WHOLESOME TALES

This reminds me. My Missus was once Equal Opportunity Co-ordinator at the school she taught at. But instead of talking a heap of Feminist Claptrap, she did things like get her girls to learn Martial Arts (with no boys present other than the instructor) so that they could comcentrate and become more confident about themselves (14 and 15 year olds in this case). It was a dose of practicality without any Political Correctness and Ideological Talk.

I've always been impressed by my Missus' attitude to Equality. Earn respect, in a respctable manner, and never take shit from Men. And give individuals (even Women and Girls) fair treatment - or else! But no ideological talk, just: "Hey, fair go mate. If you don't give me a fair go, I'll kick you in the balls." (My Missus would never say it like that, she's a Feminist and a Lady, but she'd do it if required, metaphorically speaking).

She wore her International Women's Day ribbon today to school. I smiled. She laughed. We take it all very seriously we do, but not too seriously. Deeds not bandwagons impress us most, even if we accept a bit of Symbolism doesn't go astray now and then.

You two sound like my kind of people.

I have a yellow belt in taekwondo. Which isn't much, but it was fun. I quit when I got pregnant though. Hope I have time to start again, it was fun and good exercise... Perhaps I'd dare to try the sparring lesson too.

Amarië wrote:I have a yellow belt in taekwondo. Which isn't much, but it was fun. I quit when I got pregnant though.

Perhaps you should have invested in a bigger belt?

Me and the Missus have just been chatting about it (she's getting ready for work - I'm on Leave again - hee hee hee), and said (with that twinkly nostalgic gleam one gets in your eye) that she used to organize women in to do talks, women tradies, women cops, women non-traditional-other-jobs (we're talking twenty years ago here!) It's amazing to think how much has changed since way back when. My Missus said she asked her girls if they knew what day it was in class yesterday. Only one girl knew! The younger generation, what!

(Oh the belt was long enough, no worries, it usually goes twice around the waist before being tided so I had a bit to go on.

I was more worried about being kicked in the stomach. We spent quite some time two and two, one would hold pads of various sizes and the other would do his/her best to kick the cr.. stuffing out of said pad. Not much standing in a row and kicking the air. )

The day used to have more (symbolic) meaning, we all get lazy when times treat us well. Also the fight for equal rights to all people shouldn't just be limited to one day, though it might do us some good to find a banner to rally behind and march down the street shouting slogans. All hail to the women who fought to get us where we are today. I take my proverbial my hat of to your Missus.

Amarië wrote:(Oh the belt was long enough, no worries, it usually goes twice around the waist before being tided so I had a bit to go on.

I was more worried about being kicked in the stomach. We spent quite some time two and two, one would hold pads of various sizes and the other would do his/her best to kick the cr.. stuffing out of said pad. Not much standing in a row and kicking the air. )

The day used to have more (symbolic) meaning, we all get lazy when times treat us well. Also the fight for equal rights to all people shouldn't just be limited to one day, though it might do us some good to find a banner to rally behind and march down the street shouting slogans. All hail to the women who fought to get us where we are today. I take my proverbial my hat of to your Missus.

It's not all peaches and cream, mind.

I'm getting sick of women taking (usually) 'cushy jobs' where I work just because they've got kids and need to be treated 'fairly' to keep them in the work force. My wife has kids, and my Employer don't employ her. I don't get those jobs so I can be more flexible looking after my kids! Both me and my Missus lose out. (My Missus and I had to organize our own child minding with no help from gutless emloyers). They're usually jobs that you have to apply for - jobs that usually would go to experienced competent members (not women just wanting a job to earn a bit of money, and get out of the house a bit, without dedicating themselves too much or being team players and doing the bare minmum of work while spending plenty of time talking bout babies ), but management take the soft option, and mostly usually at male expense - though I know quite a few embittered, genuinely fair-minded career women who have been burnt too (my wife's one!)

Equality is okay, as long as it's actually equal.

Chapter Three: The Snorting Hat.

Tedious Bummadore had just finished reciting the School Song, and as it's well known to be the worst song ever writen in English literatrure, I'll not repeat it. (Luckilly for us JKR never tried poetry again. I think she must have realized that it is something one can't plagiarise successfully, not like prose or ideas).

