the village idiot

Thanks for your kind words everyone:thumbup: Here begins a truly epic tale in which a simple woodland dweller embarks on an epic journey of infinite peril, to avenge the wrongs inflicted through Witchcraft on a schizophrenic badger called Brian. AN IDIOT ABROAD Chapter 1: Brian the badger. The Village Idiot woke one day The trees were still, no creak or sway, And not before he'd scratched his nadgers, Did he note the pair of badgers. One was white with wandering eyes, The other black as midnight skies. "Release the balls" said badger white, "And hear thee well our desperate plight" "We are Brian" said badger black, "And over yonder some time back, We were one, both pure and true, Before the Witch split us in two." "What did you do to incur her wrath? She sounds like a total psychopath!" "Nothing was said, and nothing done, She just does things like this for fun!" "We've travelled far to find the man, The idiot child who folks say can Slay ten Wizards upon one knee, Before his morning cup of tea." "Now this be a Witch, I'll not pretend That breasts mean nowt to you my friend. But spell she does under pointed hat, And her chest is really rather flat!" "Your tale fills me with heartfelt sorrow, I will set out on this quest tomorrow. Tell me now, and do not lie, How does I this Witch come by?" "First you must seek the windy frog Who dwells within the stinking bog. His wisdom trumps the mind of Yoda, But he does emit a most foul odour." "The frog will tell you where to go, He's a surly bugger as you know. Beyond this point we two know not. The trip was long and we forgot." "Fret not my new omnivorous friend, This grave disgrace I shall amend. The magic Hag of which you tell, Has cast her last caniving spell!" To be continued...

That's a very kind offer:thumbup: I am up your way from time to time so may well take you up on it. What are your favourite woods for turning so I can return the favour?

Quite so my friend.

Thanks Mull:thumbup: No talent though, just a brain addled by woodland solitude and too much wood smoke!

Badger spit can do no harm to an idiot blessed with guile and charm. For saliva from the stripy beast, when mixed with mead and brewer's yeast produces a brew both thick and gruelly quoffed each morning by your's truly.

The Idiot's new clothes Once upon a time, in a land far far away there was a village called Flangefardon. It was just like a village one might encounter today in places like Somerset, with the typical array of characters such as the unimaginably wealthy log merchant with the chatty nature and for whom only the best will will do (assuming he can find out what it is!) Amongst all the other Flangefardon characters was 'the village idiot'. He really was incredibly simple, and struggled to get his empty head around universally known concepts such as the fluidity of water. After fishing the village idiot out of the duck pond for the 100th time the residents of Flangefardon had had enough and they banished him to the deep, dark woods, telling him not to return until he had learnt that a body of water will not support his weight, and just because cows spend many hours at a time eating grass and looking gormless it doesn't mean that he has to do it too! To make his punishment especially harsh they also decreed that he must earn his crust by making charcoal, knowing only too well that only the most vacuous simpleton would even attempt such a hopeless task. Despite the cruel intentions of his community, the village idiot was very happy in the woods. He found the resident pheasants to be very intellectually stimulating and there was plenty of grass to eat. On One particular day the village idiot had lit the kiln and spent the morning attempting to recall the names of his siblings back in Flangefardon. It was past lunchtime before it dawned on him that he was an only child. (The village elders, after experiencing the product of his parents' carnal union had forbidden them any further physical contact for fear they might produce more of the same!) After his post luncheon snooze he sat on an old Oak stump and watched the smoke billowing from the chimneys of the kiln. To his astonishment the whispy clouds began to form themselves into the shape of a rather portly foreign looking chap. "Who in the name of Chegwin are you" blurted the idiot, dumbfounded. "I am Gene the Genie" said the misty manifestation, and I grant you three wishes. Use them wisely". "I've no idea what to wish for" said the idiot, racking his overstretched grey matter. "How about some things to assist you in your daily tasks?" proffered the Genie helpfully. "Ah yes, of course" chimed the village idiot. "Can I please have a signed photo of Count Duckula and a really big spoon" Gene the Genie rolled his eyes, clapped his hands twice and out of nowhere there appeared a glossy print of the much loved waterborne superhero accompanied by a really big spoon. The village idiot was busy examining his new possessions with undisguised glee when the Genie spoke once more. "You have one wish remaining. I suggest you use it wisely. If I couldn't see that you are are several sandwiches short of a picnic I would have to assume you were taking the piss!" The village idiot screwed up his face in intense concentration and for possibly the first time in his life came out with something vaguely sensible. "I should very much like a new set of clothes-to include a suit of the finest leather to protect me when I walk into trees, a stout pair of boots to stop the badgers eating my feet, and a nice furry hat to keep my hair warm." A fleeting look of panic flashed across the Genie's fleshy face. He was fairly new to the Genie-ing game and was unsure how garments such as these were supposed to look. He decided to refer back to his two previous clients for inspiration. Unfortunately for the village idiot these were Grizelda Grimbergen-Gorepants, seamstress in chief to Genghis Khan himself and Percy 'prefers to ride pillion' McProber, the only openly gay member of the Hell's Angels! And thus was how the village idiot acquired his new clothes which he continues to wear to this day, blissfully safe in the knowledge that he is fully immune to the ravages of tree impacts, badger attack, and most terrifying of all... cold hair! Night night.

