Category: Days

The Mystery of the Disappearing Queen

‘You missed a good story in the inn last night.’ Helm shrugged. ‘I have little time for storytellers. They’re all liars.’ Tolg sat down beside the shepherd, both watching the sheep. ‘Oh, this storyteller is new. He hasn’t visited our village before.’ Helm muttered his thanks as Tolg passed him the wine bottle. Helm drank deep; watching sheep was a thirsty business. ‘Anyway,’ Tolg said. ‘This storyteller told us a new tale - about the Queen of Amboria.’ Helm stopped drinking. ‘Where?’ ‘Amboria.’ ‘Never heard of it.’ Helm swallowed, even though he was clutching the bottle in both hands where…

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Monday Poem: The Frozen Fields

The Frozen Fields We drift through mists that hide the day. The night will close in on us, and the cold Will make us huddle protectively inside. The rain will fall, almost frozen, hard Like the ice of sadness that freezes Then shatters the delicate heart of one Who has known love and seen it die Alone and uncared for, out in the frozen fields Of a time lost to it and bare of all traces Of the hearts it once held, beating together Inside itself, as though something so strong Could never be beaten or could ever die.

A Domestic Goddess

Obviously, it was not what was originally envisaged. But, as you probably know, very few of these things are, especially not if that original envisaging is mostly instigated through the medium of advertising. Once an old advertising slogan went along the lines of ‘it does what it says on the tin.’ Mostly though, things have a tendency not to, especially these days. After all, most of us know that advertising doesn’t work and we know that we – in particular – are too wise to fall for its blandishments. We have seen it all, by now, and seen through all…

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A Real World Out There?

This world is not the world I remember. It has been some years, how many I do not know. But it goes beyond that. Changes over the time I’ve been away I could expect and understand. But this – these changes – go beyond mere alterations made by the passage of time. Something fundamental is different from this world to the one I left behind. It should be a matter of subtracting the year I left this world from the current one to give me an idea of how much time I lost while I was… away. But the calendar…

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No More Stories

It used to be so easy. I would find the women. I would discover their closely-guarded secret. Then I would weave a story around that one thing they desired more than anything else. I would tell them the story I’d made for them. They would show their gratitude, happy someone had come along into their lives and shown them something beyond their small world. It was easy travelling from village to village, making up stories to tell to those who needed to hear them. Being a mere storyteller meant that the outlaws ignored me, at least until they needed someone…

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As I Was Saying Only the Other Day

Maybe it is not always that simple, especially when you think about all the other things there are to think about, such as…. Well, we’ll leave that to one side for the moment while we get on with whatever it was we were about to do. That is the trouble. As you get older, you start to forget about… whatever it was I meant to say here… probably something about memory. It usually is these days, or so I seem to recall anyway. That’s the trouble with a bad memory, remembering just how bad it is. After all, it could…

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Charabanc Trip

Now then, it seems that some of you have not filled out and returned your application forms for this year’s annual weekend trip to the Naughtie Islands. As you know every year, we here at Little Frigging organise a charabanc trip to the Naughtie Islands for one of their Infamous Perversion Weekends at Castle Frottage, on the coast of Loch Munch on South Naughtie Island. There we can all take part in a full weekend of role-play games of fully-immersive perversions, and we don’t even have to provide the cream cakes, or even the ladle. Although, those of you who…

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When the Law came to Town

Straddle Banjodisaster rode into town on his organic free-trade bicycle. Or, at least, he would have if the tyres made from recycled newspapers had not got damp when he peddled too close to a puddle and the tyres washed away down the road. So he pushed his bicycle along the pavement, next to the busy dual carriageway, sneering at every single occupancy vehicle that came past. He was more than a little disconcerted to see there was not even a bus lane, let alone a Park and Ride facility, or any other mass transit system in operation. But this was…

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That Look in her Eyes

She had that look in her eyes again. Helt was worried. He remembered the last time she’d had that look in her eyes. It had not ended well, at least not for him. What is more to find out she had that look in her eyes meant that Helt had to be close enough to her to see the look. That proximity brought him within range. Not that Shemul was dangerous as such. After all, Helt was the king, and he ruled his lands with an iron fist. Dukes, barons and earls trembled before him. Shemul, though, was his queen.…

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Sunday Poem: Stories and Lies

Stories and Lies I saw her. She was walking so alone. The road was long, and lasted all her days. She would, I knew, then grow so weary sore Of walking, long before that endless road Then curved off into distance far beyond. The road was heading on towards some place Beyond the maps we knew she’d never see. She’d only hear the stories people told Of distant places, tales from travellers Much like me. Stories told by wanderers All like me, who can merely tell these lies, That only ever fail to bring back here Those distant places with…

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