Category Archives: Fiction

MOTTE AND BAILEY: part ye thirde

Previously on Motte and Bailey: Baron Camelotto-Rollovyr explains the mysterious death of the castle jester, with limited assistance from Robert de Milton Keynes, inventor of the Lolle-Catte. Motte and Bailey decide to go to the dungeon to examine the body.

Scene 4: The castle dungeon

Quickly! Everybody search this disproportionately small castle for clues!

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MOTTE AND BAILEY: part ye seconde

Previously on Motte and Bailey: The intrepid duo have arrived at Castle Fillion, home of Baron Camelotto-Rollovyr, in connection with a mysterious death.

Scene 2: At the castle gate

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MOTTE AND BAILEY (CSI: Wessex)

I have given into peer pressure and drafted the pilot episode of my medieval detective show, Motte and Bailey. I expect it to be picked up by a major TV network approximately never. (Cookies for every pun/historical reference you spot).

It is a well-known historical fact that horses were much droopier in ye middle ages.


CAST

Sister Bonne Motte: A nun with an eye for crime and no tolerance for jesters. There’s wit underneath the wimple.

Sir Liqueur Bailey: Renegade knight. A bit too fond of mead but handy with a mace. Soft spot for Motte.

Baron Camelotto-Rollovyr: Luxuriantly-moustachio’d local lord and inhabitant of Castle Fillion. Has a gambling problem.

Geoffrey Saucer: Bard and crockery aficionado. Pops up at inappropriate moments to SIIIIING.

Robert de Milton Keynes: Scholar and local abbot. Loves scrolls and also kittens.

Goodwyfe Maud: Housekeeper of Castle Fillion. Generally jolly.

Clegge: Village idiot.

Lady Bechdelle Testte: Ward of the Baron. Attractive, I guess… but in, like, an obvious way. Pssh.

Gruesomely murdered corpse: Was once the castle jester.

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Throwing the Book!

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for returning to our scheduled programming. I have a long list of Seriously Serious Subjects to post about in the near future, but I’m embracing a bit of levity tonight – as in, good cheer, not floating (sadly) – because I’ve got a bar of chocolate and some colouring books. So, I’m treating you all to one of my famous and somewhat arbitrary lists… keep your hands off my chocolate! Tonight’s topic, inspired by the fact that I’ve had the opportunity to read a lot of fiction lately, is: literature’s most annoying characters. Not the villains, necessarily, or the most hateful; but the ones who make you want to throw the book across the room in sheer frustration at their stupidity, stubbornness and/or ignorance. Presenting, in no particular order,  Fiction’s Most Peevish Protagonists…

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The Lady and the Leopard: A (very) short story

I virtually never venture into fiction, but the idea for this short story popped into my head after watching a WWF advert. That’s World Wildlife Fund, not the World Wrestling Federation. Anyway, I make no claims to literary merit, I just found it fun to write.

The debris of last night’s birthday party confronted Kitty as she thumped downstairs, ruefully surveying the wasteland of empty glasses and overflowing ashtrays. After rummaging in the kitchen cupboards for black sacks, she began to make a half-hearted sweep of the front room, brushing paper plates, stale ‘party nibbles’ and everything else into the bag between her fingers. As the bag filled, Kitty started to tie the ends together in a neat bow, but paused when she noticed an unopened envelope that had accidentally been picked up with the empty ones. Another card. Putting the bag down – and spilling four crumpled paper napkins from it as she did so – she tore at the seal, and withdrew a card:

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Projections

Following on from last night’s grousings about the difficulties I have had in accepting my work as something of intellectual value, it’s worth considering the idea of ‘disjunction’ more fully. By disjunction, I mean the mental gap between the projected, external self and the internal workings of the private mind. I don’t intend to address this from an ontological perspective, although I might betray a weakness for pseudo-existentialism –  but only because those kids of May 1968 looked so damn good with their Gitanes and Breton jerseys, regardless of how flimsy their house of revolutionary cards turned out to be. But I digress. Rather than looking at disjunction as a phenomenon of abstract consciousness, I’ve been thinking about what it means as a lived experience. A psychological analysis, if you like.

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