| Success story unsuccessful. |
May 13, 2008 5:05 am
2526 Views |  | Firstly, I want to congratulate fancyfree on a fine win in the recent FriendFinder Success Stories Contest! I'm sure those golden balls will suit her down to the ground (if you know what I mean).
I would also like to thank everyone who voted for my entry. Despite gaining the second highest number of votes (49 to fancyfree's 52), the judges have decided that my entry is invalid. Sadly, there will be no t-shirt winging its way to sunny Spain.
Toneboney was also stripped of a potential tied second or third place (depending on potential disqualifications), and I extend him my sympathies.
The meaning of "success" in this success story competition, I've just realised, is showing how successful friendfinder is, not how successful we have been in making friends and having them vote for us.
I'm going off for a cry now. Back later.
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74 Comments | |
| The Alhambra. |
May 12, 2008 10:11 am
1593 Views |  | Qal‘at al-Hamra
Alhambra
Red Fortress
set against
the snow-covered mountains
Sierra Nevada
seven hundred and seventy seven years
the Moors ruled al-Ándalus and Granada
in 1492 the reconquista
reached Andalucia
and Columbus and the conquistadores
reached the shores of America
the world would never be the same again
but then
it never is
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24 Comments | |
| Mook and the Giant: Being the third and last part. |
May 9, 2008 11:08 am
1693 Views | Their horses stamped nervously as Druoon Antigoon advanced upon the knight and his squire. Tom’s hand started to creep towards his sword hilt, but was stayed by a glance from Mook. The giant looked down upon them.
“A tenth part,” he growled.
“Is that all?” replied Mook evenly.
Druoon blinked. He was used to curses, threats and mumbled complaints, but not this. Squinting, he stooped to get a better view, sniffing the air as he did so. Mook tightened his grip on the reins as his steed danced nervously under him. Tom’s horse had started to sidle away from the confrontation. The giant straightened up.
“You don’t smell frightened, and neither do you appear false. What is your business here?” he said.
“Whatever my business may be here is my own,” said Mook, “But if my business were such a business as you have here, then I wouldn’t sell myself so short.”
“Who are you, little man? And why have these others come with you?” Druoon gestured at the growing crowd, “Are you a fool come to entertain me? For if you are not a fool, you are certainly foolish. And the foolish do not live long around here.”
“Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner, good sir. I am Mook, thane to the King of the Britons, whom they call the Bear, and servant of your own lord, King of the Low Countries, by whose command I am here. Word has come to court that persons unknown are operating an unlicensed ferry service across this very river,” Mook gestured vaguely to his right, “The King’s Chancellor has expressed concern that certain revenues due to the crown are not being collected. Decree states that all services of public transport are liable to pay a tax of up to two florins a month to the lord of the manor. As all rivers are property of the crown, these fees are owed to the king himself. As the king’s representative, I am charged with collecting such dues. According to my information, this ferry service has been in operation for over ten years. By the most conservative estimate the debt is valued at twenty gold sovereigns. I am here to collect that debt from you. But to be honest, good sir, you do not give the appearance of one likely to be in possession of such a sum. For this reason, I wonder why you only charge a tenth part for your services, as it seems plain to me that if you are to honour your debt to the crown, then the tariff must be increased.”
Mook paused for breath. At first the giant had appeared confused by the speech, but confusion had slowly turned to bemusement and then to anger. When Mook had got to the part about tax, Druoon had begun to heft his sword menacingly. By the time the twenty gold sovereigns were mentioned, the sword was raised and the giant’s eyes had narrowed, as he debated whether to run this impudent mortal through, or simply split him in two from scalp to crotch.
“Now, Tom,” said Mook, and drew his sword from its scabbard in one fluid movement.
From the moment that his master had gestured towards the river, Tom had continued to let his horse drift away to the right. Neither the giant, nor the onlookers had noticed as the squire continued to circle until he was positioned behind Druoon Antigoon. As Mook attacked from the front, so Tom spurred his horse towards the giant’s back. Too late, Druoon realised his mistake. He had allowed himself to be outflanked, and now found himself assaulted from two sides. With a bellow of rage he launched himself at Mook. The knight’s horse appeared to jump to the side, and instead of shearing his opponent in two, Druoon found Mook’s sword arcing up and slicing cleanly through his shoulder. At the same time, Tom’s blade bit into the back of the giant’s knee, severing the leg. Raising himself in his stirrups, Mook brought his sword around in an overhand swing which passed between Druoon’s head and his body.
The giant fell to the ground without a sound. Mook and Tom wheeled their horses and stared down at the quartered body. Where the blood spilled the grass was withering and dying.
“Was that really necessary, sire?” asked Tom.
Mook sighed.
“I don’t know, Tom. There is a time for talk and a time for action, and he didn’t seem the talking kind.”
“Talk might have cost him twenty sovereigns, but action has proved far dearer,” a slow grin started to spread over Tom’s face.
