Chapter 17

Bored in Both and Fanovabba.

The departure from Both was now delayed. Peter lay in a small bed in one of the backrooms in the house of His Senses. He idled in a lovely bed, flitting in and out of consciousness. He dreamt that Hanny was in attendance. He dreamt that the King of the Fairies came to see him to ask about his health, but received nothing but rudeness from the bedraggled Pixy. Did Oberon berate Titania as Puck tried his luck? His Magic Underpants had been removed to help dilute the pleasure. Hanny felt this would allow the excess happiness to spread across the Universe and give a bit of love and kisses to all it met.

And it gave her the chance to wash out the skiddies.

It was evening.

Peter opened an eye as opening two felt like such an effort, and one eye was good enough even though it doesn’t really allow for any depth of vision. His dream seemed to be coming true as there at the foot of his bed sat Hanny. She was immediately aware of his one open eye though tutted to herself about his apparent lack of depth in vision. This was an issue she would bring up later as monocular viewing could result in trip hazards. Everyone knows that one eyed monsters often go astray even when well intentioned.

“How are you feeling?” asked the concerned handmaiden Hanny.

“What happened?” asked the confused Pixy.

Hanny looked into the single eye of her erstwhile lover and smiled. Here lay the sore arsed one with no idea about the power of Fairy Magic.

“Your bum got an overdose,” she said.

“Bummer!” said Peter.

It was coming back to him now; the pleasure from the anal relief had been replaced by a desire just for the Moonshine on his Jacksy. At first he had topped up his bum in secret but more recently he had been ultra blatant. Now he was starting to rely on the top up just to see him through the day.

“We think you have overdosed and overheated on Fairy Magic!”

He left it for a while to sink in.


It was all too much.

Just a short time ago he had been one of the happiest Pixies on the planet. Life had been good for him. He had a good job with prospects in the Pixy Phactory, with the possibility of one day being Chief Corrective Technician in the Summery Department, working toward life being Summer all year long. He wanted to cast out those cool Winter months and make every day a wonderful day.

Then devilment had overtaken him. It all came back – the session with a tart, then the sore bum, followed by CO2 and lard, Magic Underpants and now lying in a bed cast out on the coast of Wails suffering from an overdose of Enchanted Bottom.

“Still,” he thought, “nobody’s perfect.”

Besides, sitting at the foot of his bed was the most captivating bit of skirt he’d ever laid eyes on. His dreams continued. Would he ever lay more than his eyes upon her?

“What are you thinking about?” asked the Fairy, a mischievous knowing in her eyes.

“I was wondering if there is any kind of future for you and me,” he confessed.

“Of course there is a future,” she said pedantically. “You are asking if you and I have a future together. I can’t say. As I look at you in this bed I think not. You are a rascal, your stole the Queens Tarts then overdosed on her Magic Knickers; I am loyal to the Royal Family so your actions fill me with revulsion. Yet when I look into your eyes I feel a welling of passion that has been suppressed for so long. You remind me of tears I’ve lost in the days gone by. And yet …” She trailed off.

Peters mind was filled with a tornado of confused emotions. Looking at the curve of her chest he was filled with lust yet the deep blue of her eyes took him to the chapel of love.

He fell asleep.

It would be a while before the party would leave Both. The other guys took the opportunity to visit Fanovabba to take in the sights, smells and sounds of this larger town just south of Both. Here there were all kinds of strange creatures. The streets were filled with Banshees crying out that they’d been framed. All that they want is another baby but fortunately Mary Hinge had given the boys protection. This didn’t stop the Banshees from complaining to the lads about the lack of childcare facilities or the poor state of the benefits system or that their best mates all got the latest technology. It just meant that there would not be a miniature of Greg or Steve appearing on the highways and byways of Fanovabba.

Greg sat on the beach collecting Whelks. It’s another of those funny intergalactic coincidences that Whelks can be found in the seas of all of the planets of this Universe. So don’t ever be surprised if when bathing on the Costa Del Sol a companion on the beach will shout out that there are Whelks on Uranus.

For a gormless Goblin like Greg collecting Whelks was an interesting pastime in itself, though he subsequently found out the Hanny was an expert in Whelks and their breeding habits. With Steve in attendance they some came up with an entertainment plan.

A Whelk race.

The locals came out to watch as this was the most exciting thing to have happened in Fanovabba for quite some time.

Posters were made.

‘Whelk Racing on the Sands’ declared the hoardings.

‘Which Whelk Will Win’ enquired another?

Greg decide he wanted to have a winner in the Whelk races and so took a small team of slightly larger Whelks to a secret location further down the beach. There he trained them hard, though he fed them well too, what with decaying fish being quite common in the sea. On the day of the first race tension was high. Greg had developed one of the gastropods to such an extent that it could bend a sheet of paper with its overdeveloped foot muscle.

As the race started money was still changing hands. Most bets were on Greg’s champion Whelk ‘The Boy of the Sea’, though a few had gone for one of Steve’s outsiders ‘Foot and Mouth’. Nothing appeared to happen as the shell creatures were placed on the sand. Then “look out!” cried a voice.

A wave came in; small though it was it had pretensions to be a tsunami. The Whelks were ripped off the sand and dragged out to see by this pompous little wave.

 Greg and Steve got wet ankles.

It was all over bar the shouting.

The crowd were distraught.

“Let’s go for a pint instead,” suggested Steve.

Fanovabba has few marvels for the traveller. In the centre of the town lies the centre of the town, marked carefully with a plaque declaring ‘This is the centre of the Town’. Close to this are alleys, streets and passageways that contain houses and shops. Different creatures live in the houses, and should the traveller be curious enough he can knock on a door and say, ‘Hello who lives here?’ Not always advisable as it could be the home of a Banshee, though in reality the Banshees don’t live in houses; they tend to have flats provided by everyone else, a parasitic arrangement that does no good for anyone.

It could be that the door opens to reveal a menacing carnivorous fiend; though again this is unlikely as not many of them live in Wails. Most of the monsters left a long time ago and work as Uncivil Servants in the grounds of the Great Castle at Setebos, where the streets have no names.

I dither and digress.

Steve and Greg found a marvellous little inn not far from the harbour in Fanovabba. It served a fine beer and lovely Whelk sandwiches. They ate and drank until they’d eaten enough. As the day wore on they began to realise that life in Fanovabba is quite predictable and routine. They became more conscious of this as they read a newspaper over a second pint, declaring that the second would be the last as they didn’t want to go home in a state of drunkenness and upset the other half.

“But you don’t have another half!” said Greg.

“Best make it a pint then!” quipped Steve in his oh so Gnomey way.

Boredom was setting in in the inn.

“When do you think the anally distressed one will be ready to move?”

“As soon as Hanny says so.”

“Well I hope that will be soon as I am bored!”

“How can you get bored here?”

The Question answered itself.

They headed back along the cliff path to Both, stopping to piss into the wind at the highest part of the path. Where they really that bored that they had to piss on themselves for entertainment? On the other hand so much of life is just pissing in the wind, which would have been a better title for a very famous song.

Back at the house of His Senses in Both, the Fairies were once again at the bottom of the garden. They talked long into the evening on the merits of Magic Potions, Herbal Remedies, Crystal Healing and Alternative Therapies as means of combating serious pile problems in Pixies. Some felt that the Magic Underpants should be returned to the vaults of the Queen deep in the dungeons of Setebos. There appeared to be a hint of criticism regarding the Queens decision to release the Magic Underpants from her safe keeping, but Hanny said it wasn’t one of her vaults. Others felt this would be a possible life-threatening action for the anally corrupted Pixy, withdrawal from bum relief possibly leading to a fatality. What if they could whip away the knickers and quickly insert a potion or a cream? After all he’d not been wearing them for a few days now. Had the Magic delivered a Permanent Cure?

“I inspected the dangling grapes this morning,” said Hanny. “Not a pretty sight, no sign of relief. In fact they were ablaze with itchiness!”

Peter had been overdosing on Jacksy Magic, and she said she would stand beside him when the going got tough. Besides, wasn’t the aim of the Quest to find a Permanent Cure? All of these potions and therapies could help in the short term but he needed a long-term solution. The issue that concerned Hanny most was the addiction; Peter seemed to have lost track of why he needed to wear the Magic Underpants, he just wore them for the pleasure they gave him.

Hanny carried the argument in her favour. They would continue the Quest as given to them by King Innocent. She would monitor the way in which Peter was using his underpants, reducing his dependency on the enchanted under garments and steer him on South until they found the Sea of Green, the fabled Lake of the Gloompty Fish. There Hanny would take charge until the Permanent Cure was achieved. After that they would return in triumph to the Great City of Setebos and the Castle of King Innocent. Oh how the crowds would cheer.

‘No more piles for Peter’.

‘A numb bum is a cured bum.’

‘Have a tart but return to fart’.

‘He who laughs last is usually the dim one’.

Hanny would ride into town on the back of some mythical beast.

“We love Fairy Hanny!” all the chaps would cry out with meaning.

Yes, Hanny would save the Quest.

“Good!” shouted Peter from the bedroom window, “‘because my arse is killing me!”


Chapter 16

Trouble, trouble, trouble all the time.

The quartet were almost devastated.

It wasn’t that they had lost the sense of being a quintet along with all of the possible melodic sequences that allowed, or the chance to do an impression of the Dave Clark Five.

Take Five!

It was the loss of Ena and all it entailed. They would not miss her as she was a useless twat. It was just that she was married to Regan the Orc, a chief Financial Advisor and associate of Tax Collectors. The Orcs were known to dislike their wives intensely but they had such a primal family loyalty that it made them scary creatures to deal with.

Very, very scary.

Scarier than the scariest thing you could ever think of, adapted by Hollywood and put into a scary movie. Though scary movies are actually becoming quite jolly really. I mean an old-style scary movie that used to make you go hide under the sofa because you were scared so much you thought you were going to produce a liquid evacuation in your pants.

That’s how scary an Orc can be.

How could they explain it to big Regan?

“Well you see boss you had never introduced her to the little man in the boat. So when the opportunity arose she went for it. She’s probably living on a little island with the little man in a little-known part of a little-known sea.”

It wouldn’t wash. Not the sea; the sea would wash up and down the shore with the seagulls flitting alongside the puppies. No, the suggestion that Ena was cooped up in a love nest with some fictitious little man. That wouldn’t wash. Actually it was a disgusting mental image that made Peter want to wash his brains in a bowl of soup, preferably mulligatawny.

So how could they explain the disappearance? After all big Regan had expected them to take the half-witted wife and broaden her mind with travel. Some of her more recent utterances did suggest that things were working in that direction as she had come out with a few useful comments. But it wouldn’t sustain; he would see through it and eat them all.

“He wouldn’t eat me,” said Hanny, “not without risking a fresh set of wars with the Fairies.”

“He wouldn’t eat me either. I’d give him the shits!” said Greg.

Peter and Steve didn’t feel quite so confident. There was little that could save them from becoming a Fictitious Character Burger, not unless they could contract some life-threatening illness, a bug that was passed on through the food chain. Perhaps they should coat themselves in Salmonella.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it!” stated Hanny in her controlling manner.

“What bridge?”

“The one that crosses the deep ravine at the southern end of Wails. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she explained.

“And how are we going to explain the disappearance of that annoying twat Ena?” asked the exasperated Pixy.

“I think what we will do is say that she met a handsome vagabond Orc called Geoff, fell in love with him and move to the land of the Frozen Nobbs!”

“That will work. Not!”

“Well if anyone can come up with a better story get it written down and sent off to a literary agent. Meanwhile let’s hit reality. We still have a long way to go to the fabled Lake of The Gloompty Fish. It may not exist, hence the term fabled. In spite of this if we ever do get there we have to catch one of the two headed monsters, land it, strips its guts out and extract the anti-bottom fouler from its liver. We then have to get home. If we survive all that then I’m sure we will be able to think of a way of dealing with big Regan!” explained Hanny.

“We could just kill him,” said Steve laconically.

They mused on this point, deciding that should they return from the Quest and get any hassle from big Regan then this was probably the best course.

“Should have thought of that first,” said Peter, hindsight being his forte.

The day was drawing toward lunchtime when Hanny felt it was time to bid farewell to her old friends. She would dearly have loved to stay at Both, to go running along the coastal path and back into her old haunts in Fanovabba. On the other hand she was on a Quest which had to take priority. Her thoughts flew back to the last great mission she had completed – the search for the Holey Grate, a valuable relic that kept the fire going in King Innocent’s bedroom. She felt there had been others but couldn’t recall if they had actually happened or if they were dreams outside of Time. Her puzzled brain chased a couple of ephemeral images – King Grumbleflick and the Sons of Turenn.

Reality or Dreams?

Dreams or Reality?

Or was it just my imagination, running away with me?

We shall see.

Besides, returning to the playground of ones youth is not always a good idea. Much of the fun is based around the people who were there at the time, not the place itself. When all those old companions have passed on to play the next level in the game of life, going back to the start can be quite disappointing, like sliding down the snake when you’re almost at the top of the ladder; Or being made redundant after a successful career in marketing and then having to get a job as an office junior even though you’re approaching pensionable age; Or spending a lifetime as a Priest and then finally admitting on your seventieth birthday that you are an atheist with anarchistic tendencies whose real ambition had been to undermine the state and all it stands for, whilst bedding supermodels to the delight of the tabloid hacks; Or spending twenty five years teaching Mathematics when really you wanted to build a garden railway.

Peter, Greg and Steve sat on the patio of the lovely house of His Senses while the Fairies went to the bottom of the garden to say their goodbyes. It was a favourite place for Fairies as Elsie and Yvette demonstrated. Nobody really understands why they like to congregate there, possibly something to do with Fairy Feng Shui or Mythical Motivators. Whatever the reason the six luscious ladies had a group hug at the bottom of the garden, a case of pseudo-erotic delight for the three lads. Peter felt he would like to stay here forever, watching the friendly bonding of these pretty, cute bosomed pals, sipping a cool glass of wine as the Sun goes down and the ladies kiss each other goodnight.

It would not do.

He had a Quest to fulfil.

He had a sore arse to fill full.

He dithered. It was a pleasure to wear the magic underpants; why not just keep them forever. They could all stay here in Wails. Steve and Greg would get used to being the playthings of the banshees, breeding new mongrel characters that would eventually exist only in nightmares. In fact a Goblin/Gnome/Banshee cross breed would make a marvellous character in a horror movie; or become a premiership footballer.

This was not the answer. It was not even the Question. The Quest your on is the Question. He knew his thoughts were being influenced by the overdose in his jacksy. The pile relief prevented him from reasoning clearly. He had agreed with King Innocent to search for the legendary Permanent Cure so he would continue on his way. The sunshine in Fanovabba was not enough to stop him.

To Hell with it, he thought, my arse needs an anal solution; I will go on and be cured. I will forsake the dubious sexual curiosity that has been engendered in me by these six birds. It is time to stamp my mark on the History of the planet. I will find the Gloompty Fish and I will obtain the Permanent Cure. I will be a success!

“Are you talking to yourself?” asked Greg, watching the interplay of mouth movements and facial gyrations.

“What if I am, bandy boy!”

Even Greg could tell that Peter was no longer himself.

“Who are you now Peter?” Questioned the gullible Goblin.

“Peter the Great! Tsar of all The Bottoms. Ruler of all the Piles! King of the Swingers and Garden Gate to the stars!”

Hanny came rushing across – she had heard the outburst as she parted the group hug. What could be wrong?

“He’s going into total meltdown! He’s really put too much power into his bottom and his system can’t take it!”

“What can we do?” asked Steve.

“We need to calm him down, give him some packets of crisps, preferably Prawn Cocktail, some Earl Grey tea and a cool bath. We call this overcooking!” she explained.

Peter opened one eye.

“You can call it what you want but I call it messing with the kid!”


Chapter 15


The group sat on the beach at Both, watching the waves coming in and going out. They sat in two groups of five, the local delicious Fairies and the five travellers. To a casual observer it may have appeared that they sat as two alternative groups, six Fairies and four travellers. To the more discerning observer they could have been identified as yet a different two groups, seven female and three male. To an observant onlooker they may have appeared as three groups, being six Fairies, three males and a very ugly female Orc with ears like saucers. To the pedant it was six Fairies, a Goblin, a Gnome, a raggedy arsed Pixy and an Orc with a face like a bag of spanners. Which ever spectator we want to be we would have come to the same conclusion; there were ten of them sitting on the beach and the sky was filled with a myriad of rainbows.

Hanny was buried deep in the inner turmoil of her soul. She was afraid to admit that she had any feelings for Peter. He was a Pixy, she a Fairy and never the twain should meet. And yet she wanted to meet his meat. She felt an attraction that had been beyond her innermost self for so long that she felt it was a betrayal. Or some other soppy shit she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was a lust for life or a life for lust.

She tried a pragmatic point of view. She was a handmaiden to the King, a doyen of the Royal Court and one of the best-looking babes on the planet, a trustee of the King’s knickers. He was a maverick Pixy, a stealer of tarts and becoming increasingly addicted to the Magic in his Pants. If she got any closer her friends here would remind her of the heartbreak she had endured with the last waster who had dipped his periwinkle into her salty sustainer, followed by her resolve to never be involved with a male ever again in the entire future history of the Universes. Still, what else are friends for?

She looked sideways at Peter as he dug his toes into the sand. It was amusing to watch him with that miniature spade, excavating a tiny hole around each toe to ensure it was well and truly buried; she wondered if he would place a diminutive tombstone at the head of each digit. Observing the small feat on his feet she was glad not to be lack toes intolerant.

No body was speaking.

Each of the travellers and each of the hosts were buried deep within their own thought processes, each looking into their souls for a way forward in this game we call life. Apart from Dumbell Ena who lacked the capability to think much beyond her next meal or her next visit to the hairdressers.

Hanny was falling for Peter and she hated herself for it. Such vulnerability: to rely on another person to feel complete? Why give up that independence and commit to someone else? No more nights out with the girls without being asked what time you’ll be home. Having to ask for money when your pride forbids it. No more lounging round in sweaty pyjamas on a Saturday morning because you can’t be arsed to wash your hair and trim your lady garden. Relationships, she thought, who bloody needs them!

She resisted.

An intimate relationship would mean giving up her freedoms. No longer could she pop out for a drink with the girls when she felt like, or go training in the art of Scum Removal from Kings, or take a holiday on her own with her friends here in Both. Would her friends start to judge her based on Peter’s characteristics? Would she be judged by Peter’s friends, not that he had any apart from Greg. The whole dating game was just such an emotional and social minefield that she felt she may as well make do with chocolate and the occasional sneeze.

Alas for poor Hanny, she could not get inside of Peters’ head at this moment or else she would have felt a new dread enter her soul. As he sat this jolly sunny morning contemplating the golden sands of the Bay of Both, Peter was feeling a new ecstasy, one that was distracting him from Hanny. Last night he had taken his first overdose of moonlight in his Magic Underpants and the experience had thrilled him. Not only did the pants remove his burning sphincter pain but they added a new definition of happiness; just sitting in your undies watching the stars.

Peter wore the Enchanting Underpants as a necessary evil to cover the pain brought on by his misdeeds. He accepted they were designed to keep the pain at bay. He had not realised that if overcharged the Pants gave a pleasure in themselves, a pleasure he had not expected. He watched the sunshine on the water and longed for it to go down. He was planning to give the pants another top up tonight when nobody was watching. He was starting on the road to nowhere, the land where people lived for the dreamlike pleasure that came into their bodies. Not that he really needed to top up. It would just be for fun this one time, and then he’d follow Hannys instructions on the safe medical use of Magical Undercrackers.

His philosophical musings were aborted by the screeching of Dumbell Ena.

“What’s that out there?” she squealed.

They all looked.

At first nobody could see anything. Then far on the horizon they became aware of movement. They were unsure at first but slowly made out the outline of a small boat.

“Can you tell what it is yet?” asked Greg, astonished at the power of Ena’s eyes.

Ena looked flushed. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this,” she droned. “It is a myth from long ago. A legend dwelt upon by the female Orcs. A fairy tale that few of us really believe but I think it might be coming true for me today!”

The others were astonished at such lucidity from the moronic gargoyle impressionist. Peter and Hanny forgot their personal internal infernal denial problems, becoming intrigued at the Orcs’ uttering.

A legend for female Orcs?

How could it be a fairy tale if it was passed on by Orcs? Surely it was an Orcy tale.

“Tell me about the myth,” said Steve.

Ena shuddered and closed her eyes.

“I think I found the little man in the boat,” she said.

“What is the significance of the little man in the boat?” asked Hanny.

Ena sat down with a strange smile on her face and a new glow to her leathery skin.

“It is said amongst the lady Orcs that if we ever should achieve pleasure in this life then we must find the little man in the boat. And there he is out on the horizon, tossing about in the stormy sea. Is he coming this way?” she asked.

Ginger Spiderlegs stood up on her feet, leaning forward to peer out to sea. As she stood in this position the three lads imagined they were in heaven.

“I think I’ve found him,” said Ginger, “even though he is quite small. He is sitting there just in the prow of his boat. I don’t think he is coming our way; I think he will head back out to sea.”

“No!” screamed Ena. “He can’t just leave like that. I must get to know him better. I want to know more about him, his habits, his up and downs. What pleases him and what distresses him. I want more!”

With that she stood up and ran down the beach to the water side.

She hesitated for a short while then plunged into the sea. It was icy cold at first but she moved forward anyway.

“Come back little man! Don’t leave me this way! I can’t survive without your love; don’t leave me this way!”

With that she was gone.

A huge wave took her out to sea.

The remaining nine, being the original ten with one now departed, stood horrified at the waters edge. They saw Ena’s head pop up from below the waves occasionally but could not be sure it was really her; perhaps it was a seal or a porpoise or even the fin of a blue shark, creatures not that uncommon on Uranus, surprisingly.

Then nothing.

The sea calmed.

There was no sign of the boat with the little man and no sign of Ena.

The nine stood forlorn. Once they had been ten but no longer. One of their number had gone thus leading to the inevitable truth that ten take away one left nine.

Nine bodies stood on the beach, trying to feel a sense of loss.

Greg summed up their feelings; “Thank feck we’re rid of that hideous bitch!”



There are Times

When I would like to travel again

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

To Lala

To Sara

To Aisha;

To revisit

The fun

We had?

Or was it just lust?

To Irada

Unfortunately named

By my siblings,

In that weird handstand.

An Tasha;




All for one.

Whoever we were,

Dance with me.

Dance me without Tiffany.

You said no commitment.


Until Manchester.

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

Chapter 14

Problems in Both.

The approach to the coast turned out to be very pleasant. The smell of the salt in the air made their spirits rise and the thought of a good nights kip surrounded by hot chicks, and the possibility of fresh meat for the Orc babe, made them so much more contented.

Except for Peter.

He had spent some of the walk explaining to Hanny how much he liked her, how they were great pals and how much he would love to hold her hand for just a short while. They did hold hands for a part of the journey but as they got closer to her friends’ house in Both, she had let go of his grip.

What was the problem he had asked?

It was a sign of her softening that she took time to explain things to the befuddled pile ridden pesky Pixy. Hanny had spent many times in Both enjoying life with her friends, cavorting, singing and dancing at the bottom of the garden. Then one day she met a handsome Fairy Man on a visit to Fanovabba. She fell in love with dashing Fairy called Sizzling Quisling and gave herself fully to him in her desire to be loved. As in all such Fairy stories he turned out to be a bit of a knob head. After a few magic sessions together he dumped her and ran off with the girl from the next Village. This had broken Hanny’s heart, especially as it took ages to get the grass stains off her skirt. She considered the negativity of drifting into the life of a Banshee. Fortunately her friends pulled her out of this mood and made her strong again. Hanny vowed never to fall for the same sort of prick again. She had no desire to show her vulnerability in front of these old acquaintances, so did not want to appear to be attached to Peter in any way. Really, what kind of Fairy could get attracted to a Pixy with a butt full of grapes?

Peter was devastated.

His heart, lungs and loins went all a fluster. His knees knocked, teeth chattered and elbows throbbed. His eyes crossed and uncrossed, like a light show on the sea front. His meat and two veg shrivelled in anticipation as though they would never be used for anything more exciting than a ham shank. He wanted to scream at the heavens, discard his magic underpants and run away from them all and cast himself off a tall cliff into deep oblivion.

Then he remembered there were five other groovy chicks waiting at the house in Both and he grinned the grin of a grinning grinner.