Great stuff! Could we see a couple of pictures of the pole lathes themselves?

No, I think he said the Chelsea flower show. Horseum is West Sussex way.

Wow! That's seriously impressive. Was there any info with it to say how it was made?

I'll send you over a keg of my lovingly tended home brew- 'Numpty's Nectar'. It is virtually indistinguishable from diesel. I drink gallons of the stuff . Only down side is you can't enter central Londinium, and I did once make the mistake of attending a candlelit midnight mass after a good couple of jars and healthy portion of Mr's Idiots sprout medley. Just as old Mrs Crabapple had finished teasing the opening chords of 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing' out of the reluctant church organ, I let slip what I intended to be no more than an ephemeral gust to drift gently down the pews unnoticed. Unfortunately I had underestimated the incredible chemistry occurring within my stomach as well as my proximity to one of the many hundred flickering white candles. The church is now in a fairly sorry state having had it's congregation halved overnight and struggling with a window repair bill of biblical proportions. Luckily I escaped with almost no injury due to the fact that the devastating blast zone was entirely behind me. I picked my way through the debris, muttering consoling words to the wounded about the mysterious ways of the Lord, found the opening where the 3ton solid Oak door had been, and left feeling pleased with myself that I had fulfilled my duties as a Christian citizen for another year.

It is great. Easily the best atmosphere of any of the wood shows.

Good man! I trust you took full advantage of the Arbtalkers 100% ice cream discount.

Did you have an ice cream David?

"What's that Gemima, two young lads are trapped down the old mine shaft?!!" "Right, just let me sleep off this steak and Irn-bru pie and I'll be right there"

'Scottish log merchant Mr. Biggarlogs (19) has succeeded in doubling his IQ after pioneering a bizarre direct contact diffusion technique'

'Tree surgeon exposes evil plot to infiltrate and disrupt the Teddy Bear's Picnic! For fear of reprisals Mr Biggarlogs (26) has declined to reveal his sources'

Sounds brilliant, can't wait to hear about it:thumbup:

I forsee a new business venture for you! DIFFLOCK PRE-SCHOOL SERVICES 'Cutting edge childcare' We like to let your kiddywinks find their own way around lethal weaponry with occasional supervision. Ages 1 to 6. :001_tongue:

Jon! You've been hanging out with Yoda again haven't you:sneaky2:

If it's big butts you're after head on over to the 'two bulk bags on the back of a pick up' thread. But not if you've only just had your dinner.

Crying out for a caption. "Speak up Mother, I can't hear a word you're saying":)

And would she be wrong?

Nice one Eggs:thumbup: Mrs Idiot has just this minute got back from Paris and is very pleased with the plug. She is not quite so happy to discover how we refer to her on Arbtalk!

Amen to that :thumbup: The astronauts who have been lucky enough to see our planet from space must think all this stuff is totally bonkers.