Then he said: "Bring out the Snorting Hat!"

The students at the four long trestle tables looked at each other in bemusement.

"Yes, the Teachers have kindly lent you their Secret Chamber Hat - as the Sorting Hat got chewed by that cat --- I can't remember it's name, Mrs Cucumber or something...."

Witch Soggy, the Frogmarching teacher, yelled: "Petty Tyrant."

Petty jumped up, bold as brass, kilt flying. He hurried to the chair and sat on the towell placed there for Scotsmen. Soggy put the hat on his head. "Slytherin!"

Which was not surprising, as Scots have no Muddle blood in them, it's said.

"Kafria Snakelass!"

Kafria went up looking quite aloof and proud of herself. (One day she planned to be Teacher).

"Ravenclaw!"

Which was not surprising, really, as Ravenclaw was well known to be full of boring people, dentists and teachers, those sort.

"Odo Banks!"

Odo walked up looking very tidy in his expensive clothes.

"Slyth..."

"Hey!" Odo pulled the hat off and had a quick whispered conversation with Soggy.

"Gryffindor!" she cried.

And proudly, Odo went to join his House of do-gooders and respectabilians.

"Orwell McOdo ... the seventeenth..."

A hush fell over the Hall now, for Orwell was everything to everyone, handsome, heterosexual, gay in an old fashioned sense, witty, and generally a lovely chap.

"Puffenstuff!" cried the Snorting Hat.

As is well known, Puffenstuff was the house where the pretty girls went. Indeed, Orwell was the first ever male to be picked to go there.

What a happy way to end this chapter, don't you think?

Wholesome Tales best opening lines yet! Truth in the Wholesome Tales- who'd have thunk it!

I think a true Artist should always tell the Truth, Petty.

Chapter Four: Orwell is Taken Up to His Chamber


"Now everyone has their House. So off you go, up to the Dorms," said Tedious.

Rosie Cotton took hold of Orwell's hand. She was a wizard-hobbit from Hobbiton. She looked up and gave the boy a smile. "I'm in Sixth Form but only stand as tall as your testicles. Some Men like that." And she winked.

Another girl, Bettina Gooseberry sidled up and brushed his back with her soft front bits: "I should very like to take you behind the Statue of Bignose Slytherin and show you my enchantments, Orwell."

"And I'd like to wash you with rose petals dipped in resinous oil," said Sarah Suckinjaw, a Fourth Former originally from New Orleans. "I'm studying Therapeutics."

"As to me," said Mrs Montefiore, a fabulously handsome lady wizard who was standing with the group of Puffenstuffs. "I won't have you staying unchaperoned in the dorms with all these incredibly attractive young ladies. No, you must sleep on a cot in my chamber; at least, when we're not awake."

"Oh you are so kind," said Orwell moved to tears by all their consideration. "I am but a poor boy from a Council Estate and my feet are sore from walking here."

"I'll wash them," said Jenny Poltergeist.

"I'll rub them," cried Gibralda Peckinpoon.

"I'll suck them," Mrs Montefiore put in sharply. "As I have Healing Lips."

Well, I can tell you, Orwell was almost overcome by all their thoughtfulness.

"Well, off to the Puffenstuff Dorms," said Mrs Montefiore.

Orwell became worried. For this was his first day at Hogwargs after all. "Oh my," he said anxiously. "Mrs Montefiore, will you show me the way?"

"I will, dear boy!" exclaimed this rather commanding lady. "I am an expert in Lovemaking, both Natural Love and Unnatural Love, and I teach Herbology... If anyone can show a young boy the way, I can." And Mrs Montefiore gave him such a glistening smile as to make her seem like a carnivore, and just the kind of carnivore that a young boy, around thirteen, begins to have dreams about, however fearful.

"Come now everyone, be like Madeleine," Mrs Montefiore went on. "Off we go!"

So all the Huffenpuff's formed two lines,
Just like they do in Madeleine,
Mrs Montefiore lead them up three stairs,
Past portraits of ghouls and polar bears,

Until they reached a solid wall which blocked the way
upon which a painting was displayed,
All the girls (and Orwell too), still in two lines,
Waited politely like the girls in Madeleine.

