COVID 2.0

                                            Meet 'Spike' your friendly COVID Virus

And so COVID has eventually and inevitably become endemic in the 'Land of the Long White Cloud'. I recall blogging on COVID two years ago before the disease became widely disseminated worldwide. I painted a rather benign future. I suspected the saga to be overhyped and honestly thought the whole affair would slip into oblivion in a thrice. I was wrong and the situation became the full-blown monstrosity we see today. Will COVID eventually fizzle out like the flu of 1918? Or will it be ever-present and eventually be part of the rich palate of diseases that currently assail mankind?

New Zealand acted quickly and enacted a Draconian lockdown. It worked and the few cases we initially acquired were stamped out. Of course, our island nation is easily isolated and our success was mainly due to the ease we could close our borders to the world. Most countries don't have the ability to prevent the influx of the diseased; modern borders are wonderfully porous. But we were living in a fool's paradise. And although New Zealand was free of the disease, the whole world burned. Before we could congratulate ourselves we had to consider the cost. The universal closedown hit businesses throughout the country, really hard. Regardless, of the financial compensation packages available many companies suffered hardship. Restaurants and cafes were closed, some never to reopen. People were laid off and many lost their jobs. As I walk through the High Street in my home town I can see the fruits of government policy. What used to be a thriving commercial centre is now peppered with a host of 'For Rent Signs'.

Our COVID success was just a madman's dream. We couldn't keep the island nation isolated forever. Economic Forces and Fiscal Reality dictated that eventually, we would have to return to the international fold. Not too long after our reintegration unto 'International Lore/Law, a lone Australian entered the country and passed on the Delta variant to a citizen in the fabled, nay enchanted, city of Auckland. Steps to stamp out the virus, this time, did not work. There was nothing the government could do but weather the storm. And to be honest, there was nothing that would have had a practical impact. Population models predicted an exponential rise in cases and to date, the recorded number of infections stands at 1,138,167. This is undoubtedly an underestimate. As I understand the situation, the Delta variant, although highly transmissible causes a milder illness than previous varieties. This is not to say that Delta is benign and deaths will still occur in vulnerable folk. The virus continues to evolve and new variants are arising all the time. The vaccines received may not totally protect the recipient from these new varieties. I suspect that we will be assailed by waves of these variants thus causing a resurgence of the disorder, over time. This is our future, probably.

Our household was afflicted by this malady about a month ago. It seems my son in law was the initial incubator. Anyway, the infection ripped through our cloistered environment. All six members of the family succumbed and tested positive according to the RAT test. Interestingly, we all experienced different symptoms. My twelve-year-old granddaughter suffered not at all. My two-year-old grand fruit (the apple of pop's eye) had a cough and lassitude that lasted about six days. My wife, suitably named Mrs Saxon, had relatively mild symptoms. This was a relief as she is afflicted with a compromised immune system. I suppose I seemed to be the most affected. I did not suffer from chest manifestations. My main problem was fatigue and loss of motivation. I just lay on the bed contemplating my navel. For frivolous amusement, I stuck a straw in said navel and watched its gyrations. I think I discerned a pattern in the movements and noted the apparent orbital rotation with the occasional eccentric wobble. It was at this juncture I thought it would be a good idea to take my medication. Wibble bollocks.......   

Flaxen Has Forgotten to Take His Meds

 

Tipton to Mars, Akimbo!

The Martian probe

Breaking news from the beautiful Spa resort of Tipton. It can be exclusively/conclusively announced today, that the Tipton West Astronautical Team (TWAT) will be sending a manned mission to Mars by the end of the decade. Mr ‘Baby Doc’ Vowel, Tipton’s recently and democratically elected Mayor, pontificated thusly: “Denizens of this great town of ours, little more than a couple of decades ago most of you were living in mud huts plastered with animal dung and straw. Whilst the medium allowed for free artistic expression, it did pong something awful. Subsequently, some of you have moved into brick houses with running water down the walls. No longer are our citizens clad in goatskin. Everywhere, couples can be seen in matching spandex shell suits pushing little 'Dallas' in his ‘day glo’ perambulator. Gone are the days when lamentably deformed wretches stalked our streets. Nowadays they are kept stacked in a special enclosure before being whisked off for an invigorating Zyklon B shower- never to be seen again.

"We choose to go to Mars, not because it is easy and inexpensive, but because I have a vested interest in the local company supplying bespoke space suits, 'Mr Khan’s Space Paraphernalia and Cyanide Gas Emporium'. This goal will concentrate the will of the people and make me a fabulously wealthy man. Let me state now, that this incredibly expensive programme will in no way be funded out of your pockets, but will be paid for directly out of council funds".

