many a ship. It was a huge sea creature but they were able to capture the beast and return to England, well I say England, Captain Nash actually arrived in Inverness. This was slightly wrong but it did mean they were able to net off a small part of Loch Ness for the Aardvarkasaurus which became a great tourist attraction making Captain Nash, Doris sorry Mr Oswald Offwhite and the crew of the Nautilus very famous.

However the Aardvarkasaurus escaped into the deep of Loch Ness and despite attempts to catch it, it had become wise to the ways of man and except for the occasional rumour of sightings has never been seen again for certain. . . . . . 

Bean Stew, Ghost Writers and the Beast in the Dark

I think we can break the day down into its component parts for the benefit of my diary starting with the morning when the Ghost Writer vanished off to work in his grey office. He was a little uncertain as to what sort of response he would have at the office as yesterday was the big meeting that was going to decide the future of the big office and all the folk it helps. As it turned out all the councillors could not make up their minds about anything so the plight of the Ghost Writer and his office was lost in the political wheeler dealing of local politics and bureaucratic winking of eyes in a knowing way. So it will now be at least next week until he knows if he will be gainfully employed as the IT guru of choice to the stars.

Moving on from breakfast we have just had our evening meal, OK by the time I finish writing this it was ages ago, but that is not the point. One thing you will notice is the gap between breakfast and the evening meal, but not a lot happened, so sorry about that. But we have had a bean stew, it was a nice bean stew, but it has been (been . . . bean HAH HA H HAH HA HA HHAH HAH  Hha ha ha ha ha) a while since I have had one and as folk will know beans and the human body can result in an exploding human. I am hoping I will not explode this would be terrible and rather messy and I suspect rather than the sympathy of the masses, they would snigger and say things like I bet he had a bean stew HAH AH H HH AH Hha ha ha ha.  At present I am still OK and have not exploded and I hope the situation remains like this. If for no other reason than it would not be the end to the block buster movie made by the very nice Steven Spielberg that I would have in mind when he finally gets round to making the movie of the diary of Rob Z Tobor.   It is all very well being famous but no one wants to be a has bean HAH AH HA HAH AH HAH AH HAH HA HAH AH HA HAH HA HA HAH AH ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

Finally at the end of the day which has not happened yet but may do before I get this in cyberspace for you to read I have to mention that we have been putting cat food out for the beast in the dark. It’s the cat food the cats will not eat in the day, cats are fussy eaters and spend much time sniffing food and sticking their noses in the air in defiance until you have tried every flavour of cat food known to man, where upon they will finally eat the first one you put out.

Only today they have eaten all the food and there is no food for the beast in the dark, this is a worry as no one knows what the beast is or how large. So will it get in a rage and rip the patio doors off to eat bits of exploded humans lying about the house   . . . . . . All I can say is it a worry most people don’t think about often enough, and more folk need to put some food out for these beasts. You should try it put some cat or dog food out or a bit of ham or the like in a small bowl and I bet it will be gone in the morning, the food not the bowl, OK the bowl might vanish too it did here one night, but I found it in the end full of teeth dents and it was a metal dish. . . . . . . .

How come these little diary posts end up so long?

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Knitted Beasts and Alien Hunters

It is wet today very wet and not really warm either so all in all it is not a nice day and not a lot is going on, much like last night where after I had returned from fighting off Banshees, Zombies and various Monsters with pointy sticks I was expecting at least one trick or treat visitor. I know it does not sound like a lot but as we live out in the sticks sort of protected by a large Zombie defence ditch and of course there was Mr Jones, alien hunter to the stars (alien . . . Stars . . . . .  HA HHAH AH HAH HAH HAhha ha ha haha hah ah ha ha) who was prowling about in a green alien suit in the woods shouting I AM YOUR FRIEND TAKE ME YOU LEADER……. Although someone in the village thought he said fiend rather than friend so started throwing turnips at anything that moved , including Guy who was dressed as a Fox (GUY FOX . . . AH HAHAHHH HAH HAH AHh ha ha hah ah ah) who then got chased by men on horses wearing rubbish Halloween costumes. 

Resulting in no visitors at all last night; last year a skeleton and his mum made it through the darkness of the night, woods, ditches, and electric fences so we did make sure we had treats to give people this year. I had even made sure they were inside little knitted beasts in order to maintain continuity with my diary, I guess this means I will have to eat them all myself  . . . . . . . AH DAMN . . . HAH HAHAH HAHh ahh ah ah hh hah hah hha ha ha ha  . . . .  I mean the treats not the knitted beasts, they will be locked away in the shed again until next year despite their little squeaks and squeals of protest  . . . . . . . .HAH HA AH HHA HHAH HAH AH HA HAH HA HAH AH HAH HA HAH HAH AH HA HAH ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

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The Return of the Curse of Harry Potter, Fantastic Beasts and Steven Spielberg and me

I noticed on the news last night that both Twitter and the Post Office seem to have decided to sell shares on the stock market, it somewhat amused me because it is a bit of a clash of technologies and philosophy. But I guess at the end of the day folk will rush out and buy which ever shares they think are the most likely to make loads of money, which in my humble opinion is neither . . . .  I guess that is not what they want to hear, but you would be far better investing in a rather strange film about a young slightly eccentric chap.

