A highly imaginative story created by Adrian with the children of Robert Wilkinson Primary Academy as part of the 2015 Jorvik Viking Festival.
Oski and the Amulet
There Oski lay in her chamber, her secret chamber. It was a dark, dusty, murky, damp, cold, bone-filled, chamber.
“Sssh its a secret,” they whispered as they hid the cave entrance.
The people of the halls were normally kind to her, she didn’t understand why they hid her away whenever there were visitors to their community.
(Oski wears a long white dress, when she heals or her amulet does magic her dress transforms into a shimmering gown. And later she will have a train that shimmers and gives off light.)
There were painted carvings set into the walls all around like a story. She had often looked at them and thought how the girl looked like her. Yet…
Grumble Monthly – A new magazine series to join such as Poem Pics, Chatty Mag and Rant of the Week etc
I am updating this page and re-blogging it with loads more new stuff in it, cos I had this idea that I might be funny. My mate tells me I am not all that funny usually. Except – when I bitch-slap.
Get me mad or give me a platform to grumble and then I am entertaining. That’s what she said any way.
So you are going to have to put up with it right.
Well only once a month or so.
I will collect up all my grumbles and put them altogether into a themed magazine issue (just one of my many threads oh yes).
(People who see my posts on Facebook will be breathing a sigh of relief at this point, “Oh Thank the Gods, we don’t have to see his miserable posts three times a day.)
Super –posters are going to be the subject of my vitriol quite soon I can tell you. Ah, no, it will have to wait till next month and I will have to be nice in between times.
Mark My Words I will be jotting it all down and saving it up, so watch them posts of yours, cos I am…
Poundshops. They sell me far too much stuff. It is ridiculous. Oooo a fly swatter, I would like one of those. No. You get five. Five. What on earth do I want with five fly swatters!!!!!!
Lobster pots, they get me mad. There you are having a nice walk by the harbour and there are loads of them piled up (I actually think fishermen/fisherpeople are lazy as them pots are always there on the harbour – they ought to get out fishing more often). People wander by and they go, “Ooooo look lobster pots.” Have you looked at the seafood stalls! Loads of crabs, and like, two lobsters. They are crab pots, crab pots, what are you calling them lobster pots for! That’s why I am cross about Lobster Pots.
Oh no I have gone and called them that now.
Allotments. The committee have gone and put up a map board – ‘You are here’. It is rubbish, well for most of the year anyway. It is only actually accurate in mid-winter; the rest of the year it means nothing. Nothing.
It could be they have just recently repainted the notice board. So no one is putting notices on it in case it gets spoilt.
Yes that’s it, look, cos next to it there is a really old one and people are putting their notices on that.
And that Michelle, (not that I should really grumble about my wonderful friend), but what a rubbish greenhouse you have. Admittedly it has been in her shed for years unopened. So I borrowed it, and took it to another friends allotment to set up for our mutual seeds (don’t read anything into that phrase this is not a social networking pop up ad.)
But look at it.
I opened the packaging and it exploded, shot up in the air and became an instant greenhouse.. But what good is it ! There is only room for one plant. You have to peg it down to stop it blowing away. There isn’t a hole anywhere or a lid or anything. How on earth are you going to give it any water! They do need that you know. I hope it blows away. Someone else can put their plant in it only for it to die.
So I built one from bits laying about.
If you look closely at any of these pictures you will probably see some Mares Tail / Horsetail Fern. It is everywhere. And its roots go down to Australia. Turns out, one of the allotments is rented by the local horticultural college and about thirty years ago, they came and said, look we have a revolutionary way to get rid of Horsetail Fern. Can we come and work on the finer details in tests on an allotment? They planted the whole allotment with the stuff. Then. The tests failed. They didn’t have solution after all. Now. All two hundred and fifty allotments (vegetable gardens), are full of the stuff.
Look out Australia!
Whenever I am on a train, I look out at some point and there is a BATA. It says it is a country store and everyone is welcome. What the hell do they sell? I’ve never been in one. They are plonked out of the way by the railway and you never ever pass one by any other means of transport. Welcome? Pah!
Two pouts and you are out. My mum says you can’t trust anyone nowadays cos everything has been taken over by spammers and tricksters and all the cowboys she sees on them programs she watches that warn you about stuff. Well. She is right. I get at least one friend request a day. When you go on to look, they have nothing on their page at all. Nothing except their two pics, one for the profile, one for the cover pic. They are wearing a short shirt, they have big eyes and they are pouting. Remember my rule to get you through life –Two Pouts and you are OUT.