After a rigorous and demanding selection process, Mr Intrepid Mugumbo has been chosen to man this prestigious venture. He will undergo an extensive training programme by being confined to a cardboard box throughout and fed liquidised faggots and peas by straw. He will be given an empty fizzy pop bottle for the express purpose of passing liquid waste. Once full, the bottle will be discharged from the ‘capsule’ with casual abandon by a deft flick of the wrist. The removal of solid waste presents more of a challenge. It is hoped that by cutting a hole in the posterior of the spacesuit, Mr Mugumbo (there is no other) will be able to direct a blast of faecal matter into a suitably placed receptacle. This will have the added benefit of providing additional thrust for the space capsule.  

Intrepid Mugumbo demonstrating the principle of propulsion

Once on the surface of the ‘Red Planet’ our intrepid voyager will embark on a rampage of discovery, boldly ferreting about the Martian landscape on a specially adapted skateboard. In order to traverse the alien environment, solar panels, affixed at a tangent will provide the necessary power to drive the skateboard with suitable aplomb. Once our ‘Martianaut’ has satisfied himself he will supplant the Tipton flag upon a suitable prominence. Go, Tipton!       

The Martian probe continued

David Icke

 This is a post I put forth several years ago concerning this captivating and often annoying gentleman.

My readership has certainly evolved over time. Folks that were with me at the beginning have long gone to pastures new. And so I've acquired new 'followers'. Indeed, my blog has changed over the years and my earlier fixation and blogging style is no more. What remains is something very different........

Anyway, I've resurrected this post for my current readers for their perusal and delectation.  

David Icke in repose

Let me introduce you to the entity called David Icke. In the 1970s David was a professional football player resplendent in the English football league (c’mon the baggies). When his career ended due to an auto-immune condition (rheumatoid arthritis) he became a sports commentator on the tele. He was articulate, opinionated, popular and obviously intelligent. In 1990 he had an epiphany while in a Ryde bookstore on the Isle of Wight. Apparently, a voice commanded him to go to the ‘Psychic Section’ and it was there that he espied a book written by a psychic living in Brighton. He felt compelled to visit the psychic and during the interview, she told him he was about to become an important recipient of supernatural and psychic messages. From that moment the ‘scales fell from his eyes’ and a worldwide conspiracy became evident…… Subsequently, he popped up on a popular talk show, ‘The Terry Wobegone Show’. He appeared in a turquoise tracksuit and calmly announced he was the son of god and the world was about to end. The audience did not seem to be overly impressed and greeted the revelation with howls of derision and laughter. Overnight he went from a respected television personality to a full-blown fruit loop and a bona fide swivel-eyed, looney. Although his views have evolved over the intervening years, as described graphically in his 20 or so books, there are a few consistent themes. In the following paragraph, I’ll outline a few of his ideas: read and weep.

He believes that aliens from another galaxy came to earth several thousand years ago. He calls these aliens, Archons and they are depicted as tall reptile-like creatures. The Archons manipulated human DNA to produce human/alien hybrids. These hybrids have become the leaders of the world and are in collusion to manipulate and control world events. Apparently, the goal of the lizard hybrids is to cause worldwide strife and discontent which releases negative energy. The Archons, residing in their ‘other galaxy’ home are able to feed and gain sustenance from this energy. Also, the moon is hollow and contains reptile aliens, probably on holiday from their home galaxy. They use the moon as a base to broadcast mind-controlling beams in order to manipulate the way, we humans, think and behave. The Queen, the Clintons, the Bush family and apparently Justine Beiber are part human/lizard alien. We don’t observe their natural form as they are able to shapeshift through the dimensions.

So why am I bothering to write about a man who is clearly delusional? David Icke interests me for several reasons: firstly, I honestly believe that he is sincere and earnest in his beliefs. I do not think he is a charlatan or conman in the American tel-evangelist mould. Of course, I may be wrong and it is possible the whole, ‘lizard alien’ conspiracy is a means to fleece the gullible. I suggest my readers listen to the man in action on YouTube in order that they may form their own opinion (refer to the link below). Secondly, David Icke has seemingly/seamlessly tapped into the modern preoccupation with ‘new age’ sensibilities and other-world consciousness. A hash of pseudo-scientific, Eastern spiritual and other associated nonsense. From this wobbly edifice, he speaks to packed auditoriums throughout the world holding forth for eight or 10 hours to an enthralled and captivated audience.

