Thursday, 13 February 2014

In the Great Hall: Part: VI

A time for celebration! Today, is a great day for twas this day 5 years ago that the Jutes were soundly beaten at the ‘Battle of the Midden Pit.’ Hurrah!

Flaxen sat in his Great Chair in the Great Hall deep in his cups. His retinue, thegns, carls and assorted saucy wenches made merry and sang and danced and quaffed deep of the free flowing mead and ale. Flaxen had fought with honour that fateful day when he flailed his mighty double headed Dane axe, ‘Twat Cruncher’ in one hand and wielded his fine honed seacx, ‘Arse, Big Fat Arse, Biter’ in the other. Many a Jute had had their twat crunched and arse bitten that day. Flaxen’s son, Athelstan ‘The Unsteady’ had fought next to his father and had lost a false eyelash and pink enamel had been chipped off his breastplate after a fierce encounter with the transvestite bodyguard to the Jutish King, Olaf ‘The Rectal Raider.’ Olaf escaped that day only to be buggered, unto death, days later, by a wandering troop of effeminate Danes. The minstrels sang of Olaf in the great saga: ‘Olaf Lived and Died by the Pink Sword.’ Although, in truth, it was never a popular refrain amongst the West Jutes. Of course, the East Jutes did revel in the saucy ballad, but the telling of this story will have to await a more propitious time. 

It was whispered on the wind that Olaf’s only extant son, Gerhard ‘The Not Very Likely’ would feign a peace accord with the Tipton Saxons in order to make war on their mutual and much despised enemy, the Netherton Saxons. Flaxen brooded. Indeed, the West Midland metropolitan area was beset with intrigue, chavs, murderous vagabond rogues, East Europeans and the feckless unemployed. If Flaxen made concord with the Jutes he would risk a breach with the Angles of the march. There was much to ponder. Flaxen’s head began to spin with intoxication born of excessive drinking. His vision dimmed and his reverie was curtailed by the vision of Brunhildr. But this was no phantasm. The raspberry jelly bejewelled breast of Brynhildr stood within a licking. For it was she. And let us be frank, the area for a licking was vast. Before Flaxen could whisper, ‘O fuck’, he collapsed as if in a swoon……..
To be continued….    

3 comments:

  1. What the fuck are you taking? Is it class A? Have you been sniffing dandelions again?

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  2. ".......The minstrels sang of Olaf in the great saga: ‘Olaf Lived and Died by the Pink Sword.’......"

    Just goes to show what you know about colour and gender identification. I am not sure in which century these epics of yours are meant to be taking place, but the concept of blue for male and pink for female is a relatively modern convention. Victorian era, perhaps. Prior to that, pink was felt to hot for a female and therefore was a masculine colour.
    Gainsborough's Blue Boy was meant to be derisory, but is not seen as that now.

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