He had fallen behind the crew as he was lost in wanderlust. Looking ahead he could see they had stopped outside a beautiful white cottage, surrounded in roses, honeysuckle, Cotoneasters, Purple Helmet flowers, Red hot pokers and Daddy-O-Reilly’s. It was a magical sight to behold.  Peter trotted forward to catch up and suddenly felt a slippery squelch beneath his left foot.

“Be careful,” shouted Hanny. “They have a dog!”

This beautiful Chocolate Box Magical house had originally belonged to an Aromatherapist called Orange Blossom Jones, a wonderful Fairy Magician who believed you could cure anything with the right smell. She loved to invite guests around and say ‘smell my finger’ as she had prodded into some moist vessel of delight. She had named the house His Senses.

 As Peter came to His Senses his olfactory powers were being offended by the portion of plop deposited by the mystical hound.

The house was now occupied by Hanny’s friends.

They knocked and the door was opened, which is not that unusual.

“Good day to you!” said the luscious Fairy as she opened the door. “And what´s that fecking smell?”

As she un-wrinkled her nose she took in the rag tag assembly before her.

“Hanny is that really you!” she shouted in delight.

The door gaped wide and out streamed five of the most beautiful Fairies in the Universe. God knows why, but this collection of Fairies was the most delectable any traveller is ever likely to encounter on any planet in any Universe. They could induce a priapism in anyone, even in Grumbleflick, the wan King of the Witches who was apparently dead. These gals would put the Playboy Mansion to shame.

The Pixy, the Goblin and the Gnome had to sit down immediately for fear of seeming too interested. The five Fairies hugged and kissed Hanny in a way that could have been the introductory scene to a special kind of movie that led to a heart attack in an aging gentleman.

“Come! Come! Come one and all!” said their host as she led the quintet indoors.

We nearly did, muttered the lads.

In the cheery glow of the fire they went through the introductions. Hanny began with the three lads and ended with “… and this ugly bitch is the wife of an Orc that bullies for a living.”

The Fairy who had first welcomed them introduced herself as Mary Hinge and acquainted the five travellers with the four remaining dolls.

“This is cute Ann Jyner, Ginger Spiderlegs, Camilla Toe and Sugar Plum Bottom,” she explained as the four charmers smiled and curtsied their welcomes.

In a phantasmagorical act of perception Peter suddenly realised why they were such good friends with Hanny.

There followed an evening of mirth with plenty of food to keep them all going. There were songs to be sung and gongs to be rung. Peter hoped there would be dongs to be slung, alas not tonight young Pixy. They brought each other up to date requesting information on what they were all actually up to.

“So you’re Peter the Pixy,” stated Camilla Toe. “We’ve heard about you!”

Peter was flabbergasted. His flabbers had never been so gasted in all his life. He was a stranger in a strange land. A cliché that got out of hand. He had never been here before, which again means he was a stranger by definition really. So how could they hear about him?

“Some Brownies came through the village a couple of days ago asking if we’d seen a raggedy arsed Pixy in the company of a Goblin and a Gnome. Of course we couldn’t answer yes so we asked why they wanted to know. They told us that the said Pixy was wanted back in Setebos for saying rude things to the King and using his bottom in an inappropriate manner.”

“They’re saying I used the Kings bottom in an inappropriate manner?”

“No! I apologise for mixing my meanings; no they said the said Pixy, Peter, was using his own bottom in an inappropriate manner”.

“The cheeky fast cats!” said Peter.

“Where?” asked Greg.

“That’s all-pure nonsense,” declared Hanny. “I’ve been in on this case from the start and Peter has done no such thing. He nicked some tarts and has suffered the consequences. He is holding a temporary solution but the rest of us are working with him to help him find a Permanent Cure; except for the Orc bitch who is just with us to keep her away from her other half.”

The sumptuous girls breathed a collective sigh of relief and the air was suddenly filled with a spectacular perfume which seemed to just emanate from the Fairies. They were willing to welcome Peter into their home as long as he was in the company of Hanny but that did not mean they had to like him. Now they were assured he was not an uphill gardener they felt more relaxed.

“So why are the Brownies saying such things?” asked Steve.

“Because they’re just shit stirring little brown nosers that would do anything to get noticed by Lord Chalfont and his cronies. They make me sick the miserable little turds! And I’m talking literally as I have tried to eat one and it did make me vomit!” shouted Dumbell Ena.

The rest of the gang looked at her in disbelief. After all this time of travelling together it was the first time she had said anything which made sense.

“So how is your bottom at the moment?” asked Ginger Spiderlegs in a soothing and calm manner.

“Well the magic underpants do a marvellous job but the Permanent Cure is my ultimate aim,” avowed the Pixy.

There was a short pause as the girls shifted in their seats.

There was a Question they wanted to ask but were unsure of the etiquette.

“Can we see the magic underpants?”

Peter blushed. What if taking his kecks off he lost control of his urges?

Would it be ok if there was a tent pole in the pants?

“We’ve all heard of the prophecy but none of us ever really believed in the reality of a Burning Ring of Fire! And so far no Pixy has been daft enough to try one of Dillberry’s tarts. Let’s see them pants so we can see how well Queen Spenser knitted her magic into your knickers. And would it be possible to inspect the ring?”

A dream situation.

Five of the most glorious examples of the feminine form ever created were asking him to take of his trousers and show them his underpants. An unholy dream that would get God playing poker with the devil, if they could find a decent set of cards. Peter mumbled something.

He was embarrassed. Rather he was afraid of sporting his embarrassment in front of such a crowd. Hanny looked pleadingly at him so he dropped his kecks there and then. Unfortunate really because just at that moment he lost his sphincter control produced a terribly loud and smelly fart. Yet it was fortunate too, as it meant his interest in his female companions waned instantly.

After another large spray of perfume, including that from unseen bottles and an urn full of incense being lit, the girls returned to their task, though not before admitting their admiration for the potency of Peter’ air biscuit.

The girls admired the quality of the stitching, the somewhat fetching red wool highlighted by the white banding at the waist, legs and pop out slot. They commented on the quality of design with the piping at the front making an upside-down letter ‘y’.

Quality in bespoke underpants.

Bless Queen Spenser and her foresight.

And how did she know it would be a male who would succumb?

“If I had a wayward male, I’d probably succumb,” said Camilla Toe.

Peter was now happy being the centre of attention.

“Shall I show you how I keep them fully charged?” he asked the five sweet things.

“Yes Please!” said Ann Jyner.

He rushed outside with his trouser round his ankles doing a marvellous impression of a penguin. Hanny tried to stop him.

“Wait Peter!” she called, but was too late. He already took up the position, his magic clad arse pointing toward the moon. A look of deep joy spread across his face as the pain giving grapes were sent into limbo.

“Peter!” called Hanny, “the pants don’t need a top up! You’ll get too much relief! You’ll get an overdose!”

Peter didn’t care. Hanny didn’t love him so he would exist on another pleasure. Overdosing on bum support from Magic Underpants would be just fine by him. And if Hanny complained then it would be her own fault. Life without love wasn’t worth living. Besides what could really be the danger of topping up the power of the Magic Underpants?

It wouldn’t exactly kill him.

Would it?


Chapter 13

You can’t fool me.

The dubious quintet continued South. It would be nice to say it got warmer but it didn’t, the surface temperature being pretty much the same all over the planet. It was very, very cold at the extreme south and extreme north, known as the Poles, apparently, but throughout the rest of Uranus the heat was quite consistent. Except of course when one of the Fire Dragons got himself into a tizzy, then there was all hell to pay. A chap could be walking along enjoying the ambience of the daily warmth when suddenly he would be toasted from head to toe just because the Fire Dragon hadn’t slept well the night before. This condition is also well known amongst married men.

It was a shame that the Fire Dragons had such an ominous reputation as beneath all the huff and bluster there was a charming lizard just waiting to be loved. Some felt that the Bold Bravado of the Fire Dragons was just a way of covering up an inner timidity, though no-one had ever managed to get an answer to this as if you were stupid enough to suggest it to one of the beasts they would probably just burn you alive for asking.

The walk began to annoy the team. Ena lived up to her name. She would tell them they would soon be approaching a particular Village or Town, only to find herself totally wrong. This never discouraged her; she would merely claim that the Town had been moved or the locals were telling lies. She annoyed Steve as every time he took out his axe to cut wood she would declare her lifelong interest in choppers; not what any hot-blooded male wants to hear from a jug eared Trollope with a face like a Pekinese licking piss of a nettle.

The tale went on.

Peter felt he was madly in love with Hanny, though she showed no awareness or response to his pleading. She was used to pathetic pleaders and just ignored them in her haughty manner. As far as she was concerned this was a Quest and a Chance to get away from washing the Kings’ soiled undies.

This made Peter feel worse than a teacher who accidently farted in class. Is it better to have the girl of ones dreams declare her disgust at your suit, or pick holes in your clothing or vomit straight into your face rather than be left floating in a sea of ambivalence?  Hanny smiled at Peter and looked deeply into his eyes; but then she did that to all of the characters in this motley crew. Was she knowingly teasing him? Could he get a blimp of her knickers if she bent over? And that bosom…

As the days wore on the land began to rise ahead of them. They were heading for the land of the banshees, horrible women that just whinge and moan all day long about how awful males are and wouldn’t the world be a better place if men didn’t exist. (Of course I am using the term men here to refer to the male gender of each of the species found on Uranus. There are actually a few men and a few half men on Uranus but I’ll come to them eventually. In fact we’ve already met Warwick Hunt so you know what I mean.)

“We are getting close to the home of the banshees,” declared Hanny, “to the Land of Wails. It is a mountainous country but we shall only go through the valleys. It has been many years since I spent time in Wails, as I don’t really like it much. It has wonderful Lakes and valleys and mountains but the people drive me to distraction. All those banshees moaning about what a hard life they have, berating the male gender of each species (that was easier) and wishing for an all-female population! Well they got that as all of the male banshees ran away years ago to work for the civil service in Setebos. Not that ‘work’ is the right description. They sit round complaining that their tea breaks aren’t long enough, the chairs are too hard and the desks are too low. You’ll meet some of them if we get back and you have to write down a description of your journey for the King.”

“I know the geography of the land of Wails,” said Ena. “The highest mountain is Ben Filma Kraken and the longest river is the Trend!”

“Ben Filma Kraken is way off to the North in the land of the Frozen Nobbs!” said Steve.

“And the River Trend is in Inkland!” added Greg.

“I know what I know,” said Ena.

“How do you know what you know?” asked Greg.

“I just know I know,” she replied.

“Was that a ‘know’ or a ‘no’ or an ‘o’?” asked Peter.

“It was not a ‘no’ it was a ‘know’; I know it was,” she retorted.


Ena gave them a look of pure bile on their personages. How dare they gainsay the wife of Regan, the renowned Financial Advisor?

“When we get back from the trip I will let my husband Regan know how you constantly undermine me and he will inform the tax office.”

“Blow me down;” returned Steve, “do you know it’s me who’s getting all mixed up! Of course we have to pass Ben Filma Kraken fairly soon! Yes of course it’s in Wails!”

“Doesn’t the River Trend pass to the west of Ben Filma Kraken? Of course it does! Silly me, I’m just a dumb Goblin, so I am!”

Hanny shook her head in disbelief. How could such a dumb bitch wield so much power? Well there is a Question that has been asked more than once in several universes! And Ipswich.

The gang stopped for lunch at the foot of a gorgeous waterfall. They ate according to their needs and drank plenty of fresh water. Hanny of course ate plenty of sugary dainties and all things nice. Peter had learnt his lesson and confined himself to cheese and chutney sandwiches, the chutney being homemade from a recipe that had been in the family for many generations. Greg devoured a fantastic meat and potato pie, along with some spring onions and a couple of garlic cloves. Ena ate some stale bread and maggot ridden meat the origin of which was dubious; possibly the left thigh of one of her husbands’ previous clients.

“Hanny?” asked Steve, “if all the male banshees live in Setebos and all of the female banshees live here in Wails then where do the new baby banshees come from?”

“Now there is a tale that can’t be told, my reasons I hold dear. Yet for today I will tell you. The girly banshees will basically shag anything with trousers on, well with trousers off I mean, despite their normal protestations. They lie in wait in dark places such as Whine Bars and Knight Klubbs and Church Halls hoping for any kind of unsuspecting male to come along. Then when they find a victim they pounce! First they treat him with disdain saying all men are bastards. Then when the unsuspecting victim tries to defend his manhood, agreeing that yes some males behave in a quite despicable way but not all are the same, they go all soppy eyed. Then the victim tries to prove he is basically quite a nice chap. The banshee pretends to succumb to his charms and whips his pants off, giving him a fine seeing to. The next day when the victim says he has to move on the banshee screams ‘You’re all alike! All men are bastards!’ The encounter normally means the banshee will have swallowed a pickle; hence the breed continues.”

“That is a horror story Hanny.”

“So the banshees aren’t a particular species then?” asked Greg.

“No, anyone can turn into a whinging cow if she lets herself!” laughed Hanny.

Hanny knew that if they were to veer slightly to the west they would come to a large bay on which lay the village of Both and the town of Fanovabba, places well known to the beautiful Fairy as she had friends who dwelt down by the seaside.

“Oh I do like to be beside the seaside; oh I do like to be beside the sea! All I need is a tall ship and a star to guide me!” she sang as they descended toward the coast.

The lads were worried that if they were to stay in a village in Wails then perhaps they could be entrapped by a banshee, led surreptitiously into fatherhood and forced to pay child maintenance forever and a day. Then perhaps they would fall behind with the maintenance, leading to interviews with Tax Inspectors and possibly becoming a meal for a disgruntled Orc. Strange encounters of the female kind can be very bad for the health.

Hanny reassured them that her friends in Both and Fanovabba would protect them all as they could spot a banshee at a hundred paces and if necessary decapitate the bitch without anyone being the wiser.

The lads were relieved.

Peter looked lovingly on Hanny as he felt some self-relief.

“If that does happen could I help myself to the fleshy bits?” asked Ena. “It would seem such a shame to let all that yummy food go to waste.”


Chapter 12

I see a Pixy and I want it painted black.

The Chancellor’s Chief Hench thing gathered together his team of Brownies to do the dirty on Peter. They needed to dig deep into his past and uncover any kind of trouble they could.

Was there any scandal surrounding sex or finance?

Did he have a thing for young Fairies?

Had he met Fairy Hanny when she was a youngster and carried an unhealthy desire for her all of his life?

Was he keeping a slush fund of money to help the Trolls in their revolution?

Warwick Hunt briefed his set of Brownies.

“When you come back from your research you are going to tell me that all of the above is true!” he told them.  

Don nodded agreement so vigorously that his little Brown Hat almost fell off.

The Brownies did not have a problem with this approach to Investigative Journalism. Say what you are going to find out, then if you can’t find the evidence bribe someone or make it up then state it as fact. If you say it loud enough and long enough most people will believe you.

‘No smoke without fire’.

Then of course there are the dry ice machines that emit a type of smoke without fire.

And if when you’re using smokeless fuels there is plenty of fire without smoke; hence the definition ‘smokeless’. Nevertheless most people are too ignorant to understand the absurdity of proverbs, though one swallow doesn’t really tell you much about the girl.

‘A stitch in time saves my ideas on the Big Bang theory’ said Steven Hawking (Not the Steven Hawking but another Steven Hawking writing in a Journal of Physics in a parallel Universe in a Galaxy far, far away, just to save on copyright and libel.)

The Brownies set off in search of the truth they already knew, each carrying his lovely twee little reporter’s notebook and wearing his lovely little Brown Hat. It’s a thing about Brownies; they love to wear Brown. I suppose they could have opted for other colours in which case they would be known as Reddies, Greenies, Pinkies or Blueys.

Everything is brown down to their socks and pants. This is fortunate for them really as when they go on exotic holidays and eat exotic food and drink exotic drinks and get exotic diarrhoea then the chance of exotic embarrassment due to stains in exotic brown trousers is much minimised by being dressed in not exotic brown. This is a travel tip I would give to anyone travelling to Benidorm and planning to drink nine pints of Guinness with a Lamb Jalfrezi– don´t wear cream-coloured Chinos – trust me!

Mind you, when some oaf said ‘Brown is the new Black’ the Brownies got totally confused and began dressing in Yellow. Fortunately this was only a brief trend like baggy shirts and unkempt hair, beards and sandals and baggy trousers. So these days the Brownies are back in their traditional brown and jolly good they look too. They favour corduroy jackets, moleskin trousers and smart brown brogues polished on a regular basis.

And Brown Noses.

Within hours of the directive the streets of Setebos were rife with rumours of Peter’s misdemeanours. Most of the inhabitants had neither met nor heard of Peter the Pixy though that did not stop them from gossiping about his transgressions, especially when the Brownies offered free tax advice via Lord Chalfont and his Orc friends, or jelly donuts with custard.

Some people would sacrifice anyone for a glass of Tizer.

“Disgraceful!” they said, “a Pixy of his age stealing tarts and away with the Fairies”.

“He stole a young girl’s heart I heard”, said some busybody without an ounce of interest in her own existence.

“He chases after all the young girls apparently it appears”, suggested another no hoper.

“I heard he has been misusing his bottom,” opined one ne’er do well, “and he likes it”.

Lord Chalfont was over the Moon.

It would not take long for Hanny to pick up on this gossip. She would come running back, abandoning the Quest for the Permanent Cure; and she would be soothing his eyes in the Great Castle with its Great Walls and everything, a buxom delight to fill his flights of fancy. How could any young maid bear to be in the company of a Pixy that was demonstrably a cad, a charlatan, a total numpty who had even been accused of performing in a line dancing group?

Chalfont felt he had won this battle already so began looking round to see who else’s life he could ruin. There were plenty of other Pixys out there that were due to get the Chalfont treatment, encouraged by Warwick Hunt and the Brownies.

Who else could he destroy before lunch time?

At this rate he could become a Tax Dodging Newspaper Magnate!


Chapter 11

On the origins of Warwick Hunt.

Warwick Hunt had arrived at the City of Setebos some years earlier after a freak accident involving aggrieved co-workers, a spot of jealousy, a wormhole and a bubbling vat of lard.

The very scary Warwick Hunt originates from Earth though not quite down to earth; he had ideas above his station. Though as he lived next to Wigan Station nobody was sure what these ideas might be.

Warwick Hunt left secondary school after five years of arguing with his teachers and gaining zero qualifications. At this point he considered a life in Politics though he realised he didn’t come from a rich family so would be unable to bribe his way to the top. Plus he hadn’t attended a posh public school and didn’t have a double-barrelled name or an obscure middle name. Matthew Hunt didn’t so sound impressive against the daft names like Pfeffel, Roderick, De’Ath, Clutterbuck or Hardmeat. Later in life he became known as Warwick Hunt, though that name was chosen for him by his ‘mates’.

He spent his early life in the middle of Lancashire working for various Butchers and Abattoirs. He was moved on from most of his jobs due to his personal hygiene; his face was covered in pus oozing pimples, he rarely washed, he smelt like a pile of shite and he had clods of dandruff regularly dropping from his greasy hair. There are still some butchers in Rawtenstall that have difficulty selling sausages due to the rumours about things Warwick Hunt added to the mixture. Cats, rats and mice were collectively wary of the Matthew Hunt. Then he was merely known as ‘Big Matthew’ the fat lad from the back end of Wigan. He was fond of death and butchery, which should have made him suitable for an Infantry Regiment though they have certain standards to maintain. So despite the misgivings of many a poor butcher, Big Matthew finally found himself working at the Lard Factory.

This suited him down to the ground.

He would spend all day stirring the vast vats of purified pig fat, adding his own favourites such as nose pickings, toenails and spit. The longer he worked there the worse his skin became so that eventually he could even squeeze pus from his spots into the lard mix.

His workmates hated him.

They felt he gave lard makers a bad name.

So they called him ‘Warwick’, even though he never quite got the full meaning.

Most of his co-workers were honoured to be associated with the production of this delightful fat product. Many entered Town and Regional competitions for Lard Lad of the Year awards – in those days Lardy Girls did not exist. However it was generally agreed that Big Matthews’ additions to the mix were just too far beyond a joke. Matthew discovered himself increasingly isolated from his contemporaries. He realised that he had to sit at a table on his own at the annual ‘Lancashire Lard Ladlers Ball’. This didn’t bother him as it meant he could eat all of the Black Puddings, Tripe and Trotters to himself without considering the etiquette of handing a Trotter to the left or passing the Tripe to the right or even which way to pass the Duchy. He just gulped the lot down, picked his spots and farted all night.

It was a wet, weird Friday evening that Big Matthew Hunt ceased to exist in his humanoid form. (Some people argue that he was never human, just a fat inflated windbag that got on peoples nerves). His fellow lard workers had decided that enough was more than enough. Rumours had spread round Lancashire and lard sales were down. This was nothing to do with government health warnings or misled animal rights campaigners.


People had heard of Matthews embellishments and were loath to fry their sausages in a mixture of snot and puss, though they found purified pig fat quite acceptable.

So the Lard Lads had conspired to do away with Matthew in a most appropriate manner, deciding that in the end one final batch could be made with one final added extra: Big Matthew himself.

On that lethal Friday night as he leaned over a large vat of Lard, his florid countenance dripping yellowy pus, teetering on the edge of a wobbly ladder… the Lard Lads made their move.

Shove, push, waggle, splash!

The big fat useless bastard fell headlong into a bubbling cauldron of Steaming Pig Fat.

Now in Fairy Stories it is always possible to have amazing things happen. The hero is close to defeat and up pops a friendly dragon to help him; the hero’s army is outnumbered and he just happens to remember there is a Dead Army waiting to help him out; the hero dies falling over a waterfall with his nemesis but comes back from a shower many moons later; the hero batters his girlfriend but still gets elected anyway because the media make it sound normal.

In our case it just so happened that Zeus was playing Pontoon with Jesus, Buddha and Confucius. Zeus was Banker as Jesus and Buddha had declined on principle – ‘I kick bankers out’ said Jesus; ‘Bank represents material possessions’ said Buddha. Confucius had two cards showing a total of sixteen.

“Twist!” he said.

“Pull my finger!” said Zeus.

In all innocence Jesus did pull the finger of Zeus.

And lo, a Great Fart was initiated from the bum of the Great God.

In any parlour in the back streets of Liverpool this would have been greeted with Great Mirth, all four players reduced to uproarious laughter and streams of tears.

But in the Metaphysical worlds of the Gods such an anal eminence had dire consequences.

For in a strange way the passage of noxious gases from the derriere of Zeus led to a kerfuffle in the Space-Time continuum. Mad Tom of Bedlam attempted a correction but alas and alack he was short on Travel-Gravel so he missed a wormhole formed by the Ring of Zeus. Now when these guys get together all kinds of Strange Things can Happen. In this incredibly coincidental case, the very same wormhole created by the fart of Zeus, opened up in the Vat of Lard into which Matthew had landed.

Well I never!

Big Matthew was whisked into the nothingness of the Space-Time Continuum and catapulted across an Infinite set of Parallel Universes, pausing only once to buy a packet of fags at the corner shop on Pleiades. As the chaos in the fabric of Space settled down and Confucius won with a five, Jesus walked away across the Sea of Infinity, and Buddha looked away philosophically, big Matthew found himself alive on the surface of Uranus.

But this wasn’t Big Matthew anymore.

He was no longer a disgusting individual who could be smelt five minutes before arrival.

The disintegration and realignment of the sub-atomic particles that had once been Big Matthew and the Vat of Lard had now been improbably combined to create a case of half-and-half. Yes it would have been nice if he had arrived at your house on a cold winter’s night as Chips and Rice. But No!

Matthew was now half-man half-lard – the slippiest, slimiest, nastiest creature in the Universe. Imagine all of that seething hatred mingled into a bipedal white lump, slowly oozing pus and farting non-stop. Not even a right-wing fascist who changed his name to sound more down to earth could be quite so disgusting – or maybe it could.

It occurred to him that if he was in a New Body on a New Planet then a New Name would just round off his day quite nicely. He realised straight away that he had now become even more unpleasant, though his spots had not cleared up. Would a really unpleasant name finish the job?

He considered names like Adolf, Stalin, Nixon, Attila, Pol Pot, Jeremy, George W., Trump, Farage, Thatcher, Rupert and Edwina but realised they had already been used quite successfully back on earth.

No, he wanted something really scary.