“Tom, if you mention anything about it costing him an arm and a leg, you’ll be eating fried roots for a week,” growled Mook.
“There was no need for him to lose his head like that though, was there, sire?” Tom’s grin was getting broader.
“Remind me why I chose you as squire again, Tom, I seem to have forgotten” said Mook, as he turned his horse and followed the river downstream towards the sea and home.
“Because I give no quarter, sire? Quarter…quartered…four parts. Do you get it, sire?”
“I’ll see if there’s a vacancy for you at court, Tom. I believe they’re in need of a new jester. The last one got bad views.”
“Don’t you mean he got bad reviews, sire?”
“No, Tom. He got bad views. They threw him in the dungeon for a week.”
“Point taken, sire. Point taken.”
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28 Comments | |
| Mook and the Giant: Part the Second. |
May 8, 2008 11:04 am
1660 Views | “Sire?”
“Yes, Tom?”
“When are we going back home?”
“I told you already, Tom. This will be our last task. Once this is done, we will have fulfilled the debt owed by our sovereign to the king of these lowlands, and be able to return home.”
“I can’t wait to get back, sire. Venturing in foreign lands is well and good, but the speech is barbaric and the food worse. I swear, if I have to eat chopped, fried roots with mired knees again, I’ll hurl.”
“It’s not ‘mired knees’, Tom. It’s ‘mare neighs’. Although what that white sludge has to do with horses, I dread to think.”
The flatlands lay all around the knight and his squire, as Mook and Tom rode towards the River Scheldt. They had spent the last six months serving the King of the Low Countries on behalf of their liege-lord, the Bear King of the Britons. Now that their time was nearly up they had been sent to settle a disputed river crossing on the Scheldt. As far as Mook could gather, a man of outsized stature and strength had monopolised the ferry business and the local populace had complained to their king. The royal advisers had assured Mook that it was a simple matter. A little low level diplomacy, a few quiet threats and home in time for tea. Mook had his doubts, but then, he always did.
The two riders entered a sprawling village and made their way to the central square. A desultory market was under way, but many stalls were empty and those that were in use boasted few goods. Some of the more finely dressed traders came to greet them. One bore a tarnished chain of office, and spoke thusly,
“Where are the rest of you?”
“The rest of who?” replied Mook.
“The rest of the company sent to deliver us from that bloodthirsty giant Druoon Antigoon.”
“Er…sire?” stuttered Tom.
“Yes, Tom. I heard him say ‘bloodthirsty giant’ too,” said Mook, then to the alderman, “My squire, Tom, and I, as representatives of the king of this realm, are here to resolve the disputed river crossing. I assume your good selves are the plaintiffs, but where is the defendant?”
“The defendant?” the alderman’s tone was mocking, “There is no defendant! We want to be rid of that murderous giant and his extortions. He lives not far from here, on the banks of the river. Kill him and have done with it!”
Mook sighed. Things were turning out as he had thought they would. It was obviously going to take more than a quiet word in a few ears to sort this situation. Nudging his horse onwards he passed through the marketplace and headed towards the river. Tom followed wordlessly, although his face betrayed a thousand questions, most of which started with ‘bloodthirsty giant’ and ended in ‘get the hell out of here’. Behind Tom straggled a line of villagers led by the alderman and his councillors. Torn between curiosity and fear, they kept their distance as Mook approached the giant’s shack.
“Drown Auntiegown!” cried Mook loudly, if not accurately, “I am the King’s Man, sent to bring an end to this dispute. Come out, that we may talk.”
“That’s a bloody big door,” whispered Tom, half to himself, “I could ride through it with you standing on my shoulders, sire, no-disrespect-intended-sire, and to be honest, I think that reinforcements would be a really good idea, sire, if-you-don’t-mind-me-saying-sire.”
“Calm down, Tom,” said Mook blandly, “Let’s see the lie of the land before we start calling out the Praetorian Guard.”
The door of the shack slammed open, and out of the gloom swaggered Druoon Antigoon. He was as tall as three men and as wide as five. Grown fat from his rich pickings, his belly bounced and rolled as he walked. His tunic was smeared with blood and grease, and in his right hand he dangled a broad bladed sword like a dagger. He blinked in the light, yawned, scratched an armpit, farted and spat on the ground.
“Impressive,” said Mook.
Tom began to whine quietly.
______________________________________________
If you have enjoyed this instalment of the latest adventure of Mook, you might like to catch up on earlier tales, such as:
A Knight's Tale - wherein we meet Mook, a knight of Camelot, and his trusty squire Tom.
And all because the lady loves...
The Trials of Mook.
Happy reading.
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26 Comments | |
| Mook and the Giant: The First Part. |
May 7, 2008 12:01 pm
1727 Views | Druoon Antigoon was a giant who lived in a small village near the River Scheldt. From his earliest years he was rejected by the other villagers. The children beat him when they could, and mocked him when they couldn’t. Even the adults crossed the street when they could, and crossed themselves when they couldn’t.