(btw I did have a genuine friend request one time fairly recently I am sure)
Spoiler alert –
This next bit is going to spoil a film for you, so scroll down past it quick.
Six long years he was there on that island. He could not escape because no boat with just oars would ever get over the great big reef that goes all the way round his tiny little miserable island. He crashed there with a huge pile of parcels he was supposed to deliver. He was going to deliver those parcels. He was going to get away from here and get home and do his job. He would. But one by one he opened the parcels, and each time it was something useful that saved his life. His long miserable life dreaming of the woman he loved who was now with someone else (A dentist!). When he eventually gets home he personally delivers the last parcel. Very emotional.
It is a true story. I recently, quite by chance, met the actual woman who received the parcel. (btw if you scrolled down a paragraph to avoid the spoiler it is in this one actually.) I actually met her, the real woman. I asked her…. What was in the parcel? The answer… Loads of bedding and a tent.
(Did ‘six years’ over egg the joke?)
I hate Kinder Ninjas. It has been driving me mad. Ages trying to work out what to do with it. But I did it. I have one on my key ring and I am ready…
Is there a message in random happenings? I have just counted up, and I have been given or had bought for me 11 suitcases. Is there a message in this for me?
Random equals synchronicity. I see it in everything. I believe in it. There is always a message. Then I read Jung. He says, there is no such thing as synchronicity, yet there is great power in it.
I like that. I like that.
Then. I read an article by some psychologist. He says random events are random events. There is no meaning in them happening at the same time. By their very nature random events are random. They are not evenly spaced because then they would not be random. So, they are bound to cluster. That is their nature to randomly appear and sometimes to randomly appear all at once. That is random.
I do not like that at all.
and that Vikings Uncovered thing on the telly – they ought to rename it – Myth Busting for Idiots (that’s my mini review)
Is it just me, or when you go on Facebook right, there is scroll along bar of recommended friends for you – How come every one of them looks like an absolute fruit cake.
And any of them social networking sites or twenty funny pictures pages n stuff, how come all the adverts down the side are always for really weird kinky strange stuff!
[blog update – ah, I’ve just been informed the adverts on pages you visit are tailored specially to you and relate to your search interests]
That Alan Sugar (I think it was him, but it might have been some other guy), anyway them queues in the garage – btw when I say garage I mean the shop where you go to pay for your petrol and buy stuff like flowers cos you forgot to get someone a present (see below).
You are in the queue right and the adverts are put on just for you, that guy, or maybe someone else I forget, right, made millions out of it, well a bit anyway. All they did was, went to a software company and said invent this please. There is a camera looking at you and it is linked to face recognition software. And it assesses the people lined up and determines their age, gender and stuff. Then it works out the majority profile and puts ads up about things they like. Loads of old ladies in the queue? = Ads for denture baths and elasticated hosiery. That sort of thing.
When I was in the queue the ads were all sorts of weird strange things!?
Norwegians (in my opinion) don’t learn English, they learn American English. So a garage is a gas station or a petrol station. Stuff like that. There’s loads more but I will grumble about it in another blog. No. Wait. I am getting radged now. Candy. Candy!!!!! It’s sweets.
Aeroplanes. They can’t have very good engines on these things if they have to put you in the dark by turning off all the lights before they can take off.
Ads for dating sites. They are always on saying our site will get you the right person you don’t want to be going on those ones that just ask about a couple of things about you.
What if I wanted to go out with a camel!
Thought: The chaos of the universe is mine and I should just do what I do. Accept my faults and failings and live. Lord knows there is love and acceptance there for me. I am damaged goods. Sometimes I forget the happiness, the sharing, the affection others bring. Thank you to all those who see the brilliance shine. I might just have a light in me.
Shopping online with a friend is faster and easier or so I read – I don’t understand how the world works any more I don’t.
Buses. When you leave the stop before yours, press the bell. Then the driver knows she has to stop at the next stop in plenty of time. Do not sit there with your finger on the bell looking out all anxious and press it just as you get to the next stop. Don’t do that.
Don’t talk to people either. They don’t want to know. Woman in front of me the other day, she looks at the (slightly large) woman across from her who has a pushchair and says, ‘It that your granddaughter?’ No. It wasn’t. The poor woman looks round and says, ’It’s mine.’ All choked up she was. She actually got off a few stops early and walked so she could have a cry. As she got off the bus the woman in front of me says, ‘Nice talking to you’. No it wasn’t.