Matthew had never been the brightest of sparks confining his comments to things like ‘everyone from Liverpool is bolshy’ or ‘I hate you, scouser’ or the more acerbic ‘you are ugly’. So a scary name was never going to be an easy option for him. He settled on using the moniker given by his workmates.

“Warwick Hunt I am and Warwick Hunt I will stay,” he declared to no-one in particular.

The first creatures he met as he wandered around were a couple of Imps out on a mischievous raid.

“Oy mate you smell like a big turd!” cried the first of them.

“A what?” asked Warwick Hunt.

“A turd ….Ohhhhhhhhh!!!!” exhaled the imp in his last breath as Warwick Hunt ripped his head off.

“That’ll do”, said Warwick Hunt to himself. “Warwick Hunt, the Vengeance on Uranus!”

The other Imp disappeared as rapidly as his little legs would carry him.

“That’s right little friend. Run with fear, Warwick Hunt is here!”


Chapter 10

Lord Chalfont and Warwick Hunt.

Golf originated on Uranus of that there is no doubt.

The Gods have researched this to a great extent. Horus and the Whore of Babylon spent many a lifetime looking into the origins of the game. It is played throughout the Known Universe and on some of the places hidden in the dark matter, but the two ignoble researchers are quite adamant that such a small ball hitting pastime could only originate amongst the Mythical Beings of Uranus. What other pastime allows for the possibility of losing your balls in water, getting dropped into sand or having to search for them in the rough. They even noted that Kipling painted his balls orange so he could find them if it was snowing.

But that´s another story.

Lord Chalfont loved to play golf which sort of sums him up really.

He was enjoying teaching his apprentice, Warwick Hunt, the finer points of the game. Warwick Hunt tried his best to please the Boss but became quite confused from the original concept of the game. He could handle a club, was good at driving, chipping, using a sand wedge and putting for a birdie. It gave him great delight whenever Chalfont told him he had a bogey. He just could not see the point of why anyone would want to do it. Lord Chalfont would give his little condescending smile when challenged on this point, then he would emphasise that useful as Warwick Hunt was, he just didn’t have the correct breeding to understand and empathise with the game.

“In fact it isn’t a game, it’s a way of life,” said the patronising flunky.

Warwick Hunt felt it was more a way of death by boredom; however he held his peace and had reduced his handicap to fifteen which is quite impressive for a creature that is half man, half lard.

So we return to this day of days with Lord Chalfont coming back to the Great Castle with his trusty half-being Warwick Hunt and tried to catch up on the news. Chalfont always liked to admire the Castle with its Great Walls and Ceilings and Great Big Fat King Innocent. The Lord Chalfont requested and was granted an audience with the Odious Monarch.

Innocent was fond of small talk, explaining when he could about the joys of buying new socks and undies, eating Fairy Cakes and Jam doughnuts. He also loved to talk about his feet and how many he had. Chalfont noted every day that the King had the allotted number of two feet but granted the Fat Fool the pleasure in pointing out he had two feet ‘and not just on my legs’ he would wink.

Innocent then asked about his golfing game and how was the mysterious Warwick Hunt getting along.

Yes he’d had a great time on the links, yes he’d beaten Warwick Hunt despite the vastly differing handicaps and yes he had partaken of a nerve calmer at the nineteenth.

But what had been going on in Setebos while he had been away?

Innocent looked innocent and said “Fecked if I know. I´ve been asleep and eating.”

It was then left for Chalfont to call in his spies from around the Castle and around the City. He learnt there were rumours of the Trolls trying for independence yet again and vowed to send Warwick Hunt on another mission of suppression; he heard of the exploits of a Pixy called Stanley who had inadvertently drunk far too much cherry brandy and had found himself astride a pretty young Pixy lady – he noted the name and kept it for future use; he found out about a deal between a couple of Gnomes to make a little bit of money on the side from selling Jam covered Pancakes to visitors – risky as the Jam could still be hot when eaten and the Orcs could find out about the Financial Scam and intervene fatally; he discovered a plot of land that could come up for sale soon and make him a quick profit if he made the right move right here right now; and he heard about the hairy arsed Pixy who had disappeared on a Quest into the wild, taking the gorgeous Fairy Hanny with him.

Chalfont was horrified.

Fairy Hanny gone from the Castle!

This was too much!

Lord Chalfont is a very respectable Fairy who comes from a very old family of Very Respectable Fairies. He could trace his ancestry back to a Time before Time, when few records were kept and cassettes had not been invented – which is quite an achievement if you don’t have internet access. The Chalfont’s had been part of court life since Time immemorial and the day before that too, always there to give advice and point the various Kings in the right direction. In fact the Chalfont family felt it was they who held the true power on Uranus. Without Chalfont’s, Uranus would be totally different place, though probably a much more relaxed Place in Space.

The present Lord Chalfont was Very Respectable, Right and Proper and Dead Good in his role, but he did have a little bit of a soft spot for Hanny. In fact there were times when he felt he had a hard spot for Hanny too, what with long legs and buxomness. He liked to think she was in the Palace as his Icon of Beauty, the loveliest and most beautiful and sexy Fairy in the Palace. Of course he could never mention this to lady Chalfont or the Old Trout would convert his scrotum into a night cap. Now he found she had gone from his presence with a tender arsed tart stealing Pixy, into the wilds and possibly to her death. This filled the good Lord with a rage that threatened to overflow into a bucket full of rhetoric.

“Warwick Hunt, come here!” commanded the angry Lord. “They’ve taken my baby away and I want my baby back!”

Warwick Hunt listened intently to the wailings of his love-struck Lord. He slowly pushed the ideas around his atrophied intellect, till coming to a conclusion.

“Goodness Gracious Lord Chalfont. You are a happily married Fairy. Why are you so enamoured of the buxom Hanny? You know you can never have her as long as you wish to keep your status within the community. Dallying outside of a monogamous relationship is frowned upon, all be it in a terribly hypocritical way. I know sometimes Philandering Politicians manage to get away with it but you are a Fairy at the top of the tree so if you were caught giving Hanny a good seeing to you name would be Mud, rather than Chalfont.”

Chalfont mulled it over. He could remember the odd politico who got caught with his hands in the cookie jar and his knob in the PR specialist and still seemed to survive; though not for long. Usually the aggrieved party knew which skeleton to bring out of the closet and where all the bodies were buried, so to speak.

“If I can’t have her then nobody else can either,” seethed the seething Chancellor. “Find out as much as you can about this Peter the Pixy. Find out how he nicked the tarts. Did he have an accomplice? And what about the Goblin? Is it fit to be walking the lands in the company of a Fairy? And as for the Guarding Gnome, I’ll have his family removed from the Guard forthwith and thrown out onto the streets. They can make money from good old-fashioned work such as fishing from toadstools or shifting empty wheelbarrows, instead of enjoying the cushy status of standing by the Great West Gate with nothing to do all day! I’ll show them not to mess about with my Fairy Hanny!”

The obedient Warwick Hunt set to work immediately.

He summoned his team of Brownies, small imp like creatures who gained their name from the colour of their noses. The Court Brownies are the spies to the Court who are seldom caught in Court. They are also very loyal to Lord Chalfont. Warwick Hunt managed to get his four most trusted Brownies together – Don, Rhys, Jo and Dave had done much in the past to keep Chalfont happy, and were never afraid to embellish a story if it could have a negative effect on the subject of their snitching.

Warwick Hunt owed his continued existence and livelihood to the benevolence of Lord Chalfont and vowed to serve him all his days. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Warwick Hunt had a position of responsibility and a status at the higher echelons of society due to his association with Lord Chalfont, despite being a half creature; the Chancellor got a Senior Henchman to do his dirty work plus an instant source of lard should he be short when preparing a Saturday Morning fry up.


Chapter 9

Dumbell Ena

The atmosphere inside the inn was very much like that of any Public House anywhere in the Known Universe. It was probably the same as any Public House in the Unknown Universe but that will never be known. There was one major difference; you have to travel far and wide on earth to find a pub full of Orcs, Fairies, Pixy’s, Goblins and Gnomes – though a trawl around Norfolk would probably do it.

The four travellers booked in at reception discussing whether to pay by cash or credit card and if they wanted a morning call or breakfast in bed. There was some discussion as to what type of breakfast, Full Fairy or Continental; in the end they said they’d suck it and see. Being simple characters from the other side of the sky their luggage was minimal; each carried a small pack with the preparations Hanny had insisted on, including spare trousers, socks and pants. Hanny carried an extra bag for her make-up.

Soon they found themselves in amongst the crowd in the main lounge, drinking beer and swapping tales with other travellers. It is a universal phenomenon that travellers will always try to outdo each other with their tales of mishaps and misadventures. If one traveller lost a friend in a flooded river then the next lost his entire family in a similar flood; if one stood in the plop of a Harpy then the next was plopped on by a flock of Harpies; a third would claim to have been eaten by a Harpy, digested and plopped out amazed that he was still alive. And there was Jimmy Five Heads boasting about her trip to Eleven-a-reef: ‘So much better than Tenerife’.

Our awesome quartet listened to such far fetched tales and tongue in cheek jibes until one strange looking Orc asked what they were up to.

“Heading for the fabled Lake of the Gloompty Fish,” said Greg without thinking.

 “There’s no such place!” quipped a one eyed Orc, an accountant from Setebos with a penchant for yellow trousers and meat cleavers.

His smile disappeared quickly.

Conversation started up again in the room, though at a lower level as most people were now sitting down. Every now and again a face would turn to look at the quartet, then turn away laughing to its companions. The strange Orc sat with them. They began to feel uncomfortable. Orcs were no longer the fearsome warriors of the past but there was always a possibility that this one was a tax inspector.

“I can see I’m making you a little uncomfortable,” said the Orc. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Regan. I’m a chief Financial Advisor for a corporation of Imps, Ogres, Trolls and Alchemists from the far west. IOTA they called themselves though personally I couldn’t care a jot what they’re called as long as they pay me on time. And they do pay on time or else I’ll eat them! I’m not a Tax Inspector,” he added, “though I do know a few!”

He said this with a wicked glint in his single eye.

“Nice to meet you I’m sure,” came the stunted replies of the trio plus one.

“How did you get that wicked glint in your eye?” asked Greg.

“There was a sale on recently at ‘Glints-R-Us’. I got it at a fifty percent discount and counted it as a tax-deductible expense,” explained Regan.

“Was it half price because it was for only one eye?” asked Greg.

Regan ignored him though made a mental note about the correct oven temperature for cooking Goblins, and what would be the most suitable Vegetables and sauce.

“And Garlic bread, “mumbled Regan.


“So you’re off in search of legends?” said Regan, changing the subject.

“That’s right,” returned Steve, still nervous over his upcoming Tax return. “Do you know much about self-assessment?”

The Orc laughed.

“Not really my field. These days I’m much happier advising on Mutual and Trust funds, Pension Planning and Will Writing.”

There was a pause.

The Orc took a large chug of his beer.

 As he put the glass down he asked, “So which one of you has the distressed arse?”

Hanny smiled. “A learned Orc! A rare treat. So if you know of the legend you know the answer to your Question.”

“Well little Pixy,” said the Orc, “caught with your hand in the tarts box. Serves you right. But it could turn out to be of mutual advantage to both of us!”


“Well you see my lovely wife Ena needs a bit of a holiday. She’s a lovely girl but she still has a bit of a desire to walk on the wild side. You know we Orcs became sophisticated many moons ago. We realised that there comes a point when it really just isn’t worth fighting against the system. What you have to do is get inside the system if you want to change it. So that’s what we do these days. We control the system surreptitiously from within. Everyone on the planet now keeps good financial records and as such we have almost alleviated poverty and reduced corporate excess. Except of course with the King and Queen. In spite of this I’m sure that will come. Lord Chalfont has more than a passing sympathy for the Ways of The Accountant. And Kings don’t last forever.”

Hanny felt an uneasy shiver in her spine as he said this.

“So what can we do you for pal?” asked the agitated Goblin.

“As I said we get throwbacks in our race, Orcs with a desire for the wildlife. My wife Ena is one such Orc. And I just thought if you lot were on a trip into the wild searching for legends then perhaps you could take her with you.”

“Look Regan,” began Peter, “we have a nice little team here ready to take on the world in the search for a Permanent Cure for Sore Bums. We’re happy. Why would we want another member of the team? More specifically why would we want the company of an Orc who thinks she’s born to be wild?”

“Excellent points and well made. But let me ask you this, who would want to come under the close scrutiny of a team of Tax Inspectors. Who would want every penny of income checked and double checked by some of the most boring but dangerous creatures on the planet?”


The next morning the five travellers set off from the ‘Slug and Rider’ much invigorated. As a sign of his gratitude Regan had agreed to pay all of the bills for the quartet, knowing he would be able to claim it back as travel expenses. Regan was a bully and knew how to get his way.

Ena was an irritating bitch.

She was also the oddest-looking Orc any of them had ever seen, even including all of the fiscally aware characters in Banks and Building Societies. Ena had a large mouth that rarely stopped talking, displaying an awesome set of pointy gnashers. She also had ridiculously large ears that looked as though someone had glued two half’s of a saucer to either side of her head.

Ena immediately wanted to take charge of the group, claiming she had scored one hundred percent in a map reading competition. By lunch time they were lost. Ena said ‘what do you expect if you try to lead Goblins or Gnomes anywhere; they are stupid creatures with no sense of direction. Hanny said ‘what do you expect when we don’t even have a map to read’.

Ena dismissed this comment and demanded lunch of cheese and chutney sandwiches with Ribena.

´Through a weird twist of fate and a weird twist of a wormhole, it once came to pass that a Dead Famous Writer picked up the tale of Dumbell Ena, though got confused between a very small person and a person with a very small brain. Still, it kept Danny Kaye happy for a while.

Ena did keep them all entertained with her stupidity. Whilst walking through the Woodland she admitted to enjoying the sight of a Lumberjack with a marvellous chopper; she constantly gave all of the mountains their wrong names; and whilst crossing a rather murky stream asked ‘what are water purification tablets used for? When she noticed the label on Steve´s T-shirt she said ‘yes that´s about right, your name must be ‘S’!’

The other four grimaced at the daftness which carried an air of menace.

Yet somehow, despite the trials and tribulations the jovial five made their way slowly south, inching day by day toward the fabled Lake of the Multi-Coloured Gloompty Fish.

Well that is assuming that South is the right direction for the Lake, which might not exist.


Chapter 8

At the sign of the Slug and Rider.

The afternoon wore on and the Sun sank her heavy head toward the horizon. In a twirl of mysticism the Sun sang, and she wants us all to know that she gets tired too and is glad of the night so she can rest. The quartet trudged south though still in high spirits. They were not far from the City and still felt safe. There would not be any Ogres or Trolls in this region, though you can never be too sure if there was swashbuckling or derring do available.

Eventually they hit a trail that led southeast. They debated the validity of following the track. Some said that southeast meant it was travelling east with a bit of south thrown in. Others said it was travelling south with a bit of east thrown in. There were those who claimed it must be travelling half way between South and East which was why it was called south east. Hanny gave a partial explanation of the difference between East South East and South South East, which merely left Peter picking at his magic undies and Steve experimenting with counting his toes. The debate raged on. There was agreement to follow it providing it didn’t go east too much; the argument that it would take them south, too, left a couple of them lost.

Eventually Fairy Hanny interrupted.

“You three are like twins,” she said. “If you would just stop and listen to me I’ll tell you exactly where this road goes. It travels southeast from here, and admittedly at first it is a bit more east than south. However it eventually gets to be more south than east. Nevertheless the point being that I know this road leads to a fantastic pub called ‘The Slug and Rider’. It’s a good place to spend the night, though you have to be wary as it does tend to get full of Orcs.”

“Filthy money grabbers,” said Steve.

“I hope you’re not behind on you tax payments,” said Hanny, “or there will be one less mouth to feed tomorrow morning, and one fat Orc who will not need to attend breakfast!”

As they walked on Peter asked Hanny to tell them more about the pub they were going to. It was such an unusual name. Most of the hostelries he knew had more predictable names like ‘The Kings Head’ or ‘The Queens Legs’ or ‘The Princes Toupee’. Of course there were the odd ones found in Pixy Ville such as ‘The Pointed Hat and Ears’ and ‘The Acorn and Toadstool’ and the legendary ‘Magic Pouf!’

But ‘The Slug and Rider’?


“It comes from the deep and distant past, from the times of the Great Wars between The Fairies and the Orcs. It was in the reigns of the Great Fairy Kings such as Grayson, Inman and Howard that the wars with the Orcs were at their most fierce. The Orcs had war lords like Krakk Ed, Gut Eata and Death-Becomes-You. They were savage and bitter times. The wars were always in the balance, each side looking for an advantage. Then one of the Orcs remembered the Giant Slugs that roam wild in the Far East. It was said that these Slugs could Slime an enemy to death in no time at all. The Orcs sent scouting parties to find the beasts. The first few Orcs underestimated the power of the Slugs and were swamped in slime trails, a sight horrific to behold. Then Gaz Guzzla, a fierce Orc warrior, managed to sneak up on one of the semi-comatose Slugs; he quickly lashed a rope around its head and began to ride it. Legend has it, it took four days of bucking and bouncing until the Slug finally tired and gave up the fight, having slithered hundreds of yards and left a slime trial bigger than you’d find in the toilets at a Miss Universe competition. Then Gaz played his clever hand. He had a team of Orcs standing by for this moment, and as the beast gave up the fight the team ran out brandishing the leaves of many hardy perennials. The Slug was delighted, taking the proffered leaves with glee. It didn’t take long before this first Great Slug was tamed by the Orcs. The Orcs called it ‘Slippy’. 

After Gazs’ success with Slippy it wasn’t long before the Orcs had control of many hundreds of the Giant Slugs. They formulated a massive mounted attack on the City of Setebos. Now you must remember that although they are slugs they move much faster than the slimy little gits that ruin most Hostas. So here we have the scenario. Over one thousand Orc warriors mounted on their Giant Slugs began a devastating charge on Setebos across the flatlands that lie to the East of the City. It was a fascinating though frightening sight to behold, according to the stories that have come down over the ages and that. The cries of death and torment from the Orcs mixed with the deafening slither of one thousand Giant Slugs!”

“So what happened?” asked Peter, totally taken up with the tale.

“To the East of the City lies the great Plain of Yaw Wrasse. Long ago in the time before time, well a time before my time, anyway, the Great Plain was a shallow sea called the Suckitan Sea. It was filled with Cod and Codling, Salmon and Trout, Hake, flat nosed Flukes, magnificently coloured Wrasse, John Dory and Finny Haddock.”

“And Pollack’s?” asked Peter.

“No it’s true. Lots of fish; they were caught regularly to feed the city. We even had our Soles. As time went by the stocks got lower, and the sea began to dry up. The water level lowered and most of the fish died. But one species seemed to thrive in the ever-increasing shallow salty waters. It was a Wrasse that seemed to pitch and roll a lot. The people began to call it the Yaw Wrasse. The waters got lower and lower so that the fishermen could just walk out and nonchalantly kick up Yaw Wrasse, catch them in a net and serve them for supper with chips, mushy peas and curry sauce.”

“Even so the water got lower and lower until there was nothing left. No fish. No water. Just a massive salt Plain.”

“So what was happening?” asked Steve, being a curious little (though hardy) fecker.

“As the mounted Slug cavalry got closer to the City they began to slow down. This is very unusual as cavalry normally speed up on the final charge. Everyone wondered what was happening. Had the Orcs devised a new strategy? Then The Slugs stopped; one by one across the great open space the Slugs stopped and began to melt. It was only then that we all remembered that the plain on the east side of the City was a big salt flat. The Orcs had killed their mounts due to poor planning and preparation. It is said that nearly all of the Great Slugs died that day, and few can now be found in the East. Oh look we’re here,” continued Hanny as they approached the inn.

“The Slug and Rider.”

“That was a lovely tale thank you Hanny,” said Peter. “And we didn’t have to describe the scenery on the way!”


Chapter 7

What happens next?

They sat together in the Great Hall. Now they were seven, Queen Dillberry would have to play keyboards.

Rooty toot toot!

The pondering had long since finished and all seven were now deep in dialogue. Peter was more than happy with his newly acquired underclothing, though a little perturbed at the potential embarrassment and inherent danger of bending over with his rear end pointing up toward the Moon. Greg felt the outcome so far had been successful and quietly fulfilling, though he knew the task wasn’t over yet. This would be nothing more than a temporary respite.

A chance to draw breath.

A chance to draw little sticks men in the corners of a book and animate them to produce a very poor cartoon effect.

A chance to ask the King and Queen what is blowing in the wind.

A chance to write and talk in clichés, as it were.

A chance to play strip poker with three lovely young ladies.

No chance.

The Fairies felt it was time to bring the travellers down to the ground.

They pointed out that despite the pleasure given by the magic underpants it was only a brief measure and to find permanent relief Peter would have to travel deep inside his head, and deep inside the interior of the continent to search for a Permanent Cure.

“Is there such a thing as a Permanent Cure for the Dukes!?” asked Hanny.

“Legend says there is…” said the Queen.

“Well let´s ask Legend then,” said Greg.

 “…but the journey is perilous,” continued Dillberry, ignoring the stupidity of the diminutive Goblin. “Many have attempted it, none have returned. It is written that the Quest involves a journey Down South to find the Fabled Lake of the Gloompty Fish. There the intrepid explorer must find a Bold Imp with a Sturdy Boat that will take the courageous adventurer out into the middle of the Great Fabled Lake. Then he must sort out his tackle and begin the Herculean task of fishing for the Great Gloompty Fish. After writhing and fighting the Monster fish for many hours he will land the catch on the Sturdy Boat and bas h the fecker to death. At the end of this arduous task the Hero must rapidly get back to the shore of the Town on the edge of the Great Fabled Lake of the Gloompty Fish, find the legendary Imp who extracts potions from Strange Fabled Creatures and persuade this other Hero to extract the oil from the Magical Liver of the Gloompty Fish. Legend then says applying this fresh Liver Oil to the affected parts will lead to a Permanent Cure for the Dukes!”

“Well that sounds just fabulous,” said Peter. “I suppose I’d best be off as soon as I can. It’s me with the sore bottom and me that needs to cure it. So Queenie, if you could just give me a map and a bit of scran to see me through the next few days then I’ll be off love.”

“It could just be a fable,” added the Queen.

The Queen smiled at him, her beast like face almost betraying a touch of childhood beauty.

“No way young Pixy. You can’t undertake that journey alone. I would expect that your facially challenged friend (she grimaced at Greg) at least he will want to travel with you. And I will grant you a further companion. I will send one of my lovely Fairy Maidens with you.”

Hanny, Nouf and Thanthat all looked eagerly toward the Queen. They were all eager to take any chance to get out of washing the floppy flappy flabby bits of the Majestic King.

Dillberry looked from one to the other then back again. She knew that Innocent had more than an inkling in his dinkling for Hanny.

“It will be Fairy Hanny all the way!” declared the Queen,” She will be a good guide for you and is skilled in many tongues; I hear many great compliments regarding her tongue work. Besides she will be able to monitor your use of the Magic Underpants, report back to me on their effectiveness ensuring they are fit for purpose. It´s always important to have standards and meaningful targets, don´t you know! And if you eventually get the Fabled Bum Cure I would hope that Hanny would bring back any spare Gloompty Fish Liver Oil for my experiments.”

Greg bowed. “Majestic Queen Dillberry, I will gladly travel with Peter. He needs my looks and my brains if we are to make any progress.”

“That’s that failed then,” said the King in an aside to Nouf.

“And Majesty I too will be more than pleased to travel on this Quest,” said Hanny. “This journey to destroy the burning ring. It will be an amusement; it will get me away from having to scrub the hygienically challenged Monarch, a pleasure I can survive without for as long as necessary!”

“That’s settled then,” said the Queen. “See ya!”

With that the Pixy, the Goblin and Fairy Hanny departed the Great Hall, with its fine columns, its four walls and its roof, to head Down South to the fabled land of the Lake of the Gloompty Fish.

What adventures would befall them?

What fun would they have?

Would there be any shenanigans with two guys and one doll?

Would they meet many strange and interesting characters that seemed too outlandish to be true?

It was time to make preparations.

 Hanny took charge of this and put together packs of food and spare clothing. Being a logical and highly intelligent young gal she put each of the prepared goods into packs and labelled them. There were eight packs in all so she wrote down the contents on a list and labelled them from ‘A’ to ‘H’. She then assigned the packs amongst the three of them.