The picture was rather unusual, quite strange,
For Puffenstuff the Dragon was there arranged
in a position with Freddie the Flute -
gem encrusted, and kind of cute -

Orwell near the front looked closer,
It seemed gross - it got grosser -
Freddie suddenly looked at the boy,
"Hey there Puffenstuff, look ahoy!

There's a boy perving on us,
I have a mind to spill his guts!"
Mrs Montefiore stoutly said,
"Enough of nonsense, we're off to bed,

These Puffenstuff First Years are all tired,
Chapter One and Two, when expired,
Left these girls - and one sharp boy -
Ready for their bed - oh golly joy!

Now let us through you old perverts,
And don't you dare look up our skirts,
As we come through the frame in two lines,
Just like they do in Madeleine."

At last, Puffenstuff turned his head in the painting (he having so far been in a world of distraction, what with what Freddie was doing behind him) and gasped! "Come through! Come through! Then back to it, Freddie!"

"Yes, Old Mayor!" Freddie grinned.

So the Puffenstuffs walked through in two lines (just like in Madeleine).

Once inside the dorms, the First Years ran off to find a bed each.

"Not you, dear Orwell," said Mrs Montefiore. "It's off to my chamber for you. These girls are over-excited as it is. They're liable to keep you up all night... I'll see you a'bed in a trice, and asleep shortly thereafter!"

And so, even though some of the girls begged him in whispers to stay with them as he walked past (which he did think was very nice of them), Orwell followed Mrs Montefiore up to her chamber.

He was looking forward to a good sleep.

And in a cot!

How lovely!

In the Council Estate House he lived in with a Mad Russian step-Dad and his schizophrenic Mother, he was forced to sleep in the laundry for safety at night, with a chair thrust up against the door knob.

"I think I'm going to love it at Hogwargs," Orwell said, not realizing at first he said it aloud.

Mrs Montefiore gave him a look as if he was a wee rabbit and she a bobcat. "I'm sure you'll have a lovely time here. Yes, my boy, I'm quite sure of it!"

And Orwell, for the first time since getting his acceptance letter from Tedious Bummadore, felt slightly afraid...

THE LADY WHO LOST HER NOSE

They say she had a perfect nose,
a rosey nose, an ornament,
And every day it was admired,
at Whist and Darts and Tournaments.

Some as said it was as fine
as Queen Tinuviel's the Glorious,
while others said if her nose could talk
it's jokes would be uproarious.

Sadly once upon a time Mrs Figg -
that most assiduous cottager -
was pruning her lovely aspidistras
in the sunshine of her pottager

when down from the sky with eye so wry
a one-eyed corby flew at her
pecked off her so fine nose
she cried, "What the fuck!"
a phrase thaw was not new to her.

Mr Figg was in the lounge
counting up all their pennies,
He heard her cries "Oh dear," he sighed,
"her phrases are rich and many!"

And out he went through French windows
into pottager in tweed coat attired,
"What now, Mrs Figg?" he asked,
"You swore - am I again required?"

"I cannot sniff I cannot snort,
Oh a birdie has flown down and caught
my pretty nose and stole it, Love,
it was so natural and not shop bought!"

That's what Mrs Figg did cry that fair child -
well, she was fair -
but her face just now was bloody -
which she'd forlornly rubbed through her hair -

Oh what a tragic sight though luck would find
her hubby as ever loyal,
and he loves her still, still rubs her back
and lances every boil.


"The Lady who lost her nose," by Yeats, though he misplaced it prior to publication.

Channelled by
Wisey Banks.

Splendid bit of Channeling- explains much!

apart from the cottaging of course. Public toilets have sticky floors. shudder.

But a fine a bit of channelling as I ever did hear.

I'm not suprised with all the cottaging go on in them.

THE TRUE BALLAD OF THE COAL SCUTTLE

Many a tale has been told,
In many places, and many times,
But not all that many have been known
to have been modified to rhyme.

I'm talking now of that emblem,
that symbol, that legendarary Scuttle,
that the McTyrants stole back in '69
around the time of the Lunar Shuttle.

It chanced to be that Rory McTyrant
a descendant of a long line
of purulent, stinky, ghastly, ugly,
be-kilted sons of swine,

was working in one of Odo Bankses
coal mines in the Kimberleys
with coal dust in his lungs
and coal sludge up to his knees,

Mr Biffo Banks (the Foreman)
chanced to be passing with a pail
of purest cleanest water
for the Executive down the trail,

"Coodya given a poor ol' wretch
a little sip oo that,"
says sickly, pale-faced Rory -
his face showed not a trace of fat.