And another thing, that democracy. It is all well and good having democracy but the trouble is, there are some horrible people out there. How come they get included in the right to vote!!! It just doesn’t seem fair to me.
Junk mail goes in a folder marked junk mail, but some junk mail goes in your inbox marked junk. It’s like that advert where some people are allowed in the park and others aren’t. Junk! Why does it do it! Does it forget its own rules sometimes? Or does it think, oooops I’ve put that in the inbox and now I’ve decided it is junk, better mark it quick so I don’t look daft? Does it think?
And I will tell you another thing
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We must never join in my friend. We must be what we are and do what we do. We must never join in my friend. It takes so long. No one notices what we do, but we are in on the zeitgeist, we are the past and the future and often not quite the moment, we are what we are and believe; we must never crumble my friend. Nothing is ever the end. Except the end. And that is a temporal thing beyond this existence. Try stepping into how other people live. No. this is not us. This is not us my friend. We live in dream. Only dreams. Only dreams of what we can say. Of what we can do. Of what we can make be. And we sing brother. Oh my god how we sing. Let your visions be. Let your software searches be a thing of the long long moment. Watch those blue bars pass. Edit the moment again and again and again. Dive into excitement. Dive into possibility. Be. Just be. Because you are just perfect as you are. And we are in this totally crazy forever forever moment forever. Never doubt. Who out there is the same? Who of the people we meet could be us. Never doubt. Be. Never doubt; be. Because. Because of a thousand things you hold in your heart. All of it is bursting out and will be seen. Will be experienced, in the heart of others, it will, it will. My crazy friend. My crazy friend. My friend.
I wrote the above after I realised I had joined the world of editors, sitting in a little corner watching blue bars go by. I once told Gramey that everyone has a destiny in life and a purpose and that his main quality was an ability to watch blue bars go across the screen. He reacted as if I had placed a curse on him! Now I watch them. We are in fact The Blue Bar Boys. Not that they are always blue of course. I have been watching the black line one on my editing software a lot lately. One observes stuff which seem so of interest at the time. IE It takes longer for the bar to go from 99% to 100% than it does to get from 1 to 99 altogether. And the first 45% goes by in a flash. I don’t suppose there is any use for this information but it seems important when you are watching it.
Does watching the bar go by help at all? I feel like I am helping it along when I sit there. Sit there staring. Then when it clicks through to completed and I can at last start work again, what do I I do? Get up and go and make a coffee. Why on earth didn’t I do that when I was sat doing nothing!
What I endure is nothing to the time Gramey feels he loses. I felt he might need a reminder that there are usually beautiful outcomes to all his hard work.
Footnote; reference and correction, Wheatley wrote The Devil Rides Out and the occultist Crowley said, ‘Do what you will’ I have always felt this was a terrible phrase but suddenly thought it can be turned around, if everyone is able to do what they will then evil ones who dominate others must give way to allow all.
I have had a great night out, but I think we may be trapped inside a game of cards against humanity
I was thrilled with the level of responses to my Facebook post ‘What, no milk’ as it was only aimed at a certain few I thought would understand it.
My taking over the world target which only needs one person in Greenland to read my blog and I will have three quarters of the world covered might end up that just the small part that is habitable will be highlighted on my views map. Not the same thing at all.
I have found out I need a coloured tail.
When I get booked for a festival it turns out there are a whole team of us going!
Minor events are better than bigger ones.
Jacobs Well is supposed to be a holy building but the name is a joke title from when it was a pub – ie beer will give you eternal youth.
None of us are perfect and sometimes we embarrass ourselves.
None of us are perfect and we need to be nice to others and not too reliant.
On a different tack; people who might be diagnosed as autistic would rather not be on a spectrum actually, it is far too woolly and about rainbows. I lie not.
Mental health issues are managed by pub staff in a tolerant practical way.
I should sew more.
The girl who died at the Columbine massacres painted the same number of tears in her painting on the morning of her death as the number of people who died.
People are capable of so so much and have so many skills.
I learned what biscuits and gravy are and it is not gravy.
As in teacakes are not teacakes and high tea is not high tea. So much depends on where you are.
Sop is a stomach churning topic to some.
Beer in the house of trembling madness is all strong (4.5 to 41 per cent.
I am in a Viking theatre group and the members will die (except one).