She made sure that Peter was carrying preparation ‘H’.

They left the Great Castle of Setebos via door number three, turned right, went up the road and bumped into Steve of the Guard. Being a nosey Gnome he asked how it had gone, what was happening, any juicy gossip to tell the guys as they stagged on overnight?

“What’s the buzz, tell me what a happening is!” he said.

Hanny explained the scenario and the Quest to a scintillated Steve.

“Sounds cool,” said the Head of the Guard, “any chance of coming with you?”

“But what about your duties here?” asked Hanny.

“By the sign of the Fishing Rod and Wheelbarrow I am absolutely bored shitless! It’s crap! I’d rather watch paint dry or be eaten by a fabled multi-coloured fish. This isn’t the life for me! I want adventure! I want to see mountains! See Trolls and be away with the Fairy´s!”

“And that´s going to happen,” mumbled Greg.

So it was that that evening Peter the Pixy, Greg the Goblin, Steve the Gnome and Fairy Hanny headed out of the West Gate of the Great City of Setebos.

They walked several miles before one of them remembered that the Quest lay Down South. So turning left they set off on what would be the Greatest Adventure of their lives, a Magnificent Swashbuckling Tale on the Quest to find a Permanent Cure for the Dukes!


Chapter 6

Of Gold mines and magic undies.

The sextet could have formed a magical jazz band. Innocent would have to be the drummer what with being fat and lazy, with Greg on the double bass – his overlong arms and squat legs made him ideal to handle the instrument, while his ugly face would look cool if adorned with shades. Peter would have a choice of instruments but would no doubt go for virtuoso guitar, sitting down to play as this suggests a more studied approach to music. The three babes would form the brass section and vocals. Hanny would play alto sax, caressing the long slender metal as she oozed each silky note; Nouf the trumpeter would cradle the moon with its bright shiny notes; Thanthat would play trombone and sing with a deep sexy voice that could turn saints into jazz fans.

King Innocent and his Unstable Mates play ‘Blues on Uranus’.


They left the Great Hall with all its attributes – walls and roof and that – sliding off amongst the highways and byways that formed the Majestic Castle of the Fairy Kings of Setebos. Soon they were descending below ground, past the long disused dungeons, past the food stores (Peter was not tempted), and on toward the Magic Cellars of Queen Dillberry.

It was rumoured all over the planet that the Queen dibbled and dabbled in Magic. Everybody hoped that she dealt in Good Magic or White Magic as it is known, though many of the noble Fairies wanted to see some of that old Black Magic called love. Was the Queen a Black Magic woman? There are many dark secrets in Black Magic, but we won’t look into them as it may spoil our appetite.

They entered a room filled with bubbling cauldrons, smokes, fumes and strange coloured liquids. The smell was foul; there were bits of animals lying on worktops and odd-looking roots were arranged on shelves. There were jars containing potions and powders with strange labels like ‘Mango Chutney’ and ¨Piccalilli´ and ´Gherkins´ and ´Crabs dicks.

“I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere as we appear to be in the kitchens,” said the King.

It took a little more pondering and deliberating but they eventually reached the magic workshop of the Queen. The four Fairies had been here on the odd occasion; the King liked to see his Fairy Queen now and again. To the dynamic duo it was a place of awe. There were jars of green and yellow goo on the shelves; sticks; cauliflowers and potatoes with eyes; there were four and twenty years ago, baked in a pie; the were runes and prunes; nuts and bolts; there was a magic dog that made a bolt for the door and a guinea pig that made a run for a rabbit; there were birds that sing and bees that sting, a frog that walks and a dog that talks; they came upon a child of God who was walking along the road; there was a magical mystery tour just waiting to take them away; there were three blind mice training guide dogs; and there in the corner stood the wonderful Queen Dillberry, clearly a salad dodger just like her beloved King, but with a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp.

“Hello love,” said the King, “I’ve brought a couple of the lads around for a pint. Oh and one of them’s got a sore bum he’d like some advice on! Come on girls, get us a drink.”

As the handmaidens searched for a few beers Queen Dillberry looked deep into the eyes of the frightened Pixy.

“I suppose I should shout ´off with his head!’ but I´ll leave that to another fantastic Queen.

“And there could be a copyright problem too,” suggested Hanny, practical as ever.

“Well yes – just copy it if it seems right,” said the Queen.

The Queen pondered and looked askance.

“Off with his head!” she shouted.

“And off his head we have done,” muttered Hanny, “with what shall we do with it?”

“Say that again!”

“What shall we do with his head when it comes off?” asked Nouf.

“Fairy Nouf, good Question, “said the Queen and pondered some more.

“Give it to Lord Chalfont,” suggested the pondered Queen.

“Oh my love, “said the King. “You´re always saying give Head to Lord Chalfont! It´s not really his role to be collecting Heads. He collects taxes!”

“Fair enough,” said the Queen.

“Yes Your Majesty?”  said fairy Nouf.

The Queen decided it was time to look askance again.

Peter looked upon her doubtfully. Would he lose his head? Quite a price to pay for a Fairy Tart and a sore arse.

“Worry not oh anally challenged Pixy! For I am the Queen Dillberry! Star of the Sea! Mother of Invention! Zapper of flies and Captain in the heart of Beef! I can kill or cure you young Pixy! Choose wisely or the consequences could be fatal!”

“A cure would be best I think your ladyship.”

“You chose well my young friend. Tell me what can ail thee, sprite at arms, alone and palely loitering?”

“Well if you go back a few pages you can see that I´m stricken with the Dukes! Due to having one of your tarts,” explained Peter.

So the Queen read the story so far.

“The Dukes! So the prophecy is true. Praise Oberon and Titania! And Puck and Quince! And a man named Vince! Oh Sweet Gene Vincent! So no more chasing after my beautiful tarts anymore?”

Peter adorned his guilty look.

“I might be tempted if they taste of raspberry,” he admitted.

“Saints preserve us!” squealed the Queen. “He likes raspberry tarts!”

“And strangled farts!”

“Oh aye!” said the Pixy. “If the most beautiful tart in the world stood before me now, tempting me to lick and munch and drool all over it, I would be able to say No! I do not want my lust turned into a stinging pain down below!”

“Even if it is a raspberry tart?”

Peter thunk it through. Raspberry?

He loved raspberry tarts, though he hadn´t tried many.

He could raspberry tart all day and be happy.

But then the bum grapes would expand.

“No! Not even a raspberry tart!” declared the pitiful Pixy.

“Good! Then I can help. Hanny!” she cried, “go to the cupboard in the back of my bedroom, the black cupboard with all the lovely pictures of hosts of golden daffodils, and open up the Golden Box. In it you will find a garment that will help our stricken companion. Go quickly girl for his arse has a burning ring of fire!”

Hanny returned after a period in which Peter and Greg felt their souls had been read by the Fairy Queen. Hanny held a small package that she handed to the Queen.

“My forbears knew of the prophecy and prepared for such an event. Long ago in the depths of time Queen Spenser sat in the light of the moon knitting her magic into this garment. The garment has the power to relieve a sore arse. I present now to you, troubled Pixy that you are, the magic underpants of the Fairy Queen Spenser!”

“Pardon?” said Peter.

“Magic underpants?” asked Greg.

“Yup!” said the Queen. “These will give better relief than CO2 or lard. However they must be looked after carefully. Too much time with the magic underpants can be addictive. They really should come with a government health warning.”

“What, like don´t smoke death sticks or drink Brownie Beer?”

“Something like that. Magic in your pants can be a bit bad,” explained the Queen.

“But what do I do oh bog eyed Majestic Queen?” asked Peter.

“Get your kecks off, chuck you lard stained trolleys away, divest your chuff of the semi-liquid lard and put these on. You’ll get instant relief.”

“Could you give me a hand please Hanny?” asked the Pixy in feigned innocence.

Hanny snorted derisively.

“If you want a hand that’s a job you can do yourself!” she said.

When Peter donned the magic pants his life changed instantly. The screeching, searing spikes that had insinuated their metaphorical presence in his rectum were immediately cast out like leftover cabbage. The tight pulsating smouldering sphincter lost its dominating authority in his brain. Freedom surged through his nether regions like a spring tide on a marsh. No longer would he walk in pain, carrying the fear of a leaking bum.

This was self-determination.

This was bliss.

Personal motivation to be the best of the best.

Yes Sir!

This was the magic underpants effect.

“Feeling better then son?” asked the King as he supped on a glass of brown ale.

“Better! I feel pretty and witty and gay!”

“Now, take care young Pixy,” warned the Queen. “You are using powerful magic; magic that can dampen the dark power of the burning ring. But beware. The magic doesn’t last forever. Those pants will need recharging every now and again if they are to maintain their effectiveness.”

Peter looked confused.

What could she mean by recharging? These pants had instantly rejuvenated his Jacksy – was she implying the effect wouldn’t last?

“The effect won’t last if they aren’t properly maintained, washed regularly and re-energised,” said the Queen.

Hanny looked at the perplexed Pixy in exasperation.

“Didn’t you listen to what her Majesty said? These are Underpants knitted in the light of the Magical Moon. Moonlight waxes and wanes! If you don’t keep them on full charge then the power will wane and you’ll be in pain!”

“Pardon me for butting in,” intruded the gob smacked Goblin, “but how exactly does one go about recharging a pair of underpants, even given that they are magic?”

“Moonlight!” chorused the Fairies.

“Moonlight?” Questioned the brave travellers.

“And roses?”  asked the King.

Fairy Thanthat folded her arms in disbelief.

“You two really are as thick as pig shit aren’t you!” she declared.

“Fair cop!” agreed the Pixy and Goblin.

“Look,” continued Thanthat. “The power of the pants will reduce over the lunar cycle. So when there is a full moon you have to recharge them. And before you ask,” she continued, preventing the thickos from interrupting, “the method is quite easy. You drop your trousers and point your underpants clad bottom at the moon.”

“In the world of magic we call this Mooning,” said Queen Dillberry.

Pondering continued for some time until Greg had the courage to ask “Which Moon does he point his bum at? After all there are seventeen.”

Fairy Hanny giggled.

“Surely it’s obvious. Oberon, King of the Fairies. Point your bum at that one!”


Chapter 5

Did you know I originally wrote this story as a Radio script? The BBC just weren’t interested so I changed it into a book!

Bearing Our Souls.

It was now a delight to be in the presence of the newly perfumed King, in the Great Hall with its Great Walls and Great Columns and Great Roof and Great Gargoyles. Add to that the sight of the three most gorgeous babes they had ever seen, the stars of this epic tale were finally ready to take another step in the right direction.

“As I was saying before I was turned into a powder puff; what can I do for you lads?” repeated the King.

“Before we go any further, oh majestically scented one,” said Greg. “Before we get any further could you give us a proper introduction to your lusciously lovely assistants?”

“I’d should say so too, oh fragranced one that no longer smells!” added Peter.

“Sorry lads, quite remiss of me. These are my favourite handmaidens, good for all the jobs that need to be done by hand. Let me introduce you to Fairy Hanny, Fairy Nouf and the other one.”

“Well hello ladies,” chorused the hopeful duet, eyes dancing a quick step up and down the obvious protuberances of the scrumptious trio.

“Hello lads,” they shrilled in return.

“But tell me, oh father of all things that no longer smell of Dragon shite,” continued the perplexed Pixy, “why do you call this third fair maiden ‘the other one’?”

The King looked away, the anger dancing back up his trouser leg, out of his shirt and onto his Crimson face. Anger personified!

Peter was worried. Had he accidently stood in a social dog turd, a faux pas that could get him twenty years in the doghouse?

 He turned to Hanny.

“Have I done something to offend, fair maiden?”

Hanny returned a gracious and condescending smile, like a Hollywood actor thanking a fan for pointing out what a great guy he was in his last movie.

“Not really,” said the buxom babe. “It’s just that the King sometimes has trouble in pronouncing certain names.”

“You mean like Siobhan, Niamh, Caoimhe and Aoife?” enquired Greg.

“Don´t be feckin ridiculous,” snorted Hanny. “Her name is Thanthat.”

“So it isn’t Beibhinn?”

“I can´t see how it could be any harder than those names!” stated Peter.

A glint of a memory came into Hanny´s eye. Had she travelled to the Emerald isle and the land of Faery? There was something troubling her, a memory that could not exist, and a sense of déjà vu without a view. Her vision glazed temporarily. Who is Turenn she asked herself.

Peter and Greg just assumed she had wind.

Fairy Nouf took up the tale.

“As well as starting each day smelling like a teenage boys bedroom covered in monkey ordure, the King just struggles with some names. We try not to make too big a deal of it,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“So what is the problem with saying her name?” asked Greg.

“Can´t you see,” said Nouf, “he’s the King, the most wonderful being in this Universe, the most Majestic Majesty ever!”

“And he can’t say Fairy Thanthat.”

The King smiled, then expelled his angry look, along with a large amount of home-grown methane.

“Get out and walk!” shouted the King as he airbrushed his recently changed underpants.

Peter and Greg, not being use to Royal Protocol, turned to leave the Great Hall.

Hanny and Nouf stopped them, while Thanthat giggled at their lack of sophistication.

The King chortled.

“Sorry lads,” he said, “I didn’t mean you had to get out and walk away from here. It´s just a little encouragement for the Lean Bean Machine to leave the room! You don’t want them air biscuits hanging round too long.

The boys sort of felt chastened and embarrassed; fancy not understanding what to do in the case of a Royal Anal Foghorn.

King Innocent calmed his chortle to a snigger.

“So lads; what is the problem?” he asked. “Why am I sitting here in my Great Hall waiting to listen to some petition from a hideous Goblin that is ugly as sin (no offence, and a Cardinal sin at that), and a Pixy that looks as though he has been riding a horse for the last fifty years and smells of part heated lard?”

Peter went simply red, then deep purple. The glow from his face began to light up the Great Hall and made the King even more Crimson. He tried to shift on his feet but each small movement told him that the lard was losing its effectiveness; the Dukes! were sending little spear parties deep into his jacksy. He looked lovingly into the eyes of Fairy Hanny; this was no time to beat about the bush, much as he would have enjoyed doing so; this was a time for action and honesty. And he was scared to fart.

Faint heart never won Fairy maiden.

Mind you in the annals of history a pile ridden Pixy never won a Fair maiden.

I digress.

“Your Majesty, here I am in the court of the most munificent monarch on Uranus.  I have a confession to make and a tale to tell, which might just explain the lardy smell.”

Greg nodded sagely; a decent rhyme was never a crime.

“Well hurry up lad, me dinners nearly ready!” said the King as he lifted his excess tummy flab.

“Sorry oh newly fragrant one. I stand before you, a poor humble Pixy, a forlorn hope for I have been stricken with a foul case of the Dukes!”

There was no reaction from the Fairies. They knew the implications of this confession. The dammed Pixy had been at the tarts. Fairy tarts at that. The Kings tarts, possibly. The King looked at his three lovelies. They shook their heads in denial.


No way would any of these three ever consort with a Pixy, letting him help himself to a tart. They were too loyal.

He looked at Thanthat. He couldn’t say it for certain with that one.


“How did a hairy arsed little scumbag like you get his hands on one of my tarts!” belched the King.

Peter began to shake violently. The rapidity of the shakiness caused the now partially melted lard to slip down and out of his chuff. The fear of the King outweighed the fear of losing the contents of his bottom, and slowly the life saving lard slid down his leg, like a sloppy turd escaping from the badly fitted nappy on a two-year-old.

The King grew more crimson as rage took the stage and treachery superseded lechery.

Hanny intervened.

“Majesty! It is your munificence to forgive and forget. It is obvious that our sore bottomed friend has suffered. But, on the positive side, he has proved to us that the old prophecy is true. This will be a good advert for the Kingdom. We won’t see many other reprobates wanting to suffer this type of anal embarrassment!”

The King subsided and released his pent-up anger by peppering the air with a staccato burst of trouser trumpets.

“True enough love; true enough,” said the King as he frowned upon his handmaidens clutching their noses. “In fact you really have done us a favour here young sore bum. I apologise for my harsh words but you have to admit, if you thought someone had had your tart you’d be nonplussed!”

Peter cast himself on the floor. He was filled with a mixture of shame for his actions and the pain in his arse. The tears began to flow. A shiny brownish white puddle also began to flow from the bottom of his trousers.

Greg looked to the King.

“Oh sweet-smelling sovereign! Please show forgiveness on your humble subject. Forgive him his trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us. Your tarts probably led him into temptation; now deliver him from the evil that resides in his jacksy.”

King Innocent allowed his eyes to do a little jig; there is nothing quite so fetching as a cross-eyed Fairy. Alas Innocent wasn’t particularly handsome. Never mind. He had a decision to make.

The King was far from displaying nominative determinism. When it came to temptation he gave in to his urges. He had a penchant for tarts, despite the warnings of revenge from his Queen. In the history of the Kings of Setebos, Innocent was the fattest bastard who had ever attempted to sit on the throne. His predecessors had taken care to diet properly, taking pride in their food intake. They loved fairy cakes and angel delight but knew when to stop. They understood the food pyramid, the importance of carbohydrates, proteins and fats in the correct proportions. It was the Age of the Thin Kings and all was well on Uranus.

Those days had long gone and now we have King Innocent the Salad Dodger.

He knew what is like to be tempted by a strawberry tart on a sleepy afternoon. He had his own little stick of Blackpool rock, and liked to have a nibble on it now and again.

“You’re right,” said the King, “the Pixy has suffered and will continue to suffer in his secret parts unless we can find a cure. You Goblin! Get some fresh lard up his chod bin before he starts screaming like a banshee.”

The Goblin rapidly got to work, pondering the origin of purified pig fat. Who first thought of that? Mind you who first thought of mixing hops and barley with water to make beer? And who thought reality TV would be a good thing? And who thought putting six hundred and thirty-five cheats and liars in a building would lead to good government?

There are stranger things in heaven and Earth than you would ever find on Uranus.

Hanny, Nouf and Thanthat watched in disbelief. They were used to unsoiling a fat Ruler but cramming a bum with lard was a new experience for them all.

“Can I have a go?” asked Hanny.

The remnants of Peter’s dignity careered out of control. How weird to have the girl of your dreams cramming a medicine up your troublesome chuffer. Should he be pleased with the intimacy or horrified at the loss of self-esteem? It was hard to work out. Would it be ok to ask her for a quiet drink that evening knowing that she had spent time stuffing his donk with lard?

The butt packing was soon done and Greg looked for a place to put the empty wrappers.

Time appeared to stand still for a few moments.

The six of them sat or stood in the Great Hall, with its walls and roof, not to mention its columns and windows, pondering. Each pondered in his or her own way, remembering previous times when pondering was less of a challenge.

The King intervened.

“I was just wondering as I was pondering,” he said, “as to why a Pixy and a Goblin should come in here as though they have been best friends forever. I just don´t get it. Pixies are fine enough creatures, with their little hats and pointy toed shoes, even if they do nick tarts and get the Dukes! But Goblins! Scum personified. Scum! I would not trust one as far as I could throw him!”

Greg looked at the fat bastard and realised the King probably couldn’t even throw a sprout at a Christmas Turkey.

Fairy Thanthat tried to pacify the King.

“My lord, don’t you remember you said you wanted to be more accessible to everyone on the planet. That you want to be seen as The Monarch of The Many. The King of the Kindred. The Leader of The Lowly. A friendly Fairy King with his beautiful Fairy Queen.”

“Fat chance of that, considering the bag of spanners I’m married to!”

Fairy Thanthat was taken aback; then she was taken a-sideways and a-down.

“Unfair my Lord. Queen Dillberry is one of the bestest Fairies ever. She is popular with all, even the Imps and Gremlins love her.”

“Do the Trolls love her?”

“Majesty the Trolls don’t love anyone since you sent Warwick Hunt to crush their revolution.”

The pondering continued, before turning into deliberating; after a while the pondering returned.

“You’re right as always, the other one. Why even my daughter Princess Layer says she likes Goblin friends. Bless me with the sign of Titania but you’re right! Sorry disgusting Goblin scum; didn’t mean to offend.”

“I’m not offended boss. I’m used to being at the foot of the tree. However I am a really useful Goblin when you get to know me.”

The panel continued to ponderously ponder possibilities. Was there a way to help the petrified Pixy in his Quest for a cure? Would he be forever reliant on lard? Would he ever manage to pull Fairy Hanny?

“Queen Dillberry could probably help,” said Fairy Nouf.

“Fair enough,” said the King. “Let’s go and ask her.”


Chapter 4

In the Court of the King with the Crimson Face.

It turned out to be much easier than ever to find their way there, to the Great Hall in the Great Castle in the Great City of Setebos.

They did turn left and enter door number three. From there they had to work their way along a few deep and dreary back passages but eventually they emerged from a little entrance into the Great Hall.

It was magnificent.

And Great.

And wonderful – and marvellous and that.

There were beams a plenty that stretched from floor to ceiling, majestically holding the splendour of the roof in its splendid place on top of the walls. Of walls there were four, one at each side of the Hall. Each wall consisted of bricks, magnificently place on top of each other in a Flemish bond to add strength, and magically held together by mortar. Then in his perversity the Master Builder said what is it all made of; so rendered the walls in rendering. The brilliance of the architect was shown by having windows in each wall, windows that, should the observer be fifteen feet tall, would allow one to look outside. This was majestic splendour on a magnificent scale.

From the buttresses rose magnificent gargoyle sculptures, such that, if one peered at them with a slight squint in the right eye and a fist pushed into the left side of ones head, one could easily believe the masons had captured Prime Ministers Question Time. Or the Liverpool team from 1974.

At the far end of the Hall, or the near end if you were coming in from the other side, lay a raised dais upon which stood two magnificently majestic thrones. Each throne was raised above the dais on another, smaller dais in order for the occupants to take an even more condescending view of any grovelling bastard who dared ask for extra sandwiches. The cannier observer would detect that both thrones were in fact commodes, a device that has saved many a monarch when having the shit bored out of them by whinging politicians.

Greg and Peter did not notice this as it is not really relevant, but worth mentioning in trying to understand the mind of the planners, who are also full of shite.

They looked at each other.

“What happens next?” asked Peter.

“Search me,” said Greg.

“You’ve got some coins in your left pocket, a knife in your right, lots of useful pens, a pocket watch, a fire extinguisher, a comb, two hard boiled eggs and a decent supply of lard in your ruck sack,” said Peter ten minutes later, having taken Greg literally.

“I think the Dukes! are starting to affect you mental skills,” said Greg.

“I think I have always had mental bits,” said Peter.

Just then there came the sounds of horns blazing.

‘Parp! Parp! Parpety Parp!’ went the horns.

The dynamic duo was drawn magnetically toward the dais. As the horns parped louder and louder there appeared from the side of the Great hall the Fattest Fairy imaginable, his face glowing crimson with the effort of moving. As this figure waddled carefully toward the larger of the two thrones there came a stench as though every demon in Hell had farted simultaneously: hydrogen sulphide overdose with mega portions of skatole. The pair gagged and shuddered in disbelief.

The figure sat down and looked down at his strange subjects.

“Don’t blame me lads; I’m Innocent!” he said with more than a hint of mischief in his eyes.

[It should be noted at this juncture in the story that one of the strangest things about Uranus is it is full of wormholes.  These wormholes convey not only images and stories but also notions. One of the funniest ideas to traverse the interplanetary quite extraordinary Space is the Liverpool accent. Scholars in the Greater Library of the Gods in Bootle and the What The Feck Happened Library of Alexandria can’t decide the direction in which the accent travelled; suffice it to say that the Fairies speak with a Scouse accent. If you can grasp this concept it will make the narrative even funnier. Funnier than flu.]

“What can I do for you, lads?” asked the munificent King Innocent.

The intrepid pair were still trying to get their breathing sorted. It takes some skill to breath only through the mouth; a talent achieved every night by many a drunk producing the most horrendous snoring to the annoyance of countless gorgeous young ladies. If perfected it eliminates the intensity of the smell. Schoolteachers and Nurses are highly proficient at this due to the horrible stinking environments in which they carry out their trades – I don´t mean those in their care, merely the shit they get chucked at them from governments. Mind you, taxi drivers have to be good at it too. As for sewage workers, they probably just enjoy the smell of shite.

Greg pulled himself together.

“Oh most noble and wonderful King; oh Glorious Master of all the Fairies and the lesser things of Uranus; oh tower of bulk and stoutness personified. There are many things we would like to ask. And may be so bold as to ask my first Question; why do you smell like a ton of camel droppings mixed with rotten eggs and cabbages?”