There is no doubt that David Icke has charisma- a quality difficult to define but you know it when you see it. How otherwise is he able to keep people seated and presumably listening for such long periods? I’ve listened to a few of his monologues and I was struck by the way he introduces and delivers his fantastical/phantasmal material without a shred of evidence or coherent progression. He talks a lot about energy and like a lot of ‘New Age folk,’ he appears to have no idea of what energy actually is.  
  
I don’t think Mr Icke is mad in any conventional sense. Although, I suspect, like me, he doesn’t always take his medication, prescribed or otherwise. When he holds forth on topics not related to lizard folk and a hollow moon he makes a lot of sense. I watched a video of Icke discussing the transgender movement and I found myself in agreement with many of the points he raised. He also makes some very salient points about the world we live in, none of which are particularly controversial or new. A lot of his non-delusional material is actually commonplace and mundane: it is the delivery which makes it appear novel and supposedly interesting. His ideas concerning the control of society by powerful and rich oligarchies would ring true if espoused 2,000 years ago: truly there is nothing new under the sun. Again, I suggest my readers listen to him in action- it is difficult to paraphrase all of his opinions and ideas, mainly because he holds forth on everything and at great length. His mind must be a tumult of ideas and competing voices- reminds me of someone I know. I must admit to a grudging respect for Icke. Whatever his motivation for doing what he does, he clearly is imbued with astonishing energy (whatever that is) and a singularity of purpose which is frankly admirable. I cannot dislike a man for doing what he thinks is right, although, I disagree with much of what he has to say.

I would be interested in what my readers think of David Icke: Is he a charlatan?; a man of vision?; a true prophet of our times?; or madder than mad Jack MacMad on a particularly mad day? Let me know what you think of this rather strange and driven, man. 

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National 'Anglicise NZ Day'

I'm back after a fever driven hiatus.......

                                    Mr Naguwau-Magumbo being very Rude

It has not been well publicised but today is officially recognised as: 'Anglicise New Zealand Day'. This day was initiated on the 20th of May 1832. It was inaugurated, by the then Governor of New Zealand, Sir Wolfram Vanderpump (Earl of Tipton). The proceedings were held outside the Guildhall, Russell, at Noon. Apparently, it transpired that the day was unseasonably warm and the apparel reflected the rather moist conditions. Local dignitaries were present, including the then-incumbent mayor of the capital city of Russell. Twas none other than the Right Worshipful, Enoch Dimmoch-Saxmundham (b1784 - d 1856). Apparently, the ceremony ran smoothly, until the local Maori Chieftain, and his companions decided to intervene and make their presence known. An impromptu Haka transpired and the intimidated local folk complained and thus the honour guard present was ordered to present arms and give a volley of their Brown Bess muskets. According to standard military protocol, of the day, survivors of the tirade were dispatched with the bayonet. Luckily the unsavoury event propagated by the duskies did not ruin the proceedings and the event continued unabated.

Later that day, after sundry announcements, the event concluded with a cream tea and savoury dainties; cucumber sandwiches were not included. Finality was provided by the Lady Mayoress with a spirited solo rendition of the 'Maid of Verona' in E Sharp Major, with a minimum of vibrato.   

Tis my express wish to keep these quaint ceremonies current and up to date and consequently, have written to the current Mayor of Nelson and surrounding environs, Mr Ngu Nagawatu-Mugumbo, if it would be permissible, and in keeping with this auspicious historical day, to change the local township, Kakipoopoo, to Flaxen Town. I am expecting a favourable response. Arse bucket, akimbo.      

Bugger!

I suppose tis inevitable, the dreaded COVID has insinuated into the Flaxen Saxon Estate. We are all sick at the moment and I'm suffering severely. It will take a week or so before I'm on the mend and therefore I will take a little time off this 'blogging game'. To be honest, I'm not up to composition and my mind is a fog.

Anyway, normal service will be resumed when I'm feeling okay. 

Crecy II

Oops, me head has just fallen orrrrrf, again! 

And, as promised we continue with the second episode of this epic tale. 

As previously noted, the English host was well-rested and had partaken of a sumptuous repast. This aspect of the battle often goes without comment. However, a well-rested man with his hunger appeased is a man ready to undertake mayhem and death. At the battle of Trebia (December 218 BC, Second Punic War), Hannibal ensured that his men were warmed by the fire and had eaten a hot meal. In contrast, the Roman army was cold and there was no provision to feed the men. After fording the freezing river Trebia the men were in a wretched state and proved to be easy pickings for the well-deployed Carthaginian army. Back to the battle in hand........  