I am living history and the best storyteller ever seen.
Share this with Greenland for godsakes.
Oh yes and Filey Dragon Festival had better watch out.
I am spring cleaning and have made a terrible mess.
Nine times today huge piles of things or shelves of ornaments have collapsed on to the already mentioned mess.
Here are some of the bits that survived…
Nine shelves! Does this mean anything?
Does my dream? I dreamed last night that I broke up a load of Jacobs crackers poured them on to a baking tray, covered them in blobs of butter then popped them in the oven with loads of grated cheese. I dreamed that this was very important. Is it? Would it be any good.
Thank God Iv’e got that off my chest.
I will soon be twenty two. Did I type that?! Sixty Two. I have just discovered the difference between its and it’s. I am a writer, or I thought I was. Its It’s simple really.
Oooops, ten (crashes that is).
I better get tidying.
But then again – Personal experience is a lie.
I am not going into details on that one, quote me when I am gone though.
I did once send a text to a guy who was also doing a spot at a festival on the same stage as me, I meant to say, ‘I am looking forward to your bit’ – I glanced as I pressed send, it said, ‘I am looking forward to your obit.’
Phone disaster; I went camping didn’t I. Off I went to join the Vanaheim Vikinglag at the National meet. I am honoured to be invited to be a part of the York University Medieval Society’s Viking team – Vanaheim. We have a beer named after us and everything.
I bought a hat (in the charity auction)
I also made a thousand pounds! Well, they were selling a mystery gift at the end so I threw in two mystery prizes which made a wonderful – £14! What were they? Two Kinder Joy eggs.
That fourteen pounds took the total up to a thousand quid. So I claimed all the credit.
I took the history test. I passed. With a lot of help. Three people stood over me giving me clues. But I made it. Perhaps I should keep quiet about the fact that the Spendlow’s York audio history of the Vikings is available at jelldragon.com ?
The hat. Very useful. It poured. The wind howled and shook tents. I put the hat on, pulled the sleeping bag up to meet it and slept like a storage jar.
I slept in.
I missed the Village Test.
I guess I would have passed.
Seeing as I have lived as a Viking for weeks at a time. Put up loads of Viking tents. And cooked for fifteen to twenty people a night for a week on an open fire. See Neanderthal cave bread.
But then again.
I failed the history test.
I was right about the Viking age starting in 500 AD and lasting till 1250 though I guarentee. I shouldn’t argue should I.
Perhaps I am horrible after all. I just shopped in Savers, bought a few things, like washing powder and stuff. As the counter person lifted them out one by one she said, ‘Can I interest you in razors or razor blades today at all sir?’ I didn’t speak. I leant into the basket, lifted up the packet of razors and pointed them at her face without speaking. Horrid. Thats what I am.
I have learned how to make string though.
And Viking-age buzzer games.
I look forward to Whitby when I shall be taking the acting test, the Skald test, and the appearance test; and then I will be able to tell stories.
And I might even have a go with the Hiberno-Norse sling workshop.
Truth is I am wanting to learn; shoe making, basket making and bone and leather carving.
And I want to buy an axe.
Back to the phone – actually that is the reason I started writing this blog – but I tend to digress.
I awoke – in the tent – after a hurricane.
My phone was in the corner – under a pool of water. It worked. It worked for three days. Then I was ringing my mum and I thought, ‘My hand is wet’. I looked; the back of the phone was soaking and so was my hand. It worked wet. It worked soaked. It dried out. It packed in!
I am not stupid though. I knew the way to do it was to leave it in a bag of rice over night. I didn’t have any.
Hah. You can’t get the better of me. I put it in a box of lasagne.
Oh. It didn’t work. Not to worry, I have a bag of mixed fruit, surely this will work….
I found my pig…
I learnt secret techniques…
Five minutes looking at art with Gramey Smith (gsmithmedia) and I learnt how to illustrate the latest Viking Graphic novel.
I have been publishing online live via video conferencing with the wonderful Aspire group.
I have been practising becoming Cyndi Lauper – no pic here!
Thank you Eric but I am king now…
Right back to the spring cleaning – ooops!
Give feedback or be placed up in the dungeon!
(oh yes dungeons were up not down btw)
I am also in this, and I definitely do not have a walk on part. BTW I dedicate this blog to wonderful work a friend has done in overcoming past obstacles and inspiring me to face my demons of long ago – thank you with my heart 🙂