Chatty Happenings – a kind of magazine again

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Now that’s spring cleaning!

I am spring cleaning and have made a terrible mess.

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This is not the 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…

spring 04spring 05

spring 06
See Easter Tales
spring 07
I am a third of the way round – the walls

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.

Note typo.

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.

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I bow to my great King

It poured.

I bought a hat (in the charity auction)

big hat
It came in very useful.

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.

What is a Kinder Joy?

kinder girl
Joy

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.

village test
Complete four of the tasks correctly.

I guess I would have passed.

cooking
Lamb Broth

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.

But then again, I have seen a moose leap.

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….

Other news

I found my pig…

pig

I learnt secret techniques…

wild creature
by me

Five minutes looking at art with Gramey Smith (gsmithmedia) and I learnt how to illustrate the latest Viking Graphic novel.

roaring
Draugen

I collaborated

bursting walls 01
Jodie Hazel with my additions

For the next Graphic Novel

I released a single.

Invented a new miracle health food.miracle food

Shall I do a separate blog about it?

It is the sort of thing that goes viral you know.

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…

sea king
That’s Eric and Georg kicked aside in one blow

Right back to the spring cleaning – ooops!

lm

Give feedback or be placed up in the dungeon!

(oh yes dungeons were up not down btw)

What’s On

I am also in this, and I definitely do not have a walk on part.mortBTW I dedicate this blog to wonderful work a friend has done in overcoming past obsticals and inspiring me to face my demons of long ago – thank you with my heart 🙂

Anyway. More What’s On…

daisyvincent

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Memory of Otternes

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Memory of Otternes

Otternes Farm, Flåm Valley, Sognefjord, Aurland, Norway

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When I sit here, I have sat here before. I am hobbit-like and living. In my sense of belonging, I know: I know this place.

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Families are thin, thin on the ground, of the mountain. Long line of families in the mountains, dug in, right into its rock and earth and grass. There are long deep roots which hold us in place. Some say if you chop too many the whole mountainside will slide with us into the brakk below.

Yes here I belong, and feel I always have and if it is so and I have visited before it would have been in ancestral time a momentous occasion.

I still feel, when I stand there now, the haunting presence of one unallowed to love, ghostly appearance in the corner of story. Even with a broken heart one can still be of use up on the farm, never allowed to leave, no matter how the visitor requested. The corners of this history are cluttered with such figures. Then look upon the well. The well so deep and wide it speaks. Its dangers are voiced within its memory, “Do not throw yourself down here, as I did.” “As I did.” “As I did.” “As I did.”

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For there is beauty here and love and light…

…and even in the dark-times-long there is the promise; the promise of moisture, the recollections of growth which knows it will return.

Others will come, for such is the way of a mountain farm. Love can be found in such a meeting. Small farm memories of seasons with only each other to survive and flourish for. Yet there will be gatherings and visitation where young hearts can view across the clans-collecting and see eyes; eyes which sparkle only for you.

This is why we bury the salmon. As a promise and a way of surviving. They will leap again, as will hearts.

We shall go down from our steep sides as will everyone among the wide spread hill families.

The leap. The leap will come. Nets will spread and one of us will leave one steep farm to join another. Here and there love will flourish among the catching.

The bounty is there in the grave. The grave of the fish, saving us throughout the winter.

So came the sheep. The flourishing is here too, with care. They also visit. New faces, growing adults, turning from teens, turn their flock this way.

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The drove is long and this is a place where we can rest; to replenish. Fish is brought from grave, berry from jar, and water from the well is hung above the fire.

Some of these creatures have journeyed far, as have I. An instinct inside me sees the path. It twinkles elusively in my mind. I believe it is ancient. As the brown sheep belong here I am of a different wool.

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Other drovers journeyed over the more flowing lands where I am from. Just as rugged, these moors were traversed to sea-going vessels which sailed up this very fjord I see flowing below to bring the trade.

As these pathways arrive here. I see them glittering as timeless memory moving in upon this land to spread and trade, spread and grow. My path stops here.

As soon as I sat upon this stoop, as my eyes twinkled, my long past had led me here and settled.

A part of me will always be here and always has. My path stops here.

For more on Otternes and Gudvangen including Adrian the Lamb and Johnny Chicken see here Farmer (Adrian) Giles

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http://www.otternes.no/en/

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My full blog selection

My opening speech at Gudvangen

Now try my Haunted House blog