The Saga of Flaxen Saxon and the Quest for fabled ‘Brumagem’
As a boy I would visit the vast mud flats of the Tipton foreshore, my eyes squinting to far horizons. I heard wondrous stories of what lay beyond; the netherworld. The elders would tell of a strange mystical land, ‘Brumagem.’ A mystic city indeed inhabited by strange folk, bedecked in hoop earrings and white lightening (50p a can at Valuesmart liquor emporium). They whispered darkly of streets paved with dog shit. Poundland prospered and benefits were paid every second Thursday, by giro. Dare this land exist? I longed for a longboat to take me there. Foolish, mad delirium seized my lithe, fulsome and nipple rouged body. Afterward, spent, I would throw back my head and howl. I knew that if this land existed I would find it. I would bind its inhabitants to my will and fill their comely wenches with my seed. Turning to the wind I swore an oath by Woden’s wisdom that this would be my life’s quest…… The setting sun and the returning tide bid me to leave. As the used condoms lapped against my Ugg boots, I knew my destiny, my purpose. With fervent hope and sustained ardour I returned to my council maisonette to feast on fish fingers and chips.
The saga continues……….