Mr Biffo Babnks (the Ninth or Tenth)
his face fierce in the gloom,
(rightly) scowled and said, did he,
"Wotz zat yu peece ov poo?

Uh drink ov warder, Muctoorint?
Iz zat wot yu sed, you skum?
Assk agun befor drink tim
un weel steek a firecrucker up ya bum!"

When Mr Biffo Banks was gone
a dark plan formed in Rory's brain,
and he snuck off down the tunnel
jumped on back of the coal-train

up to the surface - three miles above -
he rode out into the light
and then he crept up to a hut -
his heart as black as night.

"Ile steel thar bluudee Scootle
that's what Ima goona doo,"
whispered that horrid Scotshobbit
in his kilt of red and blue.

And so he stole their Scuttle -
oh those poor respectable Bankses -
and when the Bankses found out it was gone,
They gave the McTyrants no thankses.

Now one day when many years had passed,
And the McTyrants were out praying
(for a better life to Eru),
The Bankses - who'd forgotten it was Eru's Day -
got it back somehow - and that's all I'm saying.

"THE TRUE BALLAD OF THE COAL SCUTTLE" by Kevin Banks, 1973. (Unpublished text).

Channelled by Wisey Banks

Dispicable slanders of the sort only all to typical of this journal! As if any McTyrant would have gone to Oz were the buckie is as weak as the women! An unlikely tale- besides Oz back then was only for criminal types like the Banks Clan- unlike them we Tyrants were never criminals- because we never got caught!

Hey! If my forbear, Dodo McBanks ever stole, or extorted, or assaulted, or killed, or raped, it was never anything but for the public good - well, the rape was not, but it was a case of mistaken identity, late at night, after a bit too much buckie, but, in the end, no lasting harm done to that poor young woman, after a fashion.... anyhow, I blame the harsh and unfair Laws of the Time for my forbear's wrongful transportation! I mean, fancy applying Common Law to my Great Great Great... Great Granddad's ... err... misunderstandings... I still feel the outrage! The upside was, we did 'improve' Ozhobitstan in the end, which was worth it. That was, afterall, back in the days when we brought Banksian Respectability to the place, and good business models!

And don't knock the buckie in Oz - it's delicious....

Delicous? They dont even put caffiene in it. Amatuers! You use it to quench a thirst of all things, drink it casually standing round the barbie- thats not what buckie is for? Its for getting out your skull on. Starting fights. Falling over. Being sick and forgetting wahat your name is. Its like you lot don't even get it- I blame the weather- cant get properly drunk in a sunny country without drizzle.

We don't need drizzle to get drunk! We've learned to drink rain, hail or shine... Yes, we have three kinds of weather compared to your one. Great country, Ozhobbitstan...

Its just a big cat litter tray with some jungle at the edges! What has Oz contributed to the world? Vegemite thats what, good for grouting some tiles with and a sport that seems to have been invented by throwing all the equipment from several other sports over a wall into a field for people to pick up and then make all the rules up as they go along.
The only good thing ever exported from Oz was Kylie's ass in those gold hotpants.

and Orwell of course.

But not in gold hotpants I hope! Although you never know with Orwell, Queen of the Desert.

Pettytyrant101 wrote:Its just a big cat litter tray with some jungle at the edges! What has Oz contributed to the world? Vegemite thats what, good for grouting some tiles with and a sport that seems to have been invented by throwing all the equipment from several other sports over a wall into a field for people to pick up and then make all the rules up as they go along.
The only good thing ever exported from Oz was Kylie's ass in those gold hotpants.

That's a bit TOO personal for my liking, Petty! {{{Agree about the hot pants, though! }}}

Mrs Figg wrote:

If you've never seen me in hot pants, Mrs Figg, how can you know?

I remember a few of the ladies liked my arse when I played with the band. How do I know - well, they came up asnd told me! Women can be very forward, I've found.. I declined to go back to their hotels or homes though --- who knows what they had in mind?

the proof is in the pudding, and thats all I am saying on the matter.