This edition also marks a first for The Autolycan, with the first ever Ballad of........ In a world where ineptitude, incompetence and sheer foolishness is all too often evident, it seems that every so often one man or woman stands out with a performance that is quite staggeringly inept, incompetent or foolish. In that spirit of celebration I offer The Ballad of Godfrey Bloom as a dessert to follow the spicy main course.
ENGLANDS GRENE AND PLESANT LAND
Stone Age
foodies enjoyed spicy meals, say archaeologists.
Christian Science Monitor
Mrs Nubia Scruton, Branch Chair,
straightened her very best rags, did her utmost to pat a lifeless and
greasy hank of hair into place, practised the closed mouth smile she
had perfected to disguise her lack of teeth and stood up. She exuded
an authoritative air which both expected and received respectful
attention from the bedraggled and unkempt group facing her.
'Good afternoon, ladies' she smiled
tightly 'and welcome to today's meeting of Slatterthwaite cum
Heckdale Women's Institute. Members of this branch have always taken
a keen interest in preparing traditional, wholesome meals' – there
was a noticeable emphasis on the word 'traditional' – 'not least to
give our menfolk the strength and energy to hunt. But as the Stone
Age comes to an end and the Bronze Age dawns we should, I suppose,
look to the future as well as to maintaining our cherished
traditions. And so I am delighted to welcome Miss Egwyne Thwaite,
whose talk on New Age cooking, will, I am sure, be most, er,
stimulating. Miss Thwaite.'
She sat down to a polite ripple of
applause, noting with some satisfaction the looks of doubt and
uncertainty on the faces in front of her.
Egwyne, too, was aware of a certain
hostility as she got to her feet, but hoped that her youthful
ebullience would win over the traditionalists. On reflection,
Slatterthwaite cum Heckdale was perhaps not the best place to start
this tour of Women's Institute branches – should she have gone
somewhere younger and trendier? Filey, perhaps. Even Bridlington?
'Hi!' she began, deliberately
eschewing the more usual 'Good afternoon, ladies' which she quickly
realised was a mistake. She smiled brightly and ploughed on.
'I'd like you to meet my Dad,
Aethelred Thwaite. Not literally, of course, he's probably out in
the forest somewhere failing to catch something for tea right
now.....' Her giggle met with silence.
'Well, Dad's a bit hidebound when it
comes to food. You know the sort of thing...”I don't like my food
mucked about with... I like to know what I'm eating...” So I
thought I'd better do something to try to bring him up to date a
bit.'
She flashed what she hoped was an
indulgent and affectionate smile. To no avail.
She
could sense a growing undercurrent of disapproval, and Mrs Scruton
shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
'So what did you do?' she enquired,
more brusquely than she had intended.
'What did I do? I did a wolf terrine
campagne with chilli and mustard seeds followed by loin of woolly
mammoth with a garlic, cinnamon and and ginger jus served with a herb
salad and tamarind dressing.'
There was an incredulous silence.
'Dad's always loved woolly mammoth and
it's really quite easy once you've sourced the tamarinds. But hey! We're moving on from being hunter gatherers – the Bronze Age will
be more agricultural, we can grow these things. It's an exciting
time to be a gourmet!'
'And what did your Dad think?' asked
a sceptical voice.
'He hated it. More than that, he
hated the very idea of growing food - you know the sort of thing... “
My Dad were a hunter gatherer and his Dad afore him. Thwaites has
allus been hunter gatherers; allus will. Bloody agriculture!”'
There was a sharp intake of breath.
'Oh sorry! But that's Dad for you! So then I thought I'd try to win Mum over first. She's a bit more
adventurous with food, so I did one of her favourites but with a bit
of a twist. That turned out much better – she loved being the
first in our village to have a casserole of spiced leg of Yorkshire
mastodon with saffron and figs, served with duchesse potatoes –
much better if you put a pinch of grated nutmeg in! - and cajun
grilled vegetables. The mastodon really needed coriander and
turmeric but I didn't have any, and that's when I thought about
getting Leofric – he's my brother - to start growing some of these
things in a small way. He's going to tell you all about it. So,
over to Leofric!'
A filthy and dishevelled creature
wandered up to join Egwyne, blinking in the light and fidgeting
nervously. His hair was hopelessly matted and his pitiful beard no
more than wispy, if that. He was painfully thin and looked lost and
confused. Nubia looked shocked, but some of the mothers in the
audience looked on this desolate and shambling figure with a certain
tenderness and concern.
'Like, hi.'
'Tell us about what you've been
growing, Leofric' prompted Egwyne.