The King paused.

Pausing is all part of the game on Uranus.

The King continued his pause.

A look of anger danced across his face, down his shirt and out of his trousers. Then a smile crossed his face.

“I haven’t had a shower today yet lads, sorry! And with a chod bin as wide as mine, getting things spick and span takes a little extra support.”

The King turned to his left.

He shouted.

“Hanny! Nouf!  The other one! Come out here and make your King a little more presentable for his raggedy arsed guests!”

The music of the wordy hurdy gurdy filled the room and a scent of lavender and vanilla attempted to hide the Monarchs stench.

There emerged from a side door to the rear of the dais, in the middle of one of the walls that held up the roof, the three most gorgeous Fairy babes that either of our heroes had ever seen. They were the kind of gals that made any male want to fall in love, have babies and never spend a night in the pub with his mates ever again – ok this is a fairy story…

The young females brought in with them a large bowl of steaming hot water, towels and soap, perfumes made from the finest spices the planet could produce. Fairy Nouf ran immediately to the two travellers giving each a Nosegay, saying “This’ll mask the pong until we’ve cleaned the Gloriously Reeking Ruler!”

It took a good long time for the Malodorous Sovereign to be made presentable, in which time the two heroes sat and watched the dance of the three gorgeous handmaidens as they spruced up the bulky old git. Peter became more and more enamoured of Hanny, her hair cascading in corkscrews down her shoulders, flashing and parting to display fine young breasts enclosed in green linen. Her skull was crowned with the latest in Fairy Hairy-do’s; a v-shaped wedge that drew the viewer’s eyes up along that pretty face. Her beautiful almond eyes glowed blue in the half light of the Hall. Her waist suggested an athletic existence, the six pack tastefully covered by a short gypsy skirt. Beneath the flowing skirts he could see long lithesome legs, lovely legends living lavishly, lustful lingerie lengthening the alliteration. At the end of those lovely legs were calf high black boots, army issue, and 24 lace holes.

Fairies wear boots and you’ve got to believe me.

All three girls fluttered vestigial gossamer wings as they danced and entranced the Minging Stinking King. The Fairies have evolved on Uranus to a point where they can no longer use their wings. As they get older and slightly more tubby the wings become more colourful but less useful. These older Fairy gals refer to them as Bright Imitation Non Gliding Objects; or BINGO wings for short.

Peter had to stop looking, for fear of making a fool of himself, as a priapism attempted to keep him seated for an hour or two.

He wanted to declare his love instantly. But what would she see? A Pixy fallen on hard times, who had betrayed the trust placed in him, lying there with an arse packed with purified pig fat. Who could fall in love with such a forlorn creature?

In that instant Peter felt that Hanny had broken off a corner of his mind, a corner she would hold onto until he could rid himself of the curse of the Dukes! If he could atone for his sins then maybe she would give back that little corner of him, and he could be the Pixy he had always been. Then maybe they could live happy ever after, Pixy and Fairy in perfect harmony.


Too many obstacles.  

Still, the road without obstacles never leads anywhere interesting. And if you don’t know where you’re going then you’re bound to get there.

A road to far?

Are we on the road to nowhere?

Will it be a long and winding road?

Any road, let´s continue with peter´s random thoughts…

A Fairy marry a Pixy?

Unheard of!

Peter ended his reverie as the more pleasant smells of perfume and parfum drifted up his nostrils, reminding him that Uranus can be quite a pleasant place to spend an evening. The King no longer smelt like a leather tanning factory in Morocco. He was all sweetness and light, and no longer smelt of shite. This was a new day. The aromas brought Peter back down from his musings. He could not afford to fall in love with anyone, let alone one of the Kings handmaidens.

In the midst of this romantic contemplation, Peter murmured out loud the thoughts wiggling a salsa through his imagination, “You can’t always get what you want!”

“I can!” said the King.


Chapter 3

 Desperately seeking Innocent.

It was a relatively short, though oppressive walk to the City of Setebos. The woodland clung to their breath as they toddled along in search of forgiveness and a potential cure. The sky looked down gravely on the heroes, overcasting doubt on the success of their mission. The Sun beamed her glorious smile onto the walls of the City, though her mind was elsewhere; she was trying to find a solution for a disenfranchised Sloth in the jungles of South America.

The City walls of Setebos had once been magnificent, a testament to the Greatness of the Old Fairies, The Lords of Uranus. Creatures had travelled from all over the planet to gaze upon the high white marble structures that told a tale of great wealth and great breeding. In those days the walls had been more than necessary.

They exhibited the splendour of the Fairy Kings but also were needed to keep out the riff raff, the ne’er do wells, down and outs, Harold Ramps, disgraced Defence Ministers, Letting agents and marauding Orcs.

Long gone were the times of the deadly Wars of the Fairies and Orcs. Many an Orc had been toasted before, during and after a battle and many a Fairy turned into a spit–roasted delicacy.

Fortunately this is no longer the Norm.

At the last great Siege of Setebos in the reign of King Grayson of Everard, the Orcs had caught a case of Darwinian Evolution. They went for a full one hundred and eighty degree about turn in their attitude. Here they lay at the walls of Setebos demanding the surrender of the City and the consumption of the majority of its inhabitants and then suddenly, shazam, they left to research the pros and cons of the Financial Services Industry.

Legend has it that the leader of the Orc Army, Krak Ed, sat musing on the costs of the siege. His men were getting very hungry, what with the long trek north, the building of siege wagons and the constant bombardment of the city with anything that could be catapulted; so Krak Ed began a cost-benefit analysis of being a devastating Warlord. What was the point, he thought, of putting in all this effort, losing good men to the slings and arrows of outrageous Fairies, only to find he was out of pocket at the end? This was not great asset management. He’d raised his own venture capital by stealing from everyone he’d ever met and his potential profit would be to eat the King of the Fairies.

Is this my raison d’être he mused in a pretentious manner.

His head began to fill with Profit and Loss accounts, Angel Investors, Debt Management, Claims Management, Fraud, Theft and Financial Scamming. There was more than enough reason to create a Financial Cartel.

So he called his Chieftains together and explained their new approach.

They would become Financial Advisors, Accountants and Tax Inspectors.

He had to eat a couple of the guys who initially disagreed with his plan; however they soon all approved so they packed up and went home. Thus began a New Age of Enlightenment on Uranus. Nobody would dare cheat at Tax because the consequences could be fatal; despite the attempt at civilisation some Orcs were still partial to eating their victims, and of course being eaten for failing to declare a proper income was considered a just punishment in these parts.

Many of the Orcs began to take on more conventional names in order to appear more acceptable to their clients. No one would be tempted to visit a Financial Advisor called Rippy Zedoff or Head Muncher or Fairy Eater; so they changed their names to things like Bob, Steve and Rupert. However in these later days there are some of the younger Orcs who like to be a bit of a throwback and take on names such as Gaz, Jonno or Wayne, Dwayne, Rap and David.

Thus it had been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time since anyone had attacked the great City of Setebos. As a result the Great Walls had fallen somewhat into decay, with buddleia, wall flowers and mosses covering much of the once Magnificent Marbled exterior. There were gaps that grew larger each year as the inhabitants helped themselves to the stones for more useful functions such as Wall Fillers, Door Stops and Argument Solvers. Even the Great Gate at the Western side of the Great City stood permanently open, its Great hinges rusted into place after so many Great Generations of Great Peace.

Things were just Great.

The City did like to maintain some semblance of its former glory, so posted a Guard on the bridge in front of the West Gate. The Guard usually consisted of ten to a dozen of the most friendly and helpful creatures to be found on Uranus, the Gnomes. The Gnomes that formed the Guard came from families in which generation after generation had dedicated their lives to the service of the City, not unlike The Household Cavalry and The Swiss Guard and The Hells Angels. These wonderful Gnomish families were known collectively as the Guarding Gnomes and wore the livery of the Guard, a green tunic, red belt, blue trousers and brown Welly-Bobs; headgear was left as a personal choice. In an attempt at remembering their role in the defence of the city each carried a shield of Red bearing a golden wheelbarrow and also carried a ceremonial Fishing Rod.

They were always very, very helpful.

Hence it was that Peter and Greg meandered out of the wood toward the Great Gate at the Western edge of Setebos. Greg lurched along like an Orang Utan on Valium, whilst Peter minced forward, buttocks pulling his legs in strange directions, chuff stuffed with melting lard. They made a handsome sight which any unattached female would have run from; except perhaps one of those girls you meet just before the last dance at a nightclub.

They approached the Gate.

A friendly Gnome approached, bowed and smiled a smile that would have made the smileyist thing in the Universe envious.

“Good day to you gentleman,” said the Gnome. “I am Steve, the captain of the Guard for today. What can I do for you? I would guess by the way you are moving that there is a tale of Great Deeds attached to you two fine young travellers!”

“He’s got the Dukes!” declared the Goblin, demonstrating his total lack of tact.

The Gnomes on the bridge took a collective deep breath and blessed themselves with the sign of the wheelbarrow. A Pixy with the Dukes! was more than a tale of Great Adventure, it was a tale of Derring-Do, without a Poo. It was a tragedy they had not experienced before, and one that threw their communal morality into a spin. There was only one way a Pixy could find himself in such a State, and that was a betrayal of the Royal Trust.

 And yet deep down who wouldn’t risk their all for a chance with fine looking tart?

“In the name of the great Fishing Rod!” declared Steve, “you will need a lot of help with finding a solution to that problem.”

“Yes I worked that one out for myself!” said Peter.

“If the Dukes! strike harder it will be the only thing you can work out for yourself!” said Steve gravely.

 “Well look at this, a Gnome with a sense of humour, how unusual.”

The scene could have got ugly now if it wasn’t for the inbreeding amongst the Guards and the subsequent automatic sense of duty to help.

“You’ll need some advice from the King,” said Steve.

“Is he at home today?”

“As luck would have it, yes!”

“So how do we get to see him?”

“Normally,” said Steve in a business-like manner, “you would have to go and see the First Minister Lord Chalfont or his assistant The Warwick Hunt. However today those two are off playing a game of golf, so I reckon you should just go up to the castle, ring the bell and say ‘Is Innocent in?’”

“And that’s it?”

The Gnome continued his explanation.

“If Lord Chalfont was here he would make you fill in Fairy Interview request form 117B ‘Audience with the King’. He would then interview you and ask the purpose of your visit and what you hoped to gain from the visit and any noticeable benefits to the King.”

“What type of benefits?”

“Oh the usual, you know, Gold, Silver, Silk, Pies, Cakes etc. The King is very fond of his Pies.”

“I see,” gloomed Peter.

“And after that interview you would be expected to spend a similar interview with The Warwick Hunt, a scary experience by all accounts.”

“In what way?”

“Well apparently The Warwick Hunt turned up here one day from the lord knows where. He is a fearsome creature, half man, half lard; some say he is a demon from another planet. But Lord Chalfont likes him. Warwick Hunt can scare away most folk that want an audience with the King. I believe he can just scare most people with his smell, his red face and very fat tummy. I think he is a semi-civilised Ogre myself, though a bit too intelligent. Lord Chalfont likes Ogres too!”

“So have I got to see this Warwick Hunt then?” asked a confused Peter.

“No,” said Steve. “I just told you he’s playing golf! Just go straight in. You’ll be more than welcome I’m sure.”

Peter and Greg looked at each other.

“So where are we going?”

“You walk down on the street, turn left and it´s door number three.”

The intrepid duo thanked the worrisome Gnome and set off for the next phase of this Great Adventure.


Chapter 2

The hero

The screams were unmerciful.

It was as though all the sinners of the world had combined into one unholy union and screeched their anguish into a synthesised megaphone.

Was someone being whipped a cripple?

The yelps of misery continued but fluctuated with a moaning like the desperate sob of a Brontosaurus attempting to open a packet of salt and vinegar crisps. Gregory the Goblin lurched silently toward the sounds; his fear being overtaken by his rubber-necked curiosity.

What could be making such a noise?

Here he waltzed, deep in the Dingleberry Dell, renowned for being one of the safest havens on the whole of Uranus. Could it be that one of the Ogres of The North had lost his way and fallen into disarray? Or perhaps a Harpy had crash landed and was pissed off at the lack of decent runways.

He inched forward.

The desire to witness someone in pain is strong, stronger than the desire to put someone in pain; which probably explains the profusion of Dentists, Teachers, Pox Doctors, Taxmen and Karaoke Singers.

Greg tried to move as quietly as possible, but being a lumbering galoot made that near impossible.

Another terrific squeal wrenched the Worried Woodland. Here lies bitter anguish, thought Greg. Here is a guilty party caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Or maybe even a cricketer bowled to middle stump without a box.

He tried to stoop, but remembered that he was bowlegged with a bad back, so just moved as normal. The Woodland thinned and the light grew stronger as Greg took the challenge of moving just that little bit more. The sneaky beaky instinct of a feral soldier lay deep in his Psyche. He peered out from behind one of the last trees and beheld an image that would haunt him for the rest of his days.


There in the middle of the glade, writhing like a demented eel in a bucketful of snot, was his old friend Peter the Pixy. He rocked and rolled across the ground, both hands grabbing tightly onto his arse, screaming for help.

“The Ring! The Ring!” he cried.

Greg watched for a while, keeping himself hidden in the gloom on the edge of the opening. This could be a dangerous trap.

Wizards, Warlocks and Wives are the only creatures with magic rings.

Perhaps some evil Wizard was watching and waiting, using Peter as bait to try and capture and enslave the unwary. Should he sidle off backwards and leave Peter to his fate, recalling later in life that it was either kill or be killed, and that a blast form a Wizards staff was not quite what he had in mind that day.


Or should he be a tough guy and dive in there, facing up to whatever Beastie was trying to destroy his old friend.


Greg watched as the pain ripped across his old friends face, dancing a Calypso as it pulled down the corners of his mouth, wrinkled his nose and made his eyes bulge like a Bubble Eye Goldfish!


As he pondered this dilemma Peter rolled closer and caught his eye.

“Greg you idle bastard get over here and help me!” yelled the noble Pixy. “My rear is on fire and I don’t have a way of extinguishing the flames.”

Greg hesitated for just a short while as the news was assimilated into his delightfully slow brain.

“Ok!” he said, casually sauntering toward his stricken pal, as he dabbed a handkerchief on the eye which Peter had caught.

Greg was a bit slow in the head but he had been trained well at the Goblin Military Academy in Goblin Town as a part of his Yoof Training Programme. He knew how to assess a situation, searching for emergency exits and potential traps. He was also rather good at First Aid, having spent some time doing a Lifesaver course with the St. Johnswort Ambivalence Brigade. He felt competent to assess the situation and to then formulate a plan.

“Dr ABC and two packets of Fishcakes! What’s the matter then mate?” asked the Goblin.

“Hell and high water!” squealed the Pixy, “I’ve been stricken by the Dukes!”

How the Fates laughed.

(Though nobody else did)

Only the good die young, they say; everyone else is destroyed slowly by the Dukes! What kind of dice did God have when he invented ailments?

‘Here’s a good one’ mused Odin; ‘I’ll let the veins pop out of their ring piece!’

Bacchus saying, ‘Look let’s make them get addicted to this so that their livers stop working and they lose family and friends and spend nights with pox riddled whores!’

And the Lord put emerods in their secret places.

Still, without ailments, how would we ever get to heaven?

Greg surveyed, perused and summed up the situation. There were no evil monsters waiting to grab him; no Harpies with Herpes; no wee timorous beasties desirous of nesting in his underpants; no Double Glazing salesmen hovering on the edge of Time with a Special Offer from The Manager that can only be held open until six o´clock that evening; and certainly no Timeshare tarts ready to enslave his income for the rest of his life.

Just his old friend Peter writhing in agony whilst clutching tightly onto his buttocks.

“The Dukes!” mused the gregarious Goblin. “How did that happen?”

There was anguish, fear and guilt in the eyes of the Pixy.

Greg mused again – if we need to vote I´d say the eyes have it.

“I will tell you the whys and wherefores after you have extinguished or at least dampened the burning!” strained Peter.

Greg considered.


As usual he was carrying his rather useful twenty-five litre day pack, with integral meshing, a top pocket and a double zip: with a breathable day sack and neoprene labels. It contained all of the items any person could expect for emergency aid, including a mobile phone with GPS, three glue sticks, a tampon, a calculator, a cuddly toy, three banjo sprockets, a camel pack and a packet of camels, stapler and hole punch, a crocodile clip and an alligator clasp, a First Aid Kit from Boots the Shoe Shiner, a torch, three felt tip pens in contrasting colours, a waterproof pad and pencil and a pack of cheese and chutney sandwiches, on wholegrain, wrapped carefully in a resealable bag. He dug deep and found a fire extinguisher.

“Get you kecks off mate.”

Peter paused his pulsating writhing.

“What Class of Fire Extinguisher is that?” asked the pained Pixy.

Greg checked carefully.

“Foam,” he said, “suitable for both Class A and Class B fires.”

“I´d much prefer a powder extinguisher as they are far more suitable for organic materials,” re-joined Peter.

“But devilishly difficult to clean up the mess later, and if inhaled could cause damage to the upper respiratory system,” explained Greg.

Peter paused and felt the fire burning in his ring.

“Feck it, foam will do!” he squealed in agony.

There was a scything whoosh as a jet of freezing foam attacked the burning in the Pixy’s bum. The air froze momentarily as ecstasy overtook Peter’s mind. Endorphins poured around his brain, having been relieved of the duty of trying to hide the pain, they now decided to give him a party in his head.


Where once the throngs of decay had waltzed on his face Peter now felt the Bosa Nova shimmying across his physiognomy.

This was pleasure.

This was relief.

This was foam up the Jacksy.

“Another squirt please mate!”

Time passed slowly, but then it always does when waiting for something to happen. Like waiting for last night’s conquest to leave your apartment the next morning, without dying of embarrassment; Or waiting for the government to make a decision about pay rises for key workers; or sitting through a Maths test; or watching teenagers have a great time at a Halloween Disco organised by Mrs. Skank.

For Peter the natural opiates dissipated their relief, causing the Pixy to start assessing his anal situation seriously. He couldn’t spend the rest of his days walking round with a fire extinguisher, dreading an attack and the ensuing embarrassment. Dropping his trousers mid dinner party would be quite a social faux pas.

Oh how the other Pixy’s would gossip!

“Well there I was just about to take a sip of my Cranberry juice when low and behold Peter puts his bare bottom in the middle of the table and shoots it full of Foam; I mean really!”

The two friends sat nervously on the grass, Greg repacking his daysack while Peter pulled his kecks up and tried his best to sit on one buttock at a time. Peter could tell that Greg was slowly disapproving of his old friend.

Old Friend! 

A Pixy and a Goblin with a close friendship was certainly a rarity on Uranus. The Class Consciousness of Uranus makes the Gimps of Britain look relatively Socialistic.

It was the reforms of the Great Fairy King, Peter the Grate, that established a ranking system on Uranus. The Fairies are at the top of the Social tree, being more naturally gifted, talented and good looking than anything else you would find. The current Absolute Constitutional Ruler was Innocent, King of the Fairies, who had ruled for many a happy and glorious year along with his wife Queen Dillberry.

The Pixy’s liked to consider themselves as the next level in Society even if this was often disputed by the Elfs and the Brownies. Then somewhere below this came the Orcs and Goblins; though with the high-tech world on Uranus, and a good understanding of the Financial Markets, many of the Orcs were making their way up the slippery social ladder.

So with potentially four ranks between them, a Pixy and Goblin really shouldn’t be close friends.  The reality is they shouldn’t even spend time at the same urinal.

The thing is, see, they are the same age, give a day or two, and enjoy the same interests and pursuits. Both have marvellous stamp collections, Peter specialising in blue coloured stamps, Greg having a post-modernist compilation of red examples. Both had a penchant for model railways, spending many a happy hour arguing the merits of the different gauges available (even though mostly by mail order). They loved to go fishing, hiking, camping and drinking together. The drinking sometimes caused a few problems, as the more respectable boozing dens were not too keen on letting Goblins onto the premises.

“Keep an eye on that Goblin or it will steal something” was a common taunt. Rightly so as it turned out, as Greg loved to take cutlery and coffee cups from wherever he went.

Still, that’s life.

Or is that Still Life?

Peter turned back to the immediate.

“Listen, Greg, I need a proper cure for this problem.”

Greg paused.

“What caused it?”

Peter paused.

It was clearly a time for pauses, though just at this moment there was a distinct absence of canines.

Peter did not like to admit to his mistakes. In fact he oafishly boasted that he no longer made mistakes, claiming that whatever action he took was the right one at the time and of course hindsight would often show he should have made a different decision.

But you can’t.

When it’s done it’s done.

Live for today and tomorrow and forget the past.

Actually if we forget all of the Living in the Past there would never be any need for Historians, Archivists, Librarians, English Teachers or Jethro Tull.

Peter guiltily reflected on his actions in the last few months.

He had always been happy with the food he had eaten for so many years. Yes it was getting a bit repetitive but it was solid sustenance.  Double burger and chips and beans Pixy style; Acorn soup; Macaroni cheese; Cauliflower in gravy; Avocado if it was in season; Cheddar Cheese on Water Biscuits; a Partridge in a pear tree; Full English from the Greasy Spoon; Chips and Curry; Naan and a Balti; and Whisky on a Sunday.

But as he got older he began to crave some excitement. He wanted to let himself into the kitchens of the Fairy King and feast on Fairy Cream Pies. He knew this could be dangerous as the inner workings of a lowly Pixy must, by definition and nature, be very different to the plop producing biomes of the higher echelons. Does a Pixy produce the same food reducing enzymes as a Fairy? Would both creatures have the same number of Villi? Perhaps Fairies could break down cellulose and avoid the need ever to poop! Did they even possess a colon? And how many Angels can dance the Light Fandango on the top of a pin? These Questions soared through his brain, tempting and teasing him into action.

It is irrelevant and dangerous to allow ones mind to wander like this.

Still Peters craving for a nice bit of Fairy Pie persisted.

As a Pixy, Peter was very much amongst the privileged members of Society in the Government City of Setebos. He didn’t have to live under a bridge like a Troll, or collect pieces of hazardous waste like a Gremlin. He could have as much mischievous fun as an Imp without carrying the stigma or he could be as imperious as a Fairy without having to keep a rod up his backside. It was the best position to have in Society, being near the top but still having the fun of the bottom feeders.

Still the craving persisted.

Fairy Pies and Fairy Cakes.

He thought about the Queens dainties and the Kings Hot Cross Buns. He dreamt about Fairy Cakes and Custard Cream Pies, of Apple Crumble and Raspberry Tarts.

Of Battenberg and Muffins.

He dreamt of Fairy Muffin until it became an insatiable craving.

It was the Queens Tarts that got him in the end.

“I sneaked in to the Fairy kitchens and stole a Tart,” he admitted.

Greg was dumbstruck, dumbfounded and dumb.

“Of all the most stupid and reckless things to have done!” squawked the Goblin. “Did you forget the prophecy?”

Peter reflected again.

“Where did you get that mirror?” asked Greg.

Peter chewed his bottom lip in contemplation of his silly misdeed.

Of course he knew the prophecy.

Every Pixy knew the prophecy, but it became so much of a myth, such as old wives tell, a bedside story for Pixylets, that he didn’t really believe it. Just a way for the anally retentive Fairies to try and keep us in our place, he thought.

Greg chanted out the old verse to remove Peter´s self-indulgent reverie.

“If a Pixy does eat some Fairy Tarts

The first he’ll feel is strangled farts,

And though such sounds produce big smiles.

His bum will soon be bulging piles”.

It was a daft prophecy.

Though in this case it turned out to be true.

When it comes to prophecies and old sayings Peter personally preferred the one about ‘he who smelt it dealt it’.

“My poop chute hurts so much mate, you’ve got to help me sort it out!”

Greg felt sympathy well up as rapidly as a slug on Valium.

In his book ´sympathy´ lay somewhere between ´shit´ and ´syphilis´.

The Military training took over with the grave Goblin. ´There is no such thing as a problem, only a solution´, he glibly said to himself.

“Listen Old Peter Old Pixy Old pal. I can get you a series of temporary solutions but you’re gonna have to sort yourself out in the long run. It’s relatively easy to get a short-term cure for the pain but in the end you need to go deep inside your head and find out what possessed you to go chasing after an unattainable Tart.”