Obviously, being a giant, Druoon Antigoon soon towered over his parents. As much as they loved him, the constant hostility from their neighbours and Druoon’s enormous appetite was too great a strain on the aging couple. One spring day they told their son that he would have to fend for himself. Giant tears washed the cottage floor as they bade him farewell. Although huge in stature, Druoon was still a child, and the parting broke his heart.
Blinded by his tears, he stumbled out of the village followed by a jeering crowd. One boy threw a stone which found its mark, and Druoon started to bleed above the eye. Sensing vulnerability others picked up rocks and stones and began pelting the weeping giant. Druoon staggered under the onslaught and fell to his knees. The crowd surrounded him, taunting and cursing. A man stepped forward with a knife and slashed at his face. Druoon raised his hands to protect himself. As blow followed blow, the backs of his hands were cut to tatters. Unable to bear the pain any longer, he gave a mighty cry and broke free from his tormenters. No one could keep pace with the giant as he fled.
Druoon went to live alone on the banks of the River Scheldt where he built himself a crude hut and managed to scrape a living by fishing. Years passed. One morning he was awoken by a loud knocking on the door of his shack. A fat merchant was outside demanding passage across the river. It seemed the nearby bridge had been washed away by floods and the merchant would be ruined if he didn’t get his wares to the market in time. Druoon demanded a tenth part of the value of the cargo as payment. The merchant was unhappy, but had no choice. Druoon carried the caravan across the river, and the merchant grudgingly paid the agreed price. From that day forward Druoon became lord of the river. Not only did he ferry travellers across the river, but he destroyed every boat and raft for miles upstream and down. The villagers were outraged. They were dependent on the one they had driven away so long ago, and there was little they could do about it. Druoon was now fully grown and stood as tall as three men. The villagers no longer dared to attack him.
Druoon had not forgotten the harsh treatment he had received in his youth. In fact, with the passing of time, his bitterness towards the villagers had increased and become a burning hatred. His parents were now both dead, and Druoon was alone. His heart had hardened in its solitude. He demanded a tenth part of any cargo to be ferried across the river, and refused passage to those who could not pay. Sometimes travellers tried to cheat him, thinking him large of build but small of wit. This was a mistake. Druoon was a giant, the last of an ancient race, and he had some of the old magic about him. He was not a fairytale giant, outwitted by any young Jack-the-lad. He knew when he was being lied to, and he did not like being lied to. If he was lied to he became angry, and when he became angry his hands would throb with pain. When his hands hurt he remembered all the hurts that he had been done, and when this happened he would yearn for vengeance; and in his anger and his pain he would take it.
If anyone refused to pay in full, Druoon would cut off their right hand and throw it in the river.
In this manner, Druoon terrorised the region. He tore down every bridge and sank every boat that the people tried to use to bypass him. He extorted money and goods from the rich and the poor, and the honest and the crooked alike. The people became desperate, and sent a messenger to the king.
The king sent a knight. And not just any knight. The king sent Mook.
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32 Comments | |
| extempore |
May 5, 2008 8:53 am
1797 Views |  | incapable
just incapable
of writing a straight sentence
or framing
a coherent phrase
which is a problem
when translating
and the sun is shining
and the outside beckons
like a friend wanting me
to come out to play
and I'm imagining
superpowers
and what I would do
with them
and I'm dreaming
of journeys
like books
and books
like knives
and the swifts scream
in an ecstasy of flight
but the page drags me back
to its drear dead wood
and black marks
like an epitaph
to my life
here he sat
and died
where's my cape?
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44 Comments | |
| Still life with new haircut |
May 4, 2008 2:28 pm
1841 Views |  | Possibly the most pointless post ever posted.
Monday morning edit
The above was actually a mispost. After writing
the pointless line, I was assailed by inspiration
(or nausea, I forget which) and wrote another post.
However, as we all know, the ff blogdaemon usually
has Sundays off, so he refused to post the update.
It should have read:
Sunday
is a day
of reflection
so I looked
in the mirror
and the face
that looked back
said
you look like crap
you know that?
(Okay, so maybe the first post was better anyway)
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45 Comments | |
| there is a laughter in language |
Apr 30, 2008 3:15 am
1844 Views | there is a laughter
in language
a lilt and a ripple
that break the surface of speech
and scatter syllables
with delight
brightly shattering
the bonds of mere meaning
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35 Comments | |
| half empty/half full |
Apr 29, 2008 9:51 am
2052 Views |  | I don't care
whether the glass
is half empty
or
half full,
all I want to know
is
who keeps drinking
my fecking beer?
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64 Comments | |
| come play |
Apr 25, 2008 9:07 am
2238 Views |  | come play
it doesn’t hurt
at least
not until someone loses an eye
here
catch the axe
oops
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52 Comments | |
| To link to this blog (gowerboy) use [blog gowerboy] in your messages. |
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