'Well I'm into like rebirth and the
cycle of life' he muttered, scarcely audibly. 'Like growth is
mystical, right?'
Frozen stares, but one or two
encouraging nods as well.
'Like I'm trying to be in harmony with
the Earth, feel the rhythm of the seasons, right? I'm just like a
tree, you know? Like I give fruit and flowers and shade and stuff to
others without, like, expecting anything for myself.'
Murmurs of approval.
'And the herbs and spices he grows are
good!' interrupted Egwyne. 'I want him to build it up into a
business so that he can make something of himself while helping
skilled cooks like you produce even tastier meals!'
At last, she felt a growing warmth and
enthusiasm in the group.
'Even Dad can see the potential!'
'Yeah, he wants me to make money but
I'm like not really into money and property and stuff. Property is
like theft, know what I mean? Like it's really all about peace and
love and poetry, you know? It's like cosmic. It's peace that'll
guide the planets and love will steer the stars.'
Hostility was fast turning to
acceptance; acceptance to interest; interest to approval.
'When do you think that will be?'
asked an animated voice.
'When the moon is like in the seventh
house and Jupiter aligns with Mars, right?'
Nubia turned to him.
'That's truly poetic. Did you write it
yourself?'
'Yeah.'
'You have a very considerable talent.'
'Cheers. I mean, thank you.... like,
what I really want to be is a songwriter, you know? My head's full
of these like visions of the future. They're like just surreal.'
'Are you writing anything now?'
'Yeah.' He drew a crumpled parchment
from beneath his rags and handed it to her.
Nubia read it carefully although with
some difficulty, asked for silence, and then stood, looking stunned.
'We have with us today two
extraordinary young people' she announced. 'Miss Thwaite deserves
enormous praise for her inspirational efforts in promoting a new and
more exciting cuisine fit for the Bronze Age. Indeed, if I may put
it in the modern demotic with which I am sure our guests are more
familiar than I, I would say that this new culinary artistry is,
er......like, er..... totes amazeballs!' A gale of laughter –
friendly, supportive laughter! - rose from the group. Nubia's
gentle, self deprecating humour had skilfully won over the doubters,
and it was quite clear that this was now the official Slatterthwaite
cum Heckdale WI line on cooking with exotic spices.
'And Mr Thwaite has written the most
exceptional and stirring verse of which I will now give you a
flavour.'
If a throat can be cleared sonorously
that is what Mrs Nubia Scruton now did before reading from a barely
legible and badly spelt scrawl.
'And will those feet, in future
time's
Walk upon Englands mountin's grene?
So truly evocative isn't it? But the
bit I really like is at the end....
I will not sease from mental fihgt
Nor shall my sord slep in my hand
Till we've a great sureal jem
In Englands grene and plesant land.
It's absolutely glorious.....'
But
her words were drowned out by a burst of spontaneous applause,
cheering and stamping of feet. She looked archly at Leofric.
'We'll
have to tidy up the spelling and the punctuation, young man' she
simpered, almost coquettishly, 'but once you've set it to music I
think the WI can do something special with it.'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE BALLAD OF.............
Godfrey's repeated forays into the news made me wonder 'Whatever next?' Perhaps this?
THE
BALLAD OF GODFREY BLOOM
I've made a few cock ups; belief's
been defied,
I suppose I could run but I simply
can't hide,
To buff up my image I think that need
a
Spin doctor, to paint me as winner,
succeeder
- Or maybe spread tales that damage
our leader -
I'll write now to Mr McBride.
Mr McBride, Mr McBride,
You stitch up your victims with
passion and pride,
And I'm truly impressed by the way you
misled
Those palpable innocents - Gordon and
Ed,
My ratings are slumping, I'm losing my
cred,
Please help me and come be my guide.
Dear Mr Bloom, Dear Mr Bloom,
Of course I can help you escape
from your gloom,
To nobble your leader, we'll trump
up a charge -
He's taken up Islam and gone on a
hajj -
It might not be true but will
scupper Farage,
Fear not! Your ratings will zoom!
Mr McBride, Mr McBride,
Proposal fantastic! It's all cut and
dried,
Just what I needed - a sparkling new
broom
To
sweep to success and bring Nigel his doom.
Damian! Thank you! Regards, Godfrey
Bloom
PS – I've made an aside.......
An aside! An aside!! You called
them all sluts!
Your
friends and supporters! No, don't give me 'Buts'
A challenge is fine but it has to
be winnable,
This
cat that you've left me is simply not skinnable!
Away
with you, Godfrey, you're plainly unspinnable!
Begone! You're crazy! You're
nuts!
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