Greg was stunned that his condescending friend readily agreed.

“Cripes, are you Ok Peter,” asked the querying Goblin.

Peter paused.


“My arse is on fire and my future is probably blighted,” said the piqued Pixy.

“No I am not alright!”

Greg paused.


Never mind,” said Greg. “It doesn’t really matter.”

Greg paused as he waited for Peter to pause.

“Meanwhile you have to accept what I say,” said Greg once the pauses were complete.

Rummaging through his bag the Goblin withdrew a 454-gram block of lard.

“Here, stick this up your jacksy, it will act as a temporary lubricant, reduce the swelling and make you feel darned uncomfortable.”

“Why 454 grams?” asked the puzzled Pixy.

“Just pound it in there!” said Greg, secretly laughing at his own joke.

Peter rapidly followed his friends’ instructions, having no desire to put up with the pain of a broken bum for any longer than necessary. The lard worked, though made his nethers feel unpleasant. It was though he had followed through with a big pancake in his pants, without the embarrassment or the smell.

“What do I do next?” enquired the relieved Pixy as he pulled up his breeches.

“You may not like this bit but it has to be done.”


“We have to go and see King Innocent in the Court of the Fairies and ask his advice. If he can’t suggest a cure then you’re doomed to a lifetime of Foam Fire Extinguisher and lard.”

Peter reflected on this.

“That´s a really beautiful mirror,” observed Greg.

It had been oh so easy to get into this trouble.

A craving and a bit of daring.

A Tart.

Then trouble and strife.

A total pain in the bum hole.

How could a Fairy Pie cause so much trouble?

Now he needed to follow a plan to get himself out of this mess, a plan that would mean walking up the King and admitting what he had done. A plan that would take him to a place he had never visited before, where the streets have no names and the birds sing with French accents.

“No I will have no regrets.”

It would be the greatest challenge of his life, to finally admit that he had done something wrong and accept the consequences. Perhaps he would need to buy a pack of fags for the King and some Chocolates for the Queen.

“I’m ready,” said the chastened Pixy as he followed the lurching form of his old friend toward the City of Setebos and the Court of King Innocent.


Review – The Adventures of Fairy Hanny

I’m close to publishing the Third book featuring the gorgeous Fairy Hanny. In the next Adventure we see Hanny spirited away through Time to the Land of Faery, where she is enlisted to help the Sons of Turenn in their quests to pay off the Blood Debt owed to Lugh after the murder of Kian. At the same time I have begun the Fourth Adventure, this time involving that famous writer Enid of Brighton.

As I contemplate the dealings of Hanny as she goes In Search of Brownies, I thought it would be nice to go back to the beginning, to see how it all started. I will serialise the entire first Tale on this blog. The book is available through Amazon.

So let’s start to enjoy Strange Things from Uranus.

Let this be a warning to all…

“And it was [so], that, after they had carried it about, the hand of the LORD was against the city with a very great destruction: and he smote the men of the city, both small and great, and they had emerods in their secret parts.”

 (1 Samuel 5:9)


All Fairies talk with Liverpool Accents.

Gnomes are Gnomes and always Gnomes and ever more shall be so!

Wails is a real place.

Three points for every song or album title you spot.

Introduction –

Fairies wear boots

It may have been the night before Christmas, or the night after Christmas or even Christmas night; well it was definitely the end of December.

I think.

And it was definitely a night.

It may have been Easter but Easter is in May.

Or maybe not.

The clichés crowded my brain like a thousand railroad trains, though they didn’t give me all the confidence I lacked; still only Time will tell.  I told myself a thousand times to avoid the exaggerations but to no avail. I was having the time of my life and things would sort themselves out in a jiffy. Joey tried his best to mess me up – a day on the lash and a night on the hash and I rambled on without a care in the world.

Catherine Street.

Could be the name of an ex-girlfriend?

Paranoia was in a taxi and following close on my heels, I was certain of it. Turned left, turned right, left, right; military two-step in the back end of Liverpool. Oh hello Mr Hardman, fondled any young ladies recently; I seem to be stumbling down your street.

Bizzies eyeing me, waiting to pounce and complete their monthly quotas.

“I met my target Sarge!”


Or just slighted?

I had the moody blues in my days of future pissed.

As I was walking down this high street I heard a funny noise behind me. It could have been yet another cliché but my tingling spine told me otherwise.

 “Ha ha ha, he he he!”

I refused to look back.

I felt as brave as a lion but as weak as a kitten.

Liverpool City Centre can be wonderful or scary; nights of fun can turn quite hairy…

I was in fear of being beaten to a pulp with a crow bar, but I had nerves of steel and knees like jelly.

“Ha ha ha, he he he!”

My pharmaceutically enhanced brain conjured evil clowns, demons, assassins and lying politicians scheming slyly in the theatre of my brain. Well not that slowly really, as the dope, beer and speed were sending my neurons round and round and round like electricity.

Which they are anyway – neurons and synapses and that are all just electric charges – it makes me think.

But this was electricity with a Spark.

I was confused – could it be Muriel?

“Ha ha ha, he he he!”

I suspected a good pasting from an over zealous Scuffer keen to explain to his colleagues that he was as hard as nails as long as the opposition was a doped up hippy; so I slowly turned.

If my eyes had been working properly I would have described the sight before me; being stoned I couldn´t. However now with the passage of Time I will attempt a recall.

No more than three feet behind me and two foot tall stood a laughing Gnome, his middle finger on each hand explaining quite clearly his contempt for my state of repair. He grimaced beneath his overly long beard, red eyes blazing amusement as I tried to comprehend this vision. Hallucinating again Mr Swifty?

I should have expelled an expletive but the connection between my conscious brain and my tongue had long ceased to operate.

Something really Strange was taking place. An overdose of beer?


I heard the sounds again and thought maybe laughter is the best medicine.

Was something triggering my clichés?

“Look up in the sky now!” he said. “Can you see any flying saucers?”

I looked.

Flying saucers, flying teacups and flying teapots.

“Feck, feck, feck and Feckity feck!” was the best I could manage.

“I bet you can’t catch me,” said the laughing Gnome.

Well smoking and drinking was par for the course but I decided a cheeky little fecker like this would probably benefit from a decent kicking. I mean, it´s always the little things that drive me up the wall.

In my inebriated state I tried my best to say “Come here you little twat and I’ll kick your head in” but the actual utterance went more like


No matter.

We were off.

My tormentor, dressed in green (which I now understand is the favourite colour for visitors day) sped off down Hardman Street, his wheelbarrow kicking up dust and fag ends as his little legs carried him out of my reach. He shot across the road, weaving in between the cars, the drivers of which were attempting to get home before the breathalyser crews stopped them; the occupants not noticing him but cursing me with such dainties as “You feckin’ nutter!” or “You want yer ‘ead testin’ pal!” or “The cunt’s pissed!” or “He’s bloody bugs!” and “I say old chap, take a care with your running technique!”

No matter.

“Come here you bearded clam!” I screamed amongst the screeching tyres.

The Policeman held me up firmly by the collar. He tried to look me in the eye but became confused as they changed colour and focus like the lights on a Christmas tree.

His face told me he needed back up.

I told him I needed to catch that annoying little Gnome who was taking the piss out of me.

His face told me he would be requesting an ambulance and the on-call trick cyclist.

The Gnome stopped, smirked, gave me the middle finger again. The red mist that descended completed the evening’s clichés; a quick spin, push, kick and run ensured my name on a wanted list. The Rozza hit me in the head but it was tough like lead; so I punched him in the eye and he started to cry.

Another dodge.

A sidestep.

A shimmy.

The Gnome was by St. Luke’s shouting Gimmee Gimmee Gimmee.

“I’ll get the little fecker now Officer and you’ll see what I mean!”

I ran through the gates, stopped and wondered.

I ran through the gates!

But they weren’t open!

I ran through the gates!

Feck – smoked too much!

Well you’d better cut down a little.


A burnt out shell since 1941when a set of young German Pilots dropped their terror and shouted ´Gott mit uns!´only for the scousers to shout back ´we got mittens too!´

Or was that in another terrible Aristocratic tiff?

And here I am melting, running, transcending, going through the gates.

“Twat!” said the laughing Gnome.

“Ha ha ha, he he he! I’m a laughing Gnome and you can’t catch me!”

Oh no! A stolen line!

Somewhere inside a voice told me this wasn’t really happening and actually I was on the sofa at Joey’s brother’s house tripping the light fandango. A riff burst through my brain like a heavy metal thunder.

Then there she stood.

The most beautiful girl I’d ever laid eyes on.

Well not quite a girl.

A Fairy.

Not just any Fairy.

It was Fairy Hanny.

“Hello Swifty,” she said. “I thought you’d never get here!”

“Why didn’t you say ‘doo wah diddy diddy dum diddy do’?” I asked.

“Because I wasn’t just a walking down the street,” explained the succulent succubus.

She shimmered in a diaphanous rhapsody of light, the angel of the rainbow having cast his spell upon her. Her hair shone like the girl over there with the fair hair. Hanny is a vision of beauty in a way unknown.

Inexplicably stunning.

Deliciously described.

Her eyes milked the Milky Way, strode across the Universe, encapsulated the Galaxy, and glistened like raindrops on Mars. Like all of the heroines of such tales she was a lusciously lithesome lovely.

And she has big tits.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.




“Waiting for you!”

I drooled a bit, calculating my options; she didn’t seem to notice so it must have been a sly drool.

“Waiting for me? Have you tried writing letters?” I asked.

“You need to come with us so you can write your letters about all of us, and all of our lives, and all of our tales, and capture in words all of our souls,” she explained.

Then she laughed.

Music started – a Solar Music Suite played by a Lunar Music Person of Restricted Growth.

It was the Gnome.

His wheelbarrow was now a Wordy Hurdy Gurdy, Music and Lyrics pouring out as if by Magic.

So Hanny began to dance.

With veils of delight slipping sensually from her slender frame, lithesome litigious long legs looped through the trance that was her dance. Every nuance of nicety nestled neatly knowing nothing needed now to get me to follow her wherever she led.

Then I noticed.

Those luscious legs laden with boots.

Big black military boots.

High lace.

Twenty four lace holes.

Brightly polished to a parade ground mirror shine.

“Fairies wear boots!” I exclaimed.

“Of course we do; how else would I get to kick your arse into the rest of this narrative!”

Things became a little strange after that…

An awesome sulphuric smell filled the Church.

“Oops!” said the Hanny, “probably those Dwarf Beans I had for breakfast.”

Then I was choking, smoking, yoking in a rhythmic union, beside the Sun, the one, that makes all the flowers grow. Here and now and then.

It was what is and what should never be.

From the corner of my eye I caught the shimmering silhouette of a Floppy Haired Fop, fiddling with something in his pockets.

“Am I going Insane?”

A worm hole caught me in his majesty and spun me through the Seven Open Lotuses on The Pool of Life, past seven Sides of Heaven and introduced me to Dawn on the other side of the Sky, coughed just the once, then deposited me on an alternative surface within our Solar System.

I sang my song to keep me alive as I landed on Planet Number Seven at Seven on the Seventh day of the Seventh month of the Seventh year in the Seventh Heaven of Outer Space. The Sun smiled on my predicament, which of course can cause a chap to lose confidence in his ability to make a gal smile.

The Moon Chortled from his Dark Side.

“You’ve landed on Uranus,” he laughed as I sat on my bruised rump.

From that day on I met them all.

Pixy’s, Goblins, Ogres, Brownies, Imps, Gremlins, Trolls and of course the beautiful Fairies.

So I feel compelled to write down everything about the Strange Things From Uranus.


After a couple of bad months, this was a nice message…

You’re not where you used to be, and that can be a good thing.

You have come so far in your journey.

You’ve outgrown so many unhealthy patterns and now you’re looking at life from a different perspective.

Embrace this transformation. You did your best to handle everything that happened around you.

You’ve survived a lot. You’ve carried yourself out of dark places.

Give yourself credit for practicing courage even when it was so hard.

Get ready to enjoy this new phase of your life, which is going to be so much better than what you’ve experienced until now.

Something wonderful is just about to happen.


How to Get Started Writing a Journal

Getting started journaling isn’t something that you need to think about too hard. Yes, there are numerous types and styles of journals and ways to do this that may or may not be more effective depending on your goals, but you can simply get some paper (or your computer) and get started today.

* Dust Off Your Pen and Paper – You don’t need anything special to keep a journal; in fact, purists believe that using pen and paper is the best way to journal because you can carry it with you anywhere and you don’t need technology. So, there will be no excuses.

* Do It First Thing in the Morning – Don’t procrastinate about keeping your journal. It’s best to do it in the morning before you begin your day so that you have the right frame of mind for the day. Plus, you only need five to ten minutes, so it’s not that big of a deal.

* Do It Last Thing at Night – Another time to do it is before bed. This works especially well for gratitude journals. That way you can go to sleep thinking about all the things you are grateful for instead of things you’re worried about.

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* Write Every Single Day – Whenever you choose to do it, try to set it up so that it becomes a ritual and a habit. Journaling every single day is going to be more effective than just doing it when you feel like it.

* Start Simply – Don’t start being worried about style and substance right now; just work on the daily habit with pen and paper (or if it’s easier for you, a computer or smartphone). Don’t make it hard – just get going.

* Begin with Today – Start right now and write about your day today. That’s the easiest thing to do. What of significance happened today? How did you feel about it? What would you do differently? What would you do the same?

* Try Different Types of Journals – Once you develop the habit, you can start trying several types of journaling like a bullet journal, or a vision journal, or maybe even a project journal for your next project.

* Keep It Private – The main thing to remember about your journal is that it should be kept private. The only exception is if you want to share thoughts with a therapist, counsellor, or coach. Or if you want to turn it into a book or course, to help someone else overcome whatever you overcame. Keeping a journal will help you deal with the things that happen to you as well as the things that have not happened to you. The main reason is that writing it down helps you remember what you did right and what you did wrong. It helps you improve your decision-making capacity for similar situations. The main thing is just to get start

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How Journaling Can Help with Mental Health Issues

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Some ideas to consider when journaling.

Keeping any type of journal will help with improving any mental health issues. However, if you really want to tackle a specific problem you’re having, it will help to determine the right type of journal to keep. Keeping a particular kind of journal may work best for your issue.

* Boosts Your Mood – If you really want to boost your mood, keeping a gratitude journal is where it’s at. All you have to do is once a day, preferably before bed, write down what you’re grateful for today. It might not seem like much but it’s immensely powerful for going to sleep, thinking positively about your life.

* Increases Your Sense of Well-Being – As you write out your thoughts, you’ll start seeing issues from a new angle just because you’re opening your mind to think about it. This is going to make you feel more capable of dealing with whatever happens.

* Lessens Symptoms of Depression – Understand that depression is something different from sadness, and that you likely need a counsellor. Writing it all down can make it seem less horrific so that you can feel better. Plus, you can look back at days you thought life was “over” and see better days after.

* Reduces Anxiety – The problem with anxiety is that it was designed to help us get away from immediate danger. It triggers the “fight or flight” response. If each time you have that anxious feeling you choose to write in your journal how you are feeling and why, you’ll start to control it better.

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* Lowers Avoidance Behaviour’s – Many people who have mental health issues practice avoidance behaviour’s such as not going to places that cause them anxiety, or not doing the things they need to do due to how they feel. When you write it out, it helps you get the feelings out but do the thing anyway.

* You’ll Sleep Better – Pouring your heart out into a journal is a wonderful way to get things off your chest. However, for sleep, go to the gratitude journal and write down what you’re thankful for today and go to sleep thinking of that.

* Makes You a Kinder Person – Exploring your own emotional state and accepting your own feelings while you work through what makes you who you are in your journal is going to make you naturally more empathetic to others too. Letting go of judgment for self improves your thoughts for others also.

* Improves Your Memory – This is almost a situation where you want to say “duh” but it has to be said. Writing down things helps you remember them because you can go back and read it, but also because the act of writing something down enables you to recall it.

One thing that can really help you make your journaling work is to learn how to keep one effectively. Make some journaling rules, do it every day to create a habit, and keep it private unless you decide to let your therapist see it or you decide to use it to help others. This is for you and only you for the most part.

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Ten Types of Journals You Can Create

When you begin journaling it will likely occur to you that having more than one type of journal might be the best way to keep everything organized better. When you have more than one type of journal, you can simply go to the specific journal to work on one issue at a time or keep something organized so you can make better decisions.

1. Bullet Journals – This type of journal is useful for anyone who has lots of to-do lists, loves using a pen and paper, and who enjoys goal tracking. Your journal should have a table of contents that you create as you add to the journal so you can find things. You will use symbols, colours, and lines to make your bullet journal. You should be able to understand at a glance what is on the page.

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2. Vision Journals – You may have heard of vision boards and this is essentially it, except it is a journal that helps lead you to your vision. The way it works is that you set up the journal to have only one goal per page. Then you can write words, add pictures, or draw something that enables you to make plans to reach that goal. When you do reach the goal, be sure to go back and add the date of achievement.

3. Line a Day Journals – Basically this journal is what it is called – you write down only one line a day. You will simply write in the journal a short line about what you did that day. It should be only a sentence or two at the most, and should not take up that much space in your journal. Some people like using a calendar and a pen for this.

4. Classic Journal – This is simply a diary, and you can write whatever you want in it every day. It can be long, short, or you can skip days if you want to. The classic journal is just like the diary that you maybe kept as a child. You write whatever you want in it daily.

5. Prayer Journal – This is a particular type of journal where you essentially act like your diary or journal is your higher power. Write God your prayers instead of saying them. Write them down so you remember them and can look back on them.

6. Dream Journal – Some people really like tracking their dreams because they believe that dreams provide signs for life. If you want to track your dreams, you have to train yourself to write in your dream journal every morning while you still remember the dream. Write about the dream and then research what it means and write about that too.

7. Food Journal – Write down everything you eat every day. Some people like to include the calorie contents and so forth. It can also help to write down why you eat it, how you felt about eating it, and things like that.

8. Travel Journal – A wonderful way to remember your travels is to keep a travel journal. Some people like making one for each trip so that it is easier to remember. You can write your thoughts in your journal, but you can also attach tickets, pics, and memories.

9. Gratitude Journal – This is just what it sounds like. It is a journal where you record each day what you are thankful for and grateful for. Nothing can be negative in this journal because it is designed to help you think more positively.

10. Project Journal – This is a handy journal to keep, especially for anyone who continually works on projects. Keeping a journal of each project you work on that records actions taken, results, and data, will help you improve every project but will also help you look back on this one with excitement.

If you want to journal to help work through a problem, keeping specific journals for different things is an effective way to go about it. It is also a wonderful way to store your thoughts and memories for the future in a more organized and useful manner.

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Writing ideas – How Journaling Can Help with Achieving Your Goals

Journaling can help you achieve your goals because it will force you to think about them, consider the why and how, and delve deeper into the situation so that you can examine all sides of it. Read on to find out how journaling can help.

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* It Forces You to Write Down Your Goals – When you start a journal, it basically is a way to force yourself to document your goals. Whether you write them down on paper or you use technology to get it all down does not matter. Once they are written, they are ready to tackle.

* It Makes You Consider Why and How – As you enter data into your journal, you will be forced to face the why and how of your goal. This is especially true if you write down a goal and focus on it in your journal.

* It Enables You to Examine the Opportunities and Threats – When you are focused on goal making with your journal, you will also explore opportunities and threats coming your way due to your goals. It helps you avoid roadblocks in advance.

* It Makes You Develop Steps for Success Based on Your Goals – When you see it written down, you will want to notice and pull out any steps you have developed in your journal and put them in your calendar for scheduling.

* It Helps You Improve Goal Setting and Achievement – Each time you intentionally set goals, define steps to achieve the goals, and perform them, you are setting yourself up for being able to improve your skills.

* It Provides Accountability – Even if no one else is reading your journal, a private journal can help you become accountable to yourself. If you develop the habit of looking at your journal each day and put something else in there each day, it will work great for helping you become more accountable.

* It Provides a Permanent Record – Having a permanent record of the things you have done in your life, whether it is personal or work, is a beautiful thing. Hardly anyone has a perfect memory, so you will maintain the lessons learned better with the record to look back at.

* It May Be Inspirational – Depending on the journal, you might even be able to take the information inside and compile it into a real book for others to read to inspire them. You might also take from it steps for your success for a project and turn it into a course to inspire someone else.

Journaling is an excellent way to work toward achieving all your goals. It will even help you make better goals because the process of entering facts in your journal will cause you to see them in a more logical way that is more useful.

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My thoughts when I am writing

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Trust that everything will be alright. Trust that this waiting period will end soon and you will get to experience pure bliss and happiness.

Continue to maintain hope and take inspired action every day. You have been able to make the best of difficult times.

Don’t underestimate your power. Your undeniable strength, courage, and perseverance will help you bring your desires to fruition.

It’s okay if you don’t know the details of “how” and “when” yet.

The answers will present themselves when you’re completely ready to embrace them.

You must trust the process and do the best you can right now. Things will sort themselves out in ways you never could have thought.

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Another extract!!!

“Take note of the things the Scribe is writing, and then it will make more substance,” explained Hanny.

“You want me to make note of the notes produced by the Scribe?” asked Ksteve.

“I suppose that is what I am inferring,” smiled Hanny.

“Take notes of notes!” laughed Ksteve.

“It would make a lovely song,” said Eoghan. “With all those notes we might even get a chorus!”

“Trust you to make a song and dance of things!” teased Dennis.

Again, to no one’s surprise, Eoghan was confused.

“I get how I make the song from all those notes, but I haven’t mentioned dancing,” said a very puzzled Eoghan.

Father Nick, who was still part of the entourage, gave an audible sigh.

“Making a song and dance of things means whinging about something in an excessive way!” explained Dennis.

“I wasn’t complaining! I just thought that with Ksteve and the Scribe making lots of notes we could put it all together and make a lovely new song to perform on the hit parade!” said a befuddled Eoghan.

“And what sort of song could you make up about a Chariot with Two horse, a Pony and Trap, and a hoarse horse?!” asked Ksteve.

Eoghan sat still for a while, and the others could see the effort he was putting into concentrating on the lyrics of a suitable song.

He began to hum, probably due to not washing his clothes on a regular basis.

Then Eoghan began;

“Oh if I had a little hoarse horse,

I’d send it on a course,

And it would learn to do a lap,

In a pony and trap!”

“Tra la!” sang Hanny.


“All songs have to end with Tra La!”  explained Hanny.

“That’s daft,” said Dennis. “What if we were singing a funeral dirge? Or the Lacrimosa?”

“You lost me there,” said Hanny.

“Ok then, as an example. I know a few funeral dirges and stuff like that,” said Dennis.


“Well I can’t imagine singing a line like Rises from the ashes, a guilty man to be judged, Tra La!” said Dennis.

“Or what about I that in health was in gladness, Am troubled now with great sadness, Tra La!” laughed Bryan.

Hanny felt a hint of anger arising. Fairies only ever sing happy songs, and so it makes sense to end them with Tra la!. She didn’t get the idea of singing sad songs and dirges. What was the point? Singing is a jolly pastime! Why sing about the sadness of a love gone wrong, when so many loves are strong, and others just go on and on and on?

“I can’t imagine singing Darling I can’t live without you, Tra La!” said Ksteve, as ever willing to keep in the story.

Mad Tom decided to take Hanny to one side. He sensed it was Time to explain to Hanny the realities of different realities.

“Look Hanny, you’re a Fairy of some renown, and in Setebos, your home town, no-one ever sees you frown. You even sing happy songs when you washing the Kings soiled undercrackers. And let’s face it, that’s not something any normal person would actually sing about!” explained Tom.

“Why not?” asked Hanny.

Tom gave her a seriously perplexed look.

“You could make up a happy song about cleaning the skid marks from badly soiled undies?” posed Tom.

“Of course!” laughed Hanny.

“Let’s get these undies,

Nice and white,

As we clear away,

All of that mess,

Tra La!”

She sang in her beautiful high-pitched voice.

Tom looked confused.

“I see your confusion,” said Hanny. “I’m still working on that one. At the moment I can’t think of a word that rhymes with white and encompasses all of the cleaning we have to do!”

Turenn and his Sons, Ksteve, Father Nick and the Scribe looked to Hanny with a new sense of understanding. There is definitely a fine line between naivete and common sense. Somewhere in Hanny’s head that line shifted about. She was clearly aware of her attractiveness to the whole world, though she was also unaware of the everyday realities of most people’s lives.