Which brings me to more shock news . . . . . . I also heard (rather ironically on Twitter) that there are plans to make a Harry Potter spin off film called something like Fantastic Beasts. I was in shock at first, I thought I had seen the last of Mr Harry Potter and His Wizard ways, sniggering at my humble steam powered spell machine. Just because if vibrated off the shelf and created its own hole in the floor to fall through before smashing to bits 15 floors lower when the boiler cooled down due to the air rushing past it as it fell. Him and all his Robsanidiotiosum Hahahaexplodious Excelentamusediam, Luckily it appears he will not be in the new film (O DEAR . . . . . . .HHAH HAHAH Hah hah ah hah ahha hhah ha ha ha ha hah ha ), poor old Harry. However,  I feel I have some good beasts right here in my own blog, what with Micro Gods and critters like the Dark Creature of the Undergrowth, The Banshees and the Lemmings of Petrograd.

If the nice Steven Spielberg had started making Rob Z Tobor the movie when I suggested we would have loads of beasts that are even better.  Still what can I say this is the way of the world for us simple ordinary folk living in the hills of the English Welsh borders, I bet I would not have this problem in Hollywood or Skegness…..

Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them  . . . . ..  Really, I think the answer is OVER HERE . . . . .. . . . . Mum said I am an IDIOT

Anyway I have told all the pupils in School to keep an eye out (no it’s purely a silly saying I have not told them to remove their eye, this is not Hogwarts) for folk on broom sticks, and if they do see any to test their Zombie Defence Skills with their pointy Sticks. Talking of which I can say that they are rather effective on Media Studies teachers, although it turns out the Media Studies teacher is not a Zombie. This was finally proved by Esmeralda after some vigorous interrogation which Sir Alec Guinness in Tinker Tailor Teacher Spy would be proud of which is rather ironic bearing in mind it’s the Media Studies teacher.

Ooooooo The Monty Cardboard Robot Club have started to make a rocket……..WELL COOL.

And it rained today….

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Tales for the Hunting Lodge and the Wild Beasts

Life bearing in mind this is the summer holiday seems to be very busy, and not good busy chasing the invisible Ibis through the undergrowth with a spear, that’s me with the spear not the undergrowth. Or climbing the North face of the DIY store again and planting the Union Jack and claiming it for Britain or even making an attempt on the main facade of Mount IKEA; which has still not been climbed without the use of modern high tech equipment such as scaffolding and ladders.

But as I was saying it is busy, what with major work on Zombie defences with Mr Chris the builder who all being well will be back tomorrow to finish off; and helping the Ghost Writer with his task of emptying his office, which I ended up doing again today . . . . . . PHEW. And then I was asked to go and forage for food in the garden with nothing but a small knife and my wits to track down large game such as wielder beast and crocodiles, or golden eagle. Anyway it appears the wildlife must have got scared off by a stranger sitting in a small box not saying much, because pickings were slim and I was forced as a last resort to hunt vegetables.  The Ghost Writer rightly says If it cant move don’t eat it and he has a fair point. Sadly however my booty for the day was a vegetarian’s delight, something a hunter of wild ferocious beasts would never tell anyone for fear of ridicule back in the hunting lodge (summerhouse) so I won’t write about that . . . . . . . AH DAMN . . . .  A reputation ruined

Uncle George and the beast of the Curry

I am having a quite type before we run off for a curry with Mr Charlie and Miss Jane in Monty, although by the time you read this I will have eaten the curry and returned home. If  by any chance you are reading the paperback edition purchased for a few small coins in a second hand book shop in a small back street, run by a strange old man who could be anyone including me or the Ghost Writer, then that particular curry has long been gone and forgotten about. Well I say that, but should some sort of curry critter emerge from the depths of the curry with claws and snappy teeth growling it is likely the curry will not be forgotten about quickly.

Uncle George

 However at this point in time I am uncertain which of these two options is likely to occur, although I have a suspicion as to which is more likely based on the law of averages and some knowledge of curry construction.

The Ghost Writer and I moved loads of stuff today from his old office which now looks like it has been burgled, I said it would be the ideal time to burgle the office as no one would notice, although it has nothing worth running off with left in it. But I did get a desk and a thing. Amazingly while I was away Uncle George turned up which was a serious shock to everyone because Uncle George has been dead for two years. It means though that we can’t ask him what he has been up too for the last two years because to put it bluntly Uncle George is a pile of ash. Everyone thought he was lost out in the outback down in Australia and although he had said he was planning to return to Britain at some point no one could have guessed that the poor old postman would have to pore him through the letterbox. It is a wonder he made it through customs and was not confiscated for being an illegal substance.

I have returned from the curry and sadly no critters leapt out of it, but it did taste really good. The waiter said he came from Birmingham; he seemed a chirpy chap but was unable to explain why my curry did not contain critters with pointy teeth and snappy claws. Apparently this is far from normal in the Indian restaurants of Birmingham, but he has said he will mention it too them when he is next there maybe I will start a trend………