Druid, author, dreamer, folk enthusiast, parent, wife to the most amazing artist -Tom Brown. Drinker of coffee, maker of puddings. Exploring life as a Pagan, seeking good and meaningful ways to be, struggling with mental health issues and worried about many things.
Last Friday, the evening tides carried in more debris than usual, including several dead bodies (unidentified and now buried). It appears that a small ship of unknown origin hit the rocks on our north coast. Various intrepid folk have been out to the wreck, bringing back all kinds of interesting goods. I remind all readers that scavenging rules are simple – finders keepers. Anything washed up on the beaches belongs to the person who manages to make off with it. Rumours of coffee and chocolate led to scenes of brawling over the weekend, but no lasting damage done. Mithra Stubbs at the Black Swann Bakery claims to have shipwreck coffee for sale, by the mug. Having sampled it myself, I can’t say that it tastes any different from the stuff she usually sells. Perhaps this means that Mithra’s ersatz coffee is especially convincing. I wouldn’t want to suggest outright that one of our fair citizens might be lying through her teeth, but there is scope for doubt here.
For those inclined to be democratic, it should be noted that the fruit throwers outvoted, and outpelted the pro-council contingent. Special mention should be made of Politeness Jones and his wheelbarrow full of dedication to self determination! There will be no council. Citizens, I was proud to be there!
Every few years it seems we go through this same pointless debate. Voting. Councils. Mayors. Why, dear fellow citizens, do any of you imagine that if we vote someone in, they will then be able to change things! Votes will not enable to us to leave the island. Votes will not improve the climate, or health provision. Votes will however enable a few self righteous people to feel more smug than ever.
Our island was settled with a spirit of independence and self reliance. We get things done by co-operating with each other, not by putting people in charge. We are all equals, and we should keep it that way! Our founding fathers are probably turning in their graves at the thought of ‘democracy’. I am surprised their shades have not yet risen up to challenge this modern lack of sense and moral courage!
I appeal to you to stay away from the meeting at the Town Hall this Friday, where the self righteous amongst us will be trying to persuade you to give up your right to self determination. If you must go, do so with anger, and a good supply of rotten vegetation.
Since the birth of Abigail Looming’s fish child, I’ve not had any reports from new parents about their recent arrivals. Does this mean there have been no births, or that we are overwhelmed with other strange offspring that no one wishes to admit to?
On Thursday of last week, I woke to find my house in utter darkness. By my watch, it was early morning, and wondering at the lack of light, I lit a candle and drew back the curtains. Beyond the window was darkness, and in the darkness there were eyes. The vision was horrible beyond words, but I checked other windows and found the same. I confess, dear readers, to feelings of terror and did not venture beyond my door. I could only imagine what nightmare had befallen our town.
I might have remained cowering in my house for more than the three days I endured, had it not been for the timely arrival of Jesper Peeps bringing old paper back for reuse. I was persuaded that however things may appear, it was safe to venture out. While my house had been covered in what I can only describe as an infestation, life in Hopeless appeared otherwise untroubled. Darkly furred things clung to every available surface, blotting out the light while their hideous eyes stared in upon me.
Why did this nameless dread affix itself to my windows? Is there meaning behind it, or just the whim of fate? Annamarie Nightshade sold me a charm which did indeed remove them, but she refused to comment on what they might be, or why they had attached themselves to my home.
It is not the habit of this reporter to write himself into the news. I aspire to be nothing more than a careful observer, but circumstances this week mean I know nothing beyond my own experience. I cannot include births, deaths or marriages, having spent too long a prisoner in my own home, and the rest of the week removing the creatures that had taken me hostage!
As you may remember, dear readers, slightly over two weeks ago, three of our number attempted to leave. Oedipus Raft (21), Titus Raft (19) and Sam Raft (17) set sail in a rowing boat, declaring their intention to reach the mainland. It will come as no great surprise when I tell you they failed. Theirs, by my reckoning, is the 27th such attempt in the last decade, and no more effective than any other. Still, managing sixteen days in the unfriendly waters beyond our shores is no small achievement and they should be commended for their determination.
None of the boys are in good health. When I attempted to interview them, Titus repeated the words ‘It’s looking at me. It keeps looking at me.’ I asked them what they found out there, and Oedipus claimed ‘It goes on forever,’ but would not add any details. Thus adding very little to our knowledge of the state of the world.
The next batch of wood pulp won’t be useable for at least three weeks. Please remember to bring back your old paper for recycling. If you use this news sheet in your toilet, you are wasting a precious resource! Shame on you! I know who you are and if this continues, I will be printing names. The rest of us do perfectly well with leaves. Keep paper out of privies!
Abigail Looming has given birth to a fish, or so I have been told. The creature was returned to the waters on Tuesday last, and swam off. It has not been seen since, but the mother is recovering well. The father of Abigail Looming’s unlikely offspring remains unknown, although questions are now being asked about his species.