Beatrix and Harry Potter and the strange tale of the missing book

Once upon a time there was a young Wizard called Beatrix she was very keen on writing  her book of spells, she loved to record many spells scribbling little drawings of entrails and stuff in the margins. She was often heard practising them or learning new ones from Professor McGregor in the old potting shed at the end of Hogwarts vegetable garden as they ate Ginger and Pickles and drinking a nice pot of camomile tea with a small tot of rum added.  

Eye of Newt,  Leg of Rabbit, Toe of Mrs Tiggy-Winkle and a nuns old Habit . . . . . . . . .  Liver from Jemima Puddle-Duck. . . .  and a small bit of Squirrel Nutkins, Just for luck . . . .  Yes such spells were often heard coming from the potting shed on the long warm evening of spring. And so it was, and all was well until one day Beatrix’s younger brother Harry lost his faithful owl in the enchanted woods. He searched high and low, but with no luck. Then one evening sat by a tree near the old potting shed Harry heard Beatrix talking to Professor McGregor

Professor I tried that spell and it did not seem to work

Oooooo Miss Beatrix which one was that

Mr Tods big glass eye, Tommy Brock’s boots crisp and dry, Wing of owl and its beak and head Make my hair a nice shade of red.

Ah you forgot the Two bad mice and a Toms severed thumb said the Professor

DAMN said Beatrix, but at that very moment young Harry leapt up and shouted at Beatrix for using his owl in a spell. . . He was not happy and he shouted . . . Bookium avanishioxus inum flashious. . . . And sure enough before you could say hang on I will explain everything the book that Beatrix had been writing with all her spells and drawings in had vanished.

Give me back my book young Harry Potter said his sister Beatrix

Never not until a weird cat wearing an old jacket wearing silly boots and carrying an old flintlock rifle turns up CALLED KITTY CAT. . . HAH AHha ha ha ha ha ha hah a hahah a hah ahaha hah a ha ha ha said Harry in a slightly mad way

And so it was until to everyone's astonishment what should happen to wander into the Victoria and Albert Museum, but none other than Kitty Cat, leading to a long protracted legal dispute with a certain chocolate covered snack

It’s a funny old world said Professor McGregor as he ate yet another Rabbit pie.       

THE END.

The Truth behind Burns Night . . . And the origins of the Haggis

This is the story of Mad Rob Z Burns whom way back was the man who finally destroyed the terrible beast of the heather known at the time as the Hissing Hag a terrible beast that legend said had plundered the wild places of Scotland eating unsuspecting crofters and travellers.  Rob Z Burns was a proud and fearless Scottish warrior who would stand his ground against all, even when out numbered twenty five to one. Which is why he was known as Mad Rob Z Burns; well that and his habit of waving his private parts at mountain goats and Englishmen scaring both somewhat.

You see back in about 1520 Scotland was in much turmoil having lost many fighters and noblemen in the Battle of Flodden in 1513 and this was a time when the fabled beast of the Wild the so called Hissing Hag was said to be at its most dangerous. Partly due to the fact, most of the highland warriors had perished in their battle against the English. But there was one who had not, Mad Rob Z Burns and having resigned himself to the Scottish defeat decided to find and defeat the fabled beast, The Hissing Hag.

He was a man of few words and when folk did ask him things such as  . . . How is it going  Mad Rob Z . . . he would reply with . .  Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes believe . .  or even . . .  Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware . . .  Which after a while led to folk shuffling past avoiding conversation all together.  Much as most folk do today when they see a mad drunk Glaswegian in Sauchiehall Street.

However rumour soon spread across Scotland of Mad Rob Z Burns and his quest to find the fabled beast of the wild the so called Hissing Hag and destroy it.  And from time to time folk would see him up in the mountains tracking the beast through the mist. He would often wave and lift his kilt exposing his private parts to the unsuspecting traveller causing much stress and shock to the young and innocent But Mad Rob Z Burns was a Scottish Warrior it is what they do (well did). Then after about two years Mad Rod returned home having finally slain the beast. As proof he had kept a part of the beast in a sack. It was a hideous and gruesome sight. Many people came to see Mad Rob Z Burns and the remains of the beast and they would all ask him how he managed to kill it, but all he would ever say is . . . . Ah jist Neeped th' Hag Hiss beest wi' mah broad sword . . .

This was celebrated by many by making a copy of the terrible remains of the beast out of various bits of Sheep which the entire family would eat while drinking loads of Whisky and being rude with their kilts. The origin of the Haggis (from the Hag Hiss or Hissing Hag).

Then one of Mad Rob Z Burns’ ancestors also called Robert Burns wrote a poem which led to the modern day celebrations we all know as Burns Night on the 25^th January, but of course we all know that he was merely using a bit of poetic licence to tell the true story of Mad Rob Z Burns. Who would be far more well know had he said a bit more and exposed himself a bit less, but well that is what those old Scottish warriors were like back then.

  Address to a Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,

Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!