“Hanny! For most of the beings you will come across in your travels, heartache and death are everyday occurrences, and so they write songs about their sadness. Even the Trolls and Ogres write sad songs,” explained Mad Tom of Bedlam.

“But I never said anything about a song and dance!” Eoghan decided to remind everyone.


AN extract from the third adventure of Fairy Hanny

Bobby and his Chariot, 2.

Meanwhile, back in the sort of Lorded Lands of Turenn and his Fiefdom.

“You need to get Bobby and his Chariot as fast as you can!” declared a somewhat concerned Hanny.

“He’s already the fastest charioteer. How can we get him any faster?” asked Father Nick.

“Are you referring to that sibilant sprinting snake soldier?” asked Eoghan.

Nobody was sure where to find Bobby, or his Chariot.

“Surely a Chariot would stand out like a sore thumb!” shouted Turenn.

“I got a hangnail on my thumb which made it very sore. But it didn’t stand out much. It was just a little red and a bit yellow with puss,” stated Dennis.

“Don’t start talking about your pussy fingers!” laughed Bryan.

“Your head will be standing out soon; out on a steak by the front door!” shouted Eoghan.

“Why would you put his head on a steak?” asked Tom. “Is it some sort of local delicacy. Do they sell steak and head down at the local pub?”

“You can get head at the local,” smiled Bryan.

“I meant stake not steak,” explained Eoghan. “You know, like put it on a pike!”

“Now you’re suggesting Fish and Head as a meal?” enquired Mad Tom.

“Fish heads make a great meal,” said the Scribe as he wrote down his own comment.

“Prawns are nice too,” added Tom. “Especially when fried in garlic butter!”

“For Fecks Sake!” shouted Hanny. “We need to find Bobby the Charioteer, and all you lot can do is talk about food! Did I not explain that this Bobby is some sort of trap by Lugh?”

Hanny had recounted the meeting with Lugh, recalling his statement that the clues were obvious and that Bobby was some sort of deception. Turenn and his Sons listened carefully though showed no signs of comprehension. Ksteve merely nodded his head in order to indicate he was still a character in the tale.

“What exactly is a horse of many colours?” asked Turenn.

“To be frank, I’m not quite sure,” said Tom.

“I thought you were called Tom,” stated Eoghan.

“I am!”

“So why do you want to be Frank?” asked Dennis.

“Yes; why Franc?” asked Eoghan.

“When I say, ‘I want to be frank’, it means I am going to give a short, honest answer,” explained Tom.

Dennis and Eoghan considered this.

“Well the local Butcher is called Frank, and he is as honest as the day is long, so you are probably right,” mused Dennis.

“And my Proctologist is also called Frank, and he is also very honest with me,” added Turenn.

“I wish I was called Frank,” said Ksteve, “though I have no doubt my father would have named me Kfrank.”

Bryan laughed.

“Though Frank of the Cross is a lying, thieving git!”

Hanny was increasingly irritated by this aimless banter. She wanted to get on with the quest and complete the tasks, so she could finish with this gang of dunderheads, and get back to Setebos. Oh, for a nice cup of Earl Grey tea and a packet of custard creams! No; she would have to continue like she did with the anally challenged Pixy and the crazy Witch Iz.

“So what exactly is a horse of many colours?” repeated Turenn.

Mad Tom felt it was some sort of optical illusion, where the position of the observer and the nature of the light, could suggest the horse looked a different colour. In some shades of sunlight a Roan could easily be confused with a Palomino or a Bay. At night a dark Gray could be conceived as Black. And really there were at least forty shades of Bay.

Or maybe it just meant it was something different and unexpected.

“So the horse could be something different? Like a cow?” asked Dennis.

“Or a chicken?”

“Could a chicken pull a Chariot?”

“I’m sure it could if it was very small!”

“Chickens are very small. I’ve never seen a tall chicken. Has anyone else?”

“Imagine a chicken six foot tall!”

“That would be very scary!”

“It could peck your eyes out!”

“And chicken feed would cost a lot!”

“Would it still be chicken feed to a Narcissist?”

“For Feckity Fecks Sake!” shouted Hanny again. “It means a different issue and of a different significance! So Lugh doesn’t really want a Chariot with two horses, he is asking for something completely different!”

“Maybe he wants a cat, or a mouse, or a banjo string!”

“Why would he ask for a banjo string?”

“So he can play his banjo!”

“I did not know that Lugh played the banjo!”

“He doesn’t!”

So why would he want a banjo string?”

“I was just offering that as an example of something completely different!”

“A warthog is also very different to a horse.”

“It’s not completely different though, as it is still a four-legged mammal and could be trained to pull a small chariot,” explained Turenn.

“Would it terrify the enemy to see small chariots pulled into battle by warthogs? I think not,” suggested Bryan. “Imagine the laughter of the opposing battle commanders! They would be searching desperately through their Battle Books on how to deal with miniature Chariots!”

They all paused and looked to Bryan, who had taken the conversation off onto a wonderful tangent. Fortunately Eoghan was still present.

“Maybe he really wants a six-foot sneak!” laughed Eoghan. “As long as no-one hits it with a rake!”

“A sneak?”

“Yeas, one of those things that slither and speak with forked tongues,” explained Eoghan.

“You mean a snake!”

“I said sneak. It’s my language affliction and the fact that the Scribe is writing things down literally as I speak.”!”

“I suppose we could pronounce sneak like steak,” mused Tom.

“Snake, Sneak, Stake or steak!” laughed Eoghan.

Hanny stood up, clapped her hands, and brought them back to the real issue. A horse of many colours could be some kind of multi-coloured horse like a Piebald, a Tobiano or a Skewbald.

“Or it could be read, white and blew, like in the circus!” said Eoghan.

“Is Skewbald like when you only go bald on one side of your head?” asked Ksteve.

A quandary, indeed.

“What type of horse is a quandary?”

“It has to be some sort of horse, otherwise why ask for a Chariot?” suggested Turenn.

“Maybe he just wants Bobby and his Chariot; that would be a horse of a different colour!”

“But you said Lugh sent Bobby here! Why ask for him when he already had him?” questioned Dennis.

“Perhaps he wants Booby and his Chariot and a big piece of Coal!” suggested Eoghan.

The Scribe was struggling to keep up with these arguments and counter statements. He had to hold back his own contributions to the dialogue, as he found it difficult to write and speak at the same time. Simultaneous was not in his vocabulary, though somehow he knew that.

“Anyway, he also wants a hoarse horse. Let’s get him a real horse, a hoarse horse, Bobby and his Chariot,” said Dennis.

“None of that sounds particularly Magical,” said Bryan.

They looked to each other.

They looked at the ceiling.

They fumbled in pockets as though manipulating travel gravel.

The lads stole a surreptitious look at Hanny’s heaving breasts.

“Feck it! Let’s just send him Bobby and his Chariot with a couple of old nags. If we’re wrong he’ll have our heads and we won’t have to be arsed completing anymore stupid tasks,” said a stern Dennis.

“I nominate Eoghan and Mad Tom as the old nags,” laughed Bryan.


Some things never change

I came across this old ballad from the 17th Century, as part of the research in my current work.

Nothing really changes…

“O see ye not yon narrow road

    So thick beset with thorns and briars?

That is the path of righteousness,

   Though after it but few enquires.

‘And see ye not that broad, broad road

   That lies across that lily leven?

That is the path of wickedness,

   Though some call it the road to heaven.”

Thomas the Rhymer (Anonymous)



My latest thoughts….


I envy the man

who sits deadpan,

and tells his wife,

That the foul cheese flan

Tastes really nice.

And I envy the guy

who can sit by,

And look at the beam

Of the girl of his dream

And says she looks nice.

I so envy the chap

who has in his lap,

The girl he adores,

Though his legs may snap

At the size of his love.

Then I envy the lad

who doesn’t get sad,

When he looks at the state

Of his long-term mate

And says I love you.

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Should You Self-Publish?

Are you an author who has a book that you would like to see published?  If so, have you received multiple rejection letters from both large and small publishing houses?  If you have, your first thought may be to give up.  Of course, it is your right to do so, but did you know that you do have other options?  One of those options is to self-publish your own book.

Before examining if self-publishing your own book is right for you, it is first important to familiarize yourself with self-publishing, namely what it is.  Self-publishing involves writing, developing, and selling a book without the assistance of a third-party publishing company.  Book authors are responsible for writing a book, editing a book, and finding a company to print the book, as well as selling the book.  Self-published authors typically sell their books on their own websites or they approach retailers, both on and offline.

As for whether self-publishing a book is the right option for you, there are some signs that you will want to look for.  A few signs that self-publishing may be your best option are highlighted below for your convenience.

Sign #1 – You Have Received Multiple Rejection Letters

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What it is first important to understand about the publishing process is that few authors receive offers from publishers on their first, second, or even third try.  In fact, some authors try as many as fifty times or more to get just one book published before they receive an offer. 

As a good rule to set for yourself, be sure to send your manuscript to as many publishers as you possibly can, especially those that are looking for what you have, such as an environmental themed children’s book or a science fiction novel.  When there are no more publishers left, consider self-publishing.

Sign #2 – Despite Rejection Letters You Still Believe You Have a Good Book

Self-publishing is a wise choice for many, but for others it can be a costly mistake.  Before deciding to go ahead with self-publishing a book, it is important to make sure that you are fully behind your book.  Do you honestly and truly believe in your heart that you have a good book on your hands?  If you do, self-publishing may be for you.

Sign #3 – You Have a Book with Limited Readers

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When many of us think of publishing a book, we automatically think of captivating stories.  Fiction books are not the only types of books written, although they do typically tend to have the largest audiences.  If you have written a how-to book or a guide on a specific area that is likely to only draw in a limited number of readers, self-publishing may be your best option.  Many well-known publishers tend to stay away from books that only have small target audiences.

Sign #4 – You Want to Retain the Largest Profit

Self-published authors stand the best chance of making the biggest profit.  This is because publishing fees are not taken out of their profits.  With that said, it is important to remember that self-publishing is not free.  You will have to pay to have your books developed in print, but that fee is typically smaller than the cut that many well-known publishers take.  There are always ways that you can save money with self-publishing, like by printing on demand, as opposed to a large quantity of books on hand.

Of course, it is important to remember that just because you want to make money, it doesn’t mean that you will.  If you want to make the most money with a self-published book, you must do the proper amount of marketing.

As a reminder, it is important to remember that there are several pros and cons to self-publishing.  With that being said, self-publishing may be the best option for you.  If you truly believe that y. have a book that will sell, you are encouraged to closely examine self-publishing, as you have nothing to lose by doing so.


Publishing Mistakes to Avoid

Do you have a book that you would like to see published?

If so, you may be interested in getting started right away. As soon as an author finishes their book, they want to start approaching publishers as soon as possible. While it is more than possible to take this approach, you also want to proceed with caution. There are many common mistakes that new authors make when looking to get a book published. These are not mistakes that you will not want to make.

One mistake that many authors, especially new authors, make is assuming that others will like their book, no matter what. It is important to remember that just because you think that your book will be a bestseller, it does not mean that others will. You do not want to be negative, but it is important not to be overly positive as well. In fact, that is a good reason you should consider using the services of both an editor and a literary agent. At the very least, consider asking a few close friends or family members for their input. This can serve as a mini focus group for yourself.

Another common mistake that many new authors make, when looking to get a book published, is by assuming that it is easy to do. The reality is that it is quite difficult to get a book published, especially if you are an unpublished author. If you wish to see success, there is a lot of time that must go into your work. Simply drafting a book is not enough. You need to do the proper amount of editing, proofreading, and so forth. Although it can be very time consuming to get a book published, the reward is more than worth it.

Giving up after the first, second, third, or even forth rejection is another common mistake that many new authors make. It is no secret that rejection hurts. The last thing that any author wants is someone to state that their book is not good enough. With that said, a rejection is what you will likely receive. Did you know that many of the most well-known authors today were first greeted with rejection letters? As previously stated, it is not easy to get a book published, but do not give up.

One of the biggest mistakes made by authors looking to get their books published is with publishers. Here is where you want to proceed with caution, as your chances of making a costly mistake are remarkably high. Never submit your manuscript to a publisher without first doing the proper amount of research.

Many publishers, especially those that are well-known or large, want to do business with authors who have literary agents. With that said, you do not need to have a literary agent to see your book published. However, if you do not use an agent, do not send your manuscript to publishers that do not accept unsolicited manuscripts or those without agents. This will likely result in your work not being looked at and you may also not even receive a reply.

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Speaking of knowing what book publishers want, one mistake that many hopeful authors make is not doing the proper amount of research. Invest in the $20 that it takes to purchase the Writer’s Market guides or other similar resources. They give you detailed information on what publishers accept and from whom. For example, you may already know that Harlequin specializes in romance novels, but you may not know the specialty of other smaller publishers. You do not want to send a romance novel to a publisher that is only seeking science fiction books and so forth.

Another little factor that you will want to take into consideration is something that will not have an impact on a significant percentage of writers, but it is still a key point to make. Do you smoke? If you do and in your office, your papers may end up smelling like cigarette smoke. Many publishers have noted this as being a major inconvenience and turnoff.


Legalities to Writing Your Book

Are you an author who just received an offer to have one of your books published? If you have, congratulations! There is no prouder moment in the career of a writer than having a book published. With that said, it is important to proceed with caution. You do not want your excitement to cloud your judgment. For that reason, there are a number of important questions that you will want to have answers to before accepting an offer from a book publisher. A few of these questions are highlighted below for your convenience.

Question: How will I be paid?

Answer: Chances are, a publisher will outline payment for you when first accepting your book, but it is important to make sure that you have as much information as possible. Will you be paid a flat rate fee, an advance payment, royalties, or a combination? It is also advised that you receive an exact amount of total payments, although this can be difficult if your payments are based on royalties, which are impacted by your book’s sales.

Question: Can I get an advance payment?

Answer: Typically, you will find that publishers who offer advance payments offer them. With that said, not all companies do. Asking for an advance payment is something that many publishers come to expect, but you will want to proceed with caution at the same time. If you are in financial despair, it may be a good idea to ask a publisher about advance payments, but keep your public perception in mind. If you will be paid a flat rate, as opposed to royalty payments, consider waiting the few months that it will likely take for you to receive payment.

In fact, when you can expect to receive payment is another question that you will want to ask.

Question: Will I get free copies of my book? If so, how many?

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Answer: Although getting free copies of your published book isn’t as important as making sure that you get paid, it is something that is of great importance to many first time writers. If this is the first time that a book of yours has been published, you will want to have a copy of your book to show off to your close friends and family members. In fact, you may want to have copies to send to them. Most reputable publishers will at least provide you with a free copy of your book, but additional copies will likely depend on the publisher in question.

Question: Will my book be published in foreign countries?

Answer: It is important to know the answer to this question, as it may have an impact on the royalties that you receive. If your book is sold overseas, you should be paid for those sales as well. Never let a publisher convince you that foreign sales are different, as they should pay the same way, although a different rate may be agreed on.

Question: Will you retain the rights to your book or your characters?

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Answer: The answer to this important question will all depend on your contract. That is why it is important for you to thoroughly read a contract before agreeing to sign it. Be sure to ask any additional questions that you may have. For example, if the book is successful, will you be the one to write sequels? What if someone wants to turn your book into a television show or movie?

The above mentioned questions are just a few of the many that you will want to ask a publisher before accepting their contract. As a reminder, never sign a contract without knowing as much as you can about the agreement, as well as the publisher extending the offer. For that reason, you are encouraged to sit down and make an additional list of questions that you would like to have the answers to. Be sure to do this before you make contact with the publisher in question, as it will help to ensure that all of your bases are covered and the first time.


Getting Your Book Published using a literary agent.

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If you are an author who is shopping around for a publisher, you may find the phrase “agented submission only.”  What does this mean? This means that the publisher in question will not even look at manuscripts that are sent in directly by the author. Instead, a professional literary agent must make the approach.

Since many large, well-known publishers only accept book manuscripts that are sent in by a professional literary agent, you may decide to use the services of one. If so, that will likely be a viable choice on your part, but there are some important points that you will first want to take into consideration. Please continue reading on for information that you and all other authors should know about literary agents.

It is first important to know exactly what a literary agent should do for you. A literary agent will essentially submit your book to a publishing company for you. The entire process is just like what you would do at home, but it is different because new doors are opened for you. A professional literary agent could submit your book to publishers that would not even look at it if you submitted it on your own.

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As for the benefits of using the services of a professional literary agent, they are experienced in the field. A successful literary agent has spent years, months, or at least weeks researching publishers. They should know what publishers look for, in terms of themes, and they know what publishers do not want to see. This research allows many professional literary agents to know what publishing houses are likely to accept your book, often within a few minutes of reading it.

If you do decide to use the services of a professional literary agent, it is important to know that you may be screened. This means that a publisher may examine your book and then decide not to represent you. This often occurs for two distinct reasons. The first being that the publisher tends to specialize in a specific genre, such as children’s books. The second being that your book is not good enough. Having a well-known publisher stand behind your book is not enough to get it published; therefore, many well-known agents are precise with the clients that they choose to work with.

Speaking of being fussy, you should also be careful with the literary agent or agency that you choose to work for. Many experts in the field of book publishing state that having a bad literary agent is worse than having no agent at all. This is because many well-known publishers are aware of literary agents that have poor histories. In fact, some publishers may completely overlook manuscripts that are sent in by a bad agent and you do not want yours to be one of them. That is why you need to carefully find and choose a literary agent, should you wish to use the services of one.

When examining literary agents, examine specialties, success rates, reputation, and so forth. If you genuinely want to become a successful and well-known author, you should spend just as much time searching for a literary, as you would searching for a publisher. With that said, it is important to remember that there are publishers who will read your manuscripts even if you choose not to use a literary agent.


Some more thoughts on Getting Published

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You just wrote a book and one of the next steps you will need to take involves finding publishers to approach. For many new authors, this is the most overwhelming part of the entire process. The good news is that there are multiple ways that you can find publishers to send your book to, but which way is the best?

Before focusing on what ways are the best ways to find publishers, it is important to get a clear-cut definition of the word best. In terms of finding publishers, you will want an approach that is easy, time saving, as well as an approach that will produce the best results.

When it comes to doing any sort of research, even research on book publishers, the internet is one of the easiest approaches to take. For that reason, you may be interested in using the internet to help you find book publishers. When doing so, you will find that you have several different options. If you already known of a publisher or two in your genre, consider performing a standard internet search with that publisher’s name. This should lead you to their online website.

Another approach that you can take, when using the internet, is to perform a standard internet search with a generalized phrase. This phrase can include “science fiction publishers,” or whatever your genre is. Your standard internet search will likely lead you to online websites that function as directories for authors seeking information on publishers. These websites are nice, but be cautious of the information that is provided to you. Still visit the online website of a publisher to get as much accurate information as possible.

Speaking of visiting the online website of a book publisher, this is the best way to find the publisher that is the perfect fit for you and your book. Most book publishers have detailed information for authors, including writer’s guidelines and other rules and restrictions. Many publishers also have detailed information on their current books, including pictures and short descriptions. Reviewing this information first can help you determine whether your book is what the publisher in question is looking for.

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A few printed resources are also available to help you find information on publishers. One of those resources is the Writer’s Market books. They are developed for several different genres, including children’s books. These books outline publishers that accept manuscripts from both agents and authors without agents. Information on guidelines and what is in need is also outlined.

In keeping with printed resources guides, to help you find publishers, you will find that they are very affordable. In fact, the popular Most Writer’s Market books can be purchased for around $20 or less. Although these books are available in most public libraries, purchasing your own copy allows you to write your own notes in the book and highlight essential information. The ability to write your own notes and create your own categories helps to simplify the process of finding publishers.

Another straightforward way that you can go about finding publishers is by using the services of a literary agent. For the standpoint of ease, this is the easiest approach. A literary agent will help you find the perfect publishers for your book and do a significant percentage of the research for you. As nice as it is to rely on the professional knowledge, experience, and expertise of a literary agent, their fee may be a turn off. If you intended to submit your own book to publishers, which would only cost you postage, this unexpected fee may be too much.

As you can see, there are a few uncomplicated ways that you can go about finding publishers to help you publish a book. As for which approach is the best for you, it will depend on your own personal preferences. If you feel more comfortable using a computer, the internet is advised and so forth.


Get a Book Published Fast

Are you an author who would like to get a book published? If you are, you may have heard that getting a book published is a lot easier said than done. Yes, this is true in many cases, but it is important to know that you should have access to a few resources that can help you improve your chances. A few of those resources are highlighted below for your convenience.

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Printed publishing guides are a must have resources for all writers that want to get a book published. The most well-known of these guides is that of the Writer’s Market. The Writer’s Market books and other similar printed resources outline publishers. These publishers are often categorized based on genre. Information that you will find may include addresses to send your manuscripts to, the average number of books a publisher puts out each year, book themes that publishers are looking for, as well as rules and restrictions on submitting book manuscripts.

The good news about using printed resources, like the Writer’s Market books, is that they are easy to come across and affordable. These books can be found available for sale online, as well as in local bookstores. Many libraries also have them available free of charge. Although the cost of buying is likely to vary, most publishing guides can be purchased for a few dollars/pounds or less. So, pick up a copy of the Writer’s Market or another similar book for yourself today.

When looking to get a book published, the internet is another resource that you should use to your advantage. In fact, the internet holds a wealth of information for writers who are looking for publishing help. For starters, there are several websites that list information on publishers in specific genres. In a way, these websites resemble an online version of the above-mentioned Writer’s Market books. You may find these websites, as well as direct links to well-known publishers, by performing a standard internet search. Use phrases such as “children’s book publishers,” “science-fiction publishers,” and so forth.

The internet can also be used to help you find other book publishing resources, one of those being information on writer’s conferences. Each year, multiple conferences are held for writers and across the United States. They often include several educational and fun activities, such as meet and greet sessions for writers, sessions that cover the art of drafting a book, sessions that cover the publishing process, and much more. Many of these conferences also have well-known or at least published authors speak. Costs will vary, but any admission fee is usually more than worth it.

Writer’s critique groups are another resource that you and other writers can benefit from being a part of. These groups are typically small and they often result you being paired with another writer or two. Typically, what happens is that you will share your book with others in the group and others will do the same as well. Information, tips, and feedback will be exchanged. Many unpublished authors find success with writer’s critique groups, as they serve as a miniature focus group.

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Like a writer’s critique group, editors are also valuable resources that unpublished writers can benefit from using. Of course, a good book theme and story is important to get a book published, but proper grammar is important as well. If you do not like proofreading or if you know that you miss common mistakes, it may be in your best interest to hire the services of a professional editor. Typically, you will find their affordable costs to be well worth it. Agents should also be examined.

As previously stated, there are a few resources that hopeful published authors, like you, should have access to. Since many of these publishing resources for authors are easy to gain access to and affordable, you should try them. The more resources that you use to your advantage, the better your chances of getting published are.


Here is a thought if you have a great idea for a book!

Finding a Writer for Your Book!!!

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Internet niche marketing campaigns can often be managed by one person with one small exception. Unless the person orchestrating the campaign is a particularly gifted writer, the creation of content relevant to the niche should be overseen by a professional writer. The required content may include concise content for e-newsletters and websites or more in-depth content for full length eBooks. eBooks are the electronic version of books. They are distributed in electronic formats and made available to readers via email or the Internet. This article will focus primarily on eBooks and will discuss the subjects of outsourcing an eBook and finding the best writer for the job.

Outsourcing Your eBook

Those who are involved with promoting an Internet niche campaign are likely very enthusiastic about their niche subject but their passion alone does not qualify them to write an eBook on the subject. They should be heavily involved in the creation of the outline for the eBook and they should have final editing rights on the eBook but a professional writer should be the one responsible for writing the initial draft of the eBook. They may also be responsible for making revision based on the comments by the marketer and his staff.

For this reason, many Internet marketers are outsourcing the writing of their eBooks. This is a wise decision because keeping a writer on staff exclusively for the purpose of writing eBooks can be quite costly if there is not a constant need for eBooks. However, outsourcing the work to independent contractors can be a much more affordable option. In this scenario, the marketer can negotiate the writing of each eBook individually or they can enlist and individual or consulting firm to complete a set number of eBooks.