At 4pm (26th August 1346) the French host, marching from the south, arrived on the scene. As the army was tired, hungry and disorganised after the day's march, King Phillipe's advisors suggested that the army rest overnight before commencing battle on the morrow. Sound council, no doubt, but the fates dictated otherwise. The king's marshals tried to exercise command but the proud haughty knights felt disdain for the pitifully small English army and would brook no delay. They surged forward followed by the men at arms, on foot. In the van, the Genoese crossbowmen formed up and at 300 paces released a flurry of bolts. The distance was too great and the English were unscathed. As the crossbowmen reloaded the English bowmen advanced, took station, and replied with a volley of arrows. The arrows were devastatingly accurate and sowed death and confusion in the Genoese ranks. This was their first encounter with English archery, and it was none to their liking. In the initial engagement, both mercenary leaders were slain. And then, as if ordained by Lord Thunnor himself, the heavens opened and hailed stone and iron unto the serried ranks of the discombobulated crossbowmen. It seems this was the first major battle, in European history, where primitive artillery unleashed its portent of doom. The arrival of these primitive noisemakers proved decisive and the crossbowmen began to retreat to the rear. The impatient/impudent French knights were not pleased with this development and the king's brother, the Comte d'Alencon, spurred his division to cut down his erstwhile allies. There followed a brief but vicious fight between the knights and mercenary bowmen. The English took advantage of this impromptu melee and poured arrows into the French and Genoese with veritable abandon. The storm of arrows caused great distress amongst the knights and, in particular, their mounts were sorely wounded.

Once he had dispensed with his allies, the doughty d'Alencon (silly Comte) continued to lead his division toward the English line of knights. Other divisions followed and began to advance, uphill. It is said that the archers held their 'fire' until the French knights were very close and only then released a deadly volley of arrows. As before the English archers were accurate and lethal, and again, the horses suffered greatly. By the time the French knights reached the English line, all momentum had been lost and the English men at arms struck down the French with poleaxes and swords. In the fray, the Comte was slain and the first wave was utterly destroyed. The French continued their ill-omened onslaughts sending wave after wave of knights to their doom as the English archers continued with their deadly arrow storm. The forward impetus of the knights was curtailed as the horses had to negotiate a battlefield littered with their dead and dying compatriots. The power of the 'knightly charge' was consequently dissipated making them easy pickings for the archers, English knights and foot soldiers. Waves of French knights continued until the light of the day was gone and it was clear to all that the French had lost the battle. The French king fought bravely and during the battle had two horses killed under him. Finally, he had to be dissuaded from certain death and was escorted from the field of carnage by his trusted/trusty advisors.  

At one stage of the battle, the blind king of Bohemia asked to be led into the fight in order that he may swing his sword at the English. His horse was tethered to his accompanying companions and thusly was led off to his predictable and inevitable doom. This bizarre episode illustrates the power and influence the 'Code of Chivary' had on this class of men. They were steeped in the Code from birth and trained exclusively for war and the exercise of their interpretation of honour and gallantry. 

The killing did not stop with the failing of light and the English archers and foot soldiers descended upon the dying and incapacitated, and with their long knives, propelled them to Valhalla with gusto.  

The battle of Crecy was a great victory for the English and the French were introduced to the deadly power of the English/Welsh longbow. And so began the '100 years war' between the two nations. The flower of French chivalry fell that day with 1,300 knights, and thousands of foot soldiers killed. The English lost no more than a hundred men. The French nobility was unsettled by the victory and its implications. Hitherto knights were invincible armoured warriors bestriding the medieval battlefield like colossi (steady Flaxen: too much waxing lyrical). Until now, the 'rules' of the game dictated that knights could and should only be killed by other knights. Or more likely taken hostage for ransom by their knightly counterparts. On that day, knights learned that a simple yeoman with a 'stick' and a clutch of arrows could defeat the Lordly; unprecedented and unsettling. Of course, the lesson was not lost upon Edward and the English nobility. The dynamics of medieval warfare had changed. 

When King Edward heard of the great slaughter he was much disheartened as he had been robbed of a significant source of revenue. Apparently, he was genuinely saddened at the death of King John describing him as the 'crown of chivalry'. As a mark of honour, Edward appropriated the dead King's crest, three ostrich feathers, and to this day it remains the emblem of the Prince of Wales. 

And so ends the 'Saga of the Battle of Crecy'. If prompted, I could continue with this refrain and post further articles relating to the '100 years war'. Gentle readers, let me know in the comments your thoughts.