Aboon them a' ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm:

Weel are ye worthy o' a grace

As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,

Your hurdies like a distant hill,

Your pin wad help to mend a mill

In time o need,

While thro your pores the dews distil

Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,

An cut you up wi ready slight,

Trenching your gushing entrails bright,

Like onie ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:

Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,

Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve

Are bent like drums;

The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,

'Bethankit' hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,

Or olio that wad staw a sow,

Or fricassee wad mak her spew

Wi perfect scunner,

Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view

On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,

As feckless as a wither'd rash,

His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,

His nieve a nit;

Thro bloody flood or field to dash,

O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,

The trembling earth resounds his tread,

Clap in his walie nieve a blade,

He'll make it whissle;

An legs an arms, an heads will sned,

Like taps o thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill o fare,

Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware

That jaups in luggies:

But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,

Gie her a Haggis  

The fable of the Land of Pap. A tale of charity, giving and paper.

A long time ago in the strange and ancient Land of Pap the most valuable thing in the land was paper. It was coveted by all, and its uses were varied and endless which only added to its desirability.  It was Lord Afour who was regarded as the richest man in the land of Pap as he had so much paper it was said that if it was laid out flat it would cover the entire world 144 times; of course some folk felt such wealth was rather gross (HAH AHHAh ah aha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hahaha).

Well one day Lord Afour realised that there was more to life than wealth and so he gave half his paper to this friend Prince Foolscap who had only a small battered notepad.  Prince Foolscap was so pleased he gave half of the paper to his old family solicitor Mr Readas Smallprint and he in turn gave half to Charles Pencilsharpener.

Well so it went on as each recipient of the paper received it they gave half to a friend as a gesture of goodwill and charity.  Eventually of course the amount of paper received reduced substantially until young Miss Quill Pen received just 100 sheets of paper. But she only required 50 to get her through University, so she gave 50 to her Japanese college friend Miss Origami Nodding Swan, who keen to be seen to do her bit gave two sheets of paper to a down and out sleeping in the doorway of the University library (known to his mates as Ringbinder). Of course libraries could not afford real books and they were all kept on hard drives accessed by small electronic devices.

So it was as the sun set Ringbinder the old down and out rolled up the two sheets of paper and went down to the riverside where he saw his pals sleeping under the railway bridge. There were three of them nicknamed, Scrap, Maths and Hardcover and they all looked really pleased as Ringbinder tore the two sheets of paper in half so that each of them could wrap themselves up warm against the wild cold winters wind and rain under the old railway bridge.

As time passed the world moved on, and one by one everyone died and found themselves face to face with their God who asked them about what they had done to help there fellow man.  But strangely although God was pleased that Lord Afour and his friends had given half their wealth to someone else. It appeared that it was not who gave the greatest amount that pleased God the most, but those who had the least to give. When eventually the old down and out known as Ringbinder turned up in front of God and was asked what good deed he had done, he could not remember that he had shared his paper with his mates until God reminded him. Ringbinder you see had never thought is was a good deed, he was just pleased that he and his pals could stay warm, however God was very pleased and gave Ringbinder a new pair of comfy shoes and a big crusty bacon butty. God you see is very wise, which is why it is not a good idea to do terrible things in his name.                      

So at the end of the day, what's it all about then . . . And wallpaper

Last night as I sat chilling watching Stargazing Live on the BBC, I got a phone call asking if it was possible for me to visit a member of my family to hang wallpaper on one wall in order to create a feature. Caught slightly on the hop so to speak I did not have time to make up a cunning and brilliant excuse so in a sort of mad babble I agreed and was told that it was easy and would only take an hour of my time. I mean it’s wallpapering and therefore dead easy. Well that is sort of true except there is a strange black art to really good wallpaper hanging, which I do have, only it has been a while since I did an entire walls worth of it.

On my arrival I did find that one of the reasons that they had asked me was due to a bit of a disaster the evening before when they had attempted to hang the first piece themselves. Then the painter who is doing the rest of the room and putting together some large flat pack wardrobes for them said  . . . . . Oooooooo I don’t do wallpaper hanging far too dodgy and it can take ages.  . . . . I did agree with that, it is indeed a fickle thing to do well.

So three hours later the task was complete and all were pleased looking at the wall and saying well that is a good job done. . . .But how come it took three hours. . . . . Well of course it does take time to line up each drop and ensure nice clean edges top and bottom making sure that the paper is square to the wall so the pattern does not run up the wall at an angle and the like. And I do like to do a job well once I start one.

Anyway that was earlier and I have just watched Stargazing Live again where I discovered I did not discover a pulsar, but two small children did. It can be tough trying to make a small impact in the world. It would be nice to know that every now and again someone would say . . . You know that thing, you Know that thing that Rob Z Tobor did, wrote, discovered, sat on, ate, created, he was a cool chap . . .  I guess I will have to keep working on it for now and write more poetry and make more cardboard stuff and the like.

It is why I have mixed feeling about the sadness and shock that so many express about the likes of Lemmy, David Bowie and sadly today Alan Rickman. It is indeed very sad but in many respects they have been lucky enough to have left their mark on the world when so many live and die and are remembered by so few. It was after all the very sad death of a very talented twenty one year old called Svetlana who never got the chance to truly achieve what she might have  that first made me think I should write a blog. At least I know that in years to come when folk read my blog and I am off in another universe or what ever,  they will stop and think. . . . . Ooooo I just fancy a decent curry now. . . .