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Finding the Right Person for the Job

Once you have made the wise decision to outsource your eBook, it is time to begin the process of finding the perfect writer to complete the eBook. There may be several factors you consider in choosing a writer. Some of these factors may include price, previous experience, and quality of provided writing samples. Prioritizing these factors is the first step in the process because it will be extremely helpful in the decision-making process. For example if cost is the highest priority followed by quality of writing samples and then experience in the niche you might be tempted to hire a writer who is slightly less adept but willing to work for a lower fee.

The search for the talented writer to assist you can begin either locally or globally. You can conduct a local search by placing an advertisement in local newspapers or trade magazines. A global search can begin on the Internet where there are many websites available for those who wish to outsource work. In either scenario your advertisement should suggest relevant information you would like applicants to provide.

Whether you decide to conduct your search locally or globally you will likely receive multiple responses to your advertisement. Begin evaluating these responses by eliminating those that are of mediocre quality. This is important whether quality of work is your top priority because poor work is not worth even the most affordable price. Next evaluate the remaining applicants according to your prioritized list of criteria and rank them accordingly.

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Now consider contacting the top three applicants for an interview. The interview can be conducted in person, via telephone or online. This step is important because it will give you a promising idea of whether you think the applicant will be able to meet your expectations. During this time you should also discuss scheduling to determine whether the applicant is available to complete the project according to your timeline.

After this interview process, it is time to decide. Just because it is time to decide does not mean you have to outsource your project to one of the applicants you interviewed. Your decision may be to hire one of the applicants, interview a few of the applicants who were lower on your list or repost your advertisement and solicit new applications.


Finding out what Publisher is looking for.

Continuing with the theme from my last post – finding what a particular publisher wants. It’s a good idea to track progress with every publisher you approach.

Are you an author who has just completed writing a book?  After your book has been written and edited, you may be ready to start approaching publishers.  If you are like most authors, there is a good chance that you will send your book manuscript to several publishing companies.  After all, the more publishers you approach, the better your chance of getting a book published are.

Although sending your book manuscript to a few publishers is likely to increase your chances of getting your book published, it also increases the chances of confusion and error on your part.  If you do not create a system for you to use and record your findings, you may end up making several costly and embarrassing mistakes.  That is why it is important to know what publishers you have sent your book to, which publishers have responded, what their response was, and so forth.

As it was previously stated, not being organized, when trying to get a book published, can have a few consequences.  One of those consequences is that you could mistakenly send your documents to the same publisher twice.  This has the potential to be very embarrassing and you may also, unintentionally, create a bad name for yourself.  If a book publisher sends you a rejection letter, you do not want to resend them your book, especially if you didn’t make any changes.

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Since it is important for you to create a book publishing system, you may be curious as to how you can go about doing so.  The good news is that you do have several different options.  For starters, it is important to first know what information you should include on your documents.  You need to know what publishers you have submitted your manuscript to.  You should also include the date that your information was sent out.  Next, be sure to have a spot for responses from those publishers.  Did you receive a rejection letter, a request for a meeting or more information?  Also, record the date of this information. 

As for how your information can be arranged, you will find that it all depends on your preference.  If you are computer savvy, you can use your computer.  You can create a spreadsheet.  Be sure to include the information outlined above, including the publisher’s name, the date the information was sent out, the response, as well as the date that response that was received.  What is nice about using the computer is that you can easily add information right away.  This allows you to keep a continued list going.

As nice as it is to use the computer, some individuals feel more comfortable keeping important information in print.  The same approach can and should be taken though.  Create a chart for you to use.  Be sure to keep it in a well-known place so that you do not accidentally lose your important information.  Also, be sure to remember to update every time that you decide to send your book to new publisher or if you receive a response letter.

As you can see, creating a system for yourself that allows you to track publishers that you have sent or intend to send your book to is a lot easier than it originally sounds.  As a reminder, there are several benefits to staying organized and up to date with your information.


Find Book Publishers

For my first books I chose to self-publish on Amazon. For my detective series I will be looking for a publisher, so I found the following advice really useful!

Are you interested in getting a book that you wrote published? If you are, you need to find the publisher that is the perfect fit for you and your book. Unfortunately, this can be easier said than done. Book publishers are fussy about which books and authors they choose to work with. The good news is that there are hundreds of publishers for you to choose from, depending on your genre.

Once you have written and proofread your book multiple times, you will need to start researching and examining publishers. Unfortunately, this is a step that many hopeful published authors do not take. Many simply just send copies of their books off to publishers that they already know of. This approach is okay, but it limits your chances of getting a book published. Instead, you will want to examine as many book publishers as possible. Even though this sounds like a very time-consuming process, it is a process that is much easier that many imagine.

One of the easiest ways to find book publishers is by purchasing printed resource guides for authors. These guides come in several different formats. Many are categorized by genre, such as children’s books, Christian books, and so forth. What they typically do is outline publishers that accept manuscripts, as well as other detailed information. These printed resource guides are usually updated often; therefore, if you do make a purchase, be sure to purchase an updated guide. Speaking of making your purchase, you can find these publishing guides for authors available for sale online and in most bookstores.

As previously stated, there are a few printed resource guides for authors that you can use to go about finding publishers to submit your book to. One guide that comes highly rated and recommend is that of the Writer’s Market. The Writer’s Market books cover several genres and they are updated on a yearly basis. Information that is included tends to include themes that book publishers are looking for, requirements on submitting a manuscript, the address in which that manuscript must be submitted to and much more. The Writer’s Market books are also well-known for their expert tips and advice, which is typically provided by experienced authors.

Although most Writer’s Market books and other similar printed resource guides for authors can often be purchased for under $20, many people do not like paying for something that they can find for free online. If you are looking to use the internet to find book publishers, you will find that you do have a few different options. For starters, you will want to perform a standard internet search with the phrase “book publishers.”  If you are targeting a specific genre, such as children’s books, be sure to include that in your search phrase. Your standard internet search is likely to produce several different results.

As for what your standard internet search will produce, you will likely find websites where a wide selection of publishers are listed. These websites may either list publishers with detailed information or you may be provided with a link to a publisher’s website. Speaking of publisher websites, these websites can also be found mixed in with your standard internet search.

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If you would like to directly find the online websites of book publishers, a standard internet search with the publisher’s name should produce the results that you are looking for. Most have guidelines and other information posted for authors on their websites. If you are not already aware of publishers, you may want to go through the books that you have in your home or visit your local bookstore. In fact, most online retailers will list what publishers books are published through. This can help to give you some publisher names to checkout.

As a reminder, it is important to find the publisher that you think will be the perfect fit for you and your book. Therefore, look for publishers that are seeking just what your book has to offer.


Find a Literary Agent

Are you an author who has a book that you would like to see published? If so, you may want to use the services of a literary agent. Also, if you are an author who has been shopping your book around without success, an agent may be worth examining. Unfortunately, many new authors are unsure as to how they can find and choose literary agents. If you are one of those individuals, you will want to continue reading on.

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Before highlighting a few of the ways that you can go about finding an agent to help you publish a book, it is important to examine the pros and cons of using a literary agent. For starters, if you choose an agent that is well-known or one who has a proven history, your chances of getting your book published tend to increase. This is because professional literary agents and agencies know where to look. As for the cons or downsides to using a literary agent, their cost is the biggest.

When it comes to finding a literary agent, you will find that you have several different options. One of your options is to turn to printed resources. There are a few books that are available for sale or books that may be found in local libraries that can help you. These books are often how-to guides with information on how to find, approach, and research literary agents. Books that are updated on a yearly basis are likely to include the names, information, and contact numbers of literary agents that accept new clients.

As previously stated, there are a few guides that you can purchase. One of those guides is the Guide to Literary Agents. This guide is like the ever so popular Writer’s Market books. These Guide to Literary Agent books are just a few of the many available for sale; however, they come highly rated and recommended. When buying a literary agent guide, be sure to examine contents. The best guide is one that not only provides you with helpful tips, but also one that gives you the contact information of literary agents that may be able to help you publish a book.

In addition to using a printed guide to help you find a literary agent, you can also use the internet. When using the internet to find a literary agent to help you publish a book, there are a number of different approaches that you can take. For starters, perform a standard internet search. Your search should at least include the phrase “literary agents.”  Your standard internet search for literary agents should produce several different results. These results should include websites that function as literary agent directories, where multiple literary agents and their contact information is listed. When using this approach, be sure to check for dates, as you will want to make sure that you have updated information.

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Another way that you can use the internet to find literary agents involves using business directories. Many of these directories, such as the ones for Yahoo, also work in conjunction with standard internet searches. What you will want to do is choose a location, such as a local location or a well-known location like New York. Then, for the business enter in literary agent. This will likely provide you with the name of individual literary agents or literary agencies, as well as their locations, websites, and telephone numbers.

As highlighted above, there are a few different ways that you can go about finding literary agents. As easy as it can be to find a literary agent to work with, it is important that you do not just choose anyone. You need to remember that literary agents have all different experiences and success levels. Be sure to examine rates, quality of work, success rate, and feedback from past and current clients. This will not only help to increase your chances of getting your book published, but it will also prevent you from losing money.


Do not Get Burned – Watch out for Publishing Scams

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Are you an author who would like to get a book published? Of course you are!!! If you are currently an unpublished author, you may do just about anything to see your book in print. As good as it is to have goals and dreams, it is also important to have knowledge on your side. If you do not proceed with caution, you may find yourself falling victim to some common book publishing frauds.

Unless you decide to self-publish a book, you should never have to pay a publisher to put your book in print. In fact, it should be the other way around. Yes, most publishers will take a percentage of the money that you make, but that percentage is not even always talked about. Most well-known publishers will either offer you a flat fee or an advance payment. If royalty payments are decided on, a specific percentage will be agreed upon.

Individuals or companies who claim that you must pay to have your book published are likely just trying to swindle you. They are either after two things, your material, or your money. Chances are, your book may never even be published, but if you sign a contract, the individual or company in question may then own the words that you wrote. For that reason, never, under any circumstances, should you pay a publisher to publish your book for you.

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In addition to book publishing companies, it is also important to proceed with caution where literary agents and editors are concerned. Editors are recommended, as they are likely to find grammar mistakes that you may have missed. What you will want to do, however, is be cautious of who you do hire. Never pay someone to read your book that you have not heard of before. Since you may not know many editors or any for that matter, the proper amount of research should be done. Look for editor reviews online or ask other published writers for recommendations.

In terms of literary agents, the same amount of research should be done. Did you know that many publishing companies avoid collaborating with certain literary agents? Those who do not properly screen their books or those that misrepresent their books, develop a bad name for themselves. The last thing that you want is your name and book attached to a literary agent with a bad reputation.

As for the frauds that are associated with literary agents, it is important to be cautious with pay. A literary agent or agency that asks you to pay a fee upfront is a good sign of a scam. This fee is often called a reading fee. What you need to know though is that many literary agents take a percentage of the amount of money that you make when you sign a contract with a publisher. In a way, this can serve as a guarantee that you will be receiving quality, guaranteed results. Publishers who accept upfront fees may later choose to not accept you as a client or they may just take your money and run.

When looking to get a book published, the above-mentioned frauds are just a few of the many that you will want to keep in mind. If an offer, a literary agent, or an editor sounds too good to be true, chances are it is.


Digital Publishing

Are you a writer who has tried and tried and tried again to get your book published? If you have and if you have only been met with rejection letter after rejection letter, your first impulse may be to give up. The decision to do so is yours to make, but if you do believe that you have a delightful book on your hands, you may want to consider transforming your book into an eBook instead.

A nice as it is to hear that you can take your book, transform it into an eBook, and sell it, you may be curious as to why you should do so, as well as how. The good news is that creating an eBook is a lot easier than many imagine. In fact, the hardest part of about creating an eBook is writing one and you should already have this step accomplished.

As for the benefits of creating an eBook, it is first important to know what they are. eBooks are defined as electronic or digital books. The materials and stories covered in eBooks are just like printed books; however, the overall format is different.

As for who reads eBooks and how they are read, you will find that it all depends. There are several small handheld machines that are used to read eBooks. These components upload an eBook, often through a small connecting cable that is connected through the computer. As popular as this approach is, many eBook reading machines can be costly; therefore, many readers choose to simply just read eBooks from their computer or print them. The most avid readers of eBooks are those who are internet and computer savvy.

The main benefit of transforming your book into an eBook is that the process is easy. In fact, many first-time authors are surprised just how easy it is to create an eBook. Although you do have a few different formatting options, many choose the popular PDF format, as most computers already have free reader programs installed. This means that your buyers will be able to read your eBook right away.

Since all publishers require book manuscripts to be in printed, computer format. There is a good chance that your book is already saved on your computer. What you will want to do is use a program, like Adobe Create a PDF Online. Simply follow the directions and your book will automatically be transformed into a PDF file. As for creating an eBook, this is really the only step that you need to take.

As easy as it is to create an eBook, selling it can be more difficult. The good news, however, is that you do have a number of different options. One of those options to sell your eBook on a third-party website. These are websites where a diverse collection of eBooks are listed for sale and written by different authors. The only downside to this approach is the fact that most third-party websites take a small percentage of each sale or they charge a monthly fee.

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In keeping with selling an eBook, you also have the option of creating your own website. What you will want to do is create a webpage that offers detailed information about your eBook, such as its title, the basis of your storyline, or what readers will learn if your eBook is a how-to book. This approach is the most cost effective; however, it is important to remember that internet users will not just be able to find your website; you also need to market it as well.

As for accepting payment, many eBook authors use programs like PayPal. If you do choose to create your own website, you can also purchase your own shopping trolley software. This should allow you to not only accept payments from PayPal members, but major credit card holders as well.

As a recap, transforming your book into an eBook and selling it online is a nice alternative to print publishing and self-publishing. If you are unable to get your eBook published by a well-known publisher, it is an approach that you will want to examine.


Some quotes about success – Keep writing!!

“Believe in yourself. You are braver than you think, more talented than you know, and capable of more than you imagine.”― Roy T. Bennett

“Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly.”― Robert F. Kennedy

“Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty… I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life. I have envied a great many people who led difficult lives and led them well.”― Theodore Roosevelt

“Develop success from failures. Discouragement and failure are two of the surest stepping stones to success.” — Dale Carnegie

“The road to success and the road to failure are almost exactly the same.” — Colin R. Davis

“Failure is success if we learn from it.” – Malcolm Forbes

“Every adversity, every failure, every heartache carries with it the seed of an equal or greater benefit.” — Napoleon Hill

“You have to be able to accept failure to get better.” — Lebron James

“Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.” — Winston Churchill


Letters from France?

Sitting here today working on part of my Inspector Flaange detective series and I suddenly remembered the term ‘French Letter’ as a euphemism for a condom.

So I wondered why is it ‘French Letter’?

Any ideas?

I found this quote “In Britain, this is a rather old-fashioned euphemism for a condom; in France the phrase ‘capote Anglaise’ is comparable and would be translated as ‘English overcoat‘. It seems that the term is first traced to the 1850s, a period of great tension between the two countries and in which in Britain local militias (groups of male volunteers who dressed up in fancy uniforms with guns and paraded around a lot) were formed because of fears about a French invasion. Other concerns became pressing during the period of the First World War concerning venereal disease, with official recommendation that troops sent to fight in France should either remain ‘pure‘ or use condoms to protect themselves. The worry was not for the women concerned, but keeping the men in shape in order to send them to the front.”


Some thoughts on Self-Publishing

Are you an author who has a book that you would like to see published? If you are, you should know that you do have a few different options. While the most common approach taken involves relying on a third-party publishing house, you do also have the option of self-publishing your own book. At the moment I have two books available on Amazon, though be warned, I like dark and crazy humour!

When an author makes the decision to self-publish a book, he or she has complete control over the entire process. In fact, that is just one of the many pros or plus sides to self-publishing, as many authors like having complete control over their works of art. As for the responsibility of an author in terms of self-publishing, an author must draft the book, edit it, find a company to manufacturer the printed book, and sell it. Although the process does seem relatively easy to most, it is important to remember that there are several pros and cons to self-publishing.

As it was previously stated, a self-publisher is responsible for the sale of their book. For many this is a tiring process. When a third-party publishing house is used, they take on most of the work associated with selling a book, such as marketing. This is not how self-publishing works. Many self-publishers set up websites where they list their books available for sale. Even then, however, that website must be marketed so that visitors will find it. Self-publishers also have the option of approach retailers, including bookstores, hoping to get their books available for sale locally.

Another con or downside to self-publishing is the cost. Technically, you could say that even when using a third-party publishing house, you still pay for the cost of getting your book published. This is because your publisher does take a fee out of the amount of money that you are paid; however, many authors do not even take this cut into consideration. Even though it will cost money to have your book transformed into print, there are steps that you can take to reduce the cost. The most common approach involves having your book printed on demand, instead of having books on hand.

As previously stated, some self-publishers find it difficult to sell their books. Yes, this process can be difficult, but many other self-published authors have seen success. When you put the proper amount of time, research, and energy into selling a self-published book, you stand the most chance of making the biggest profit. This is because, aside from the cost of your expenses, you can retain all your profits. There is no one else that must share your profits, unless of course you decide to hire help.

Another pro or plus side to self-publishing is the fact that unknown authors are given the opportunity to shine. Some of the best-selling books today are written by authors who already have an established history or name. In fact, unless you have an amazing book or a well-known name, there is a good chance that many publishing companies will not want to take a chance on you. This does not mean that your book is a poorly written one or that it has a bad story line. It just means that the publishing market is a tough one.

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One of the biggest signs that self-publishing may be right for you if you believe that you have a book that will sell, but you still receive multiple rejection letters from well-known publishing houses. Self-publishing is also an ideal approach for authors who write books that will sell, but books that only have a limited targeted marketed. For example, if you are interested in authoring a book on your city or town, your targeted market may be quite small and publishers may not want to take a chance with that.

Since there are several pros and cons to self-publishing, you should take the time to decide if self-publishing is right for you. Additional research can help you determine if self-publishing is truly your best option.


Some thoughts on Children’s Book Publishing

Are you a writer who would like to write and publish a children’s book?

If you are, you should know that you have a lot of work ahead of you. A lot of new writer’s believe that children’s books are easy to write. Yes, children’s books are easier to write but that does not mean that children’s books are easier to get published.

I know this is stating the obvious, but, the first step in getting a children’s book published is to write a great children’s book. You will want to write a children’s book that kids cannot wait to read or a book that kids do not want to put down. This is most often the case with chapter books or books for young adults, but even picture books must be interesting and captivating.

One of the best ways to ensure that you write a good children’s book is by talking to kids in the age group that you intend to write for. Are you a parent yourself? If you are, speak to your kids. What would they like to see in a book? If you do not have any kids, consider asking your younger relatives or the children of your friends.

Also, if you are a parent, you are at an advantage because there is a good chance that you have read stories to your children before. What books did they find the most interesting? Which books did you like to read to them the most? Examine the themes and layouts of these books and consider making yours similar in nature.

After you have written a children’s book, your first thought may be to start approaching publishers right away. This is a step is one that should wait. First, it is important to proofread and edit your book. Unfortunately, many new authors assume that this is a step that they do not have to take. Many mistakenly believe that since children’s books are shorter in length that there is much less to edit. The truth is that you should proofread and edit a children’s book more. Since there are less words, publishers expect every word to be written perfectly. If you must, hire the services of a professional editor.

Join a critique group. Writer’s critique groups are easy to find and they have several benefits. The best way to find a writer’s critique group is by using the internet. You may be able to find online critique groups or information on local groups. Depending on what you find, you may need to pay a small fee to join a critique group, but some out there do not require the payment of a membership fee. When becoming a part of a writer’s critique group, you share your book with other group members and they will do the same.

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Whether you use the services of a professional editor, join a writer’s group, or just let your friends or family read your book, it is important to take all advice into consideration. Of course, this does not mean that you must completely rewrite your book, but you will want to take all suggestions into consideration. Your friends, editors that you pay, and other members of a writer’s critique group want to see you succeed, not fail. This means that the advice that they do give you is useful and helpful; therefore, it should be taken into consideration.

Have you written and published a Children’s book?

If so let me know!


What about Literary Agents?

I decided to put together some articles about publishing your work. The articles will examine things like different genres, self-publishing, publishing tips, children’s books etc. I thought I would start with some thoughts about literary agents.

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Are you a writer who would like to get a book published? If you are, you may have heard that you should hire the services of a professional literary agent. Yes, there are several benefits to using a professional agent, but is one really needed?

As for whether you use should use the services of a literary agent, there are a few key factors that you will first want to take into consideration. One of those being your book. Have you already drafted your book? If you have not, you may be at an advantage. For example, you can take the time to first research publishers and what they are looking for. When you can tailor what you write to exactly what most publishers are looking for, you are more likely to see success, even without the help of a professional agent.

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If you have already drafted your book, you may still be able to get it published without using the services of a professional agent. What you will want to do, however, is find the publisher or publishers that are the perfect fit for you and your book. This will involve a little bit of research on your part, but it is often a lot cheaper than using a professional literary agent. As for how you should proceed, if you are a science fiction writer, only send your book manuscript to publishing houses that are looking for science fiction books, as opposed to those who are requesting romance novels and so forth.

Although it is possible to get a book published without having a literary agent by your side, there are times where a literary agent is needed. For example, many of the larger, well-known publishing houses do not accept manuscripts from authors who are not collaborating with an agent. If you have your heart set on seeing your book published by a larger, well-known publisher, as opposed to a lesser known, smaller publisher, an agent may be in your best interest. If you do decide not to use a literary agent, just be sure not to send your book to publishers who request that their authors have agents, as this can create a bad image of yourself.

If you do decide to hire the services of a professional literary agent, you will want to proceed with caution. For starters, anyone can call themselves a professional, but that does not mean that they are. For your best interest, it is worthwhile to research and examine several literary agents before making your decision. Compare costs, quality, and success rates. If you are targeting a specific genre, such the children’s market, try to find publishers that specialize in the field of children’s books.

For the ultimate level of protecting your best interest, examine literary agents who only get paid when your book gets published. In all honesty, these types of literary agents and agencies are few and far in between and many only extend this offer to a limited number of authors, but you do not have to worry about losing money.

As a recap, there is no rule stating that a literary agent is required to get a book published. That does not mean, however, that you cannot benefit from using the services of one.



Hey I just got this from Daily Motivation site .

Keep going with your writing!!

You are capable of overcoming the challenges you face in life.

No matter what happens, do not let yourself get bogged down by fear, and negativity.

Be patient with yourself as you work through whatever life throws your way.

Give yourself some time to process your negative feelings and then allow yourself to move on. Things can change for the better.

You are attracting the greatest moments of your life. Be open to miracles. You deserve positive experiences.

You deserve happiness. You deserve a beautiful life. Keep going.


Catching up

I haven’t posted for a while. I kept my focus on completing another task.

When I have an idea for a book I sit with an old fashioned writing pad and a fountain pen, and I let the ideas flow. Sometimes when I look back I can’t read my notes as I was writing so fast at the time! Then I leave it until I am ready to start typing it up.

In the summer of 2015 I was visiting some friends in Istanbul. With a long flight each way I have to take something to read. I had downloaded a book about the History and Mythology of the Celtic peoples, onto my Kindle. I no longer have that kindle so I can’t give an actual reference to the book I was a reading.

Anyway, I read the story of the Sons of Turenn and the slaying of Kian, and the ensuing Magic tasks set by Lugh to settle the blood feud. Then I imagined my heroine, Fairy Hanny, being dropped in to help the Sons of Turenn to solve the riddles and complete the tasks.

Thus began ‘Fairy Hanny and the Sons of Turenn: The third in the tales of Fairy Hanny.’

Life can be too busy!

I carried on writing as I returned to my job in Kazakhstan, filling in bits and pieces when time allowed – the school I worked at was very busy, I had a fantastic social life (which will be the subject of a travelogue soon) and my mother became ill and died. However I managed to finish the draft by the end of June 2016, and put it to one side while I though about it.

I spent most of July 2016 in Peniscola, Spain, then in September I moved to a new job in Gran Canaria. The book sat on one side while I worked on other ideas. September 2018 I moved to Casablanca and left my draft in storage in the UK.

Suddenly it is October 2021, and I am back in the UK. Out came the draft and out came the wordprocessor. Yesterday I finally finished typing up the second draft. Now it will sit while I print it out and edit – I find it difficult to edit onscreen, as it is too difficult to flip between pages to check for continuity errors.

My plan is to get the final version on to Amazon before the end of August. If anyone would like to push me on that please feel free to email ppswifty@gmail.com