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Let`s keep Catweazle the way it was back in 1970 in a word "Innocent"
I have just been to Michelham Priory and discussed the "Have-a-go" archery area that will be at Hexwood this year, with The Wolfshead Bowmen (and women)who will be staging it. They will all be dressed in costume and may also demonstrate swordmanship as well if time allows. It looks like it will be great fun on the day. I couldn't resist letting a few arrows loose myself when they asked if I would like a go.It's a good feeling when you let fly!and I must warn you all that I hit the Norman soldier in the head twice!!Twice in the head and once in the chest - that's 23 points!!! So watch out brothers and sisters. Maid Marion's about!! (mind you two others flew in to the shrubbery!!)The gauntlett has been thrown well and truely down to you all to take part in the Catweazle archery competition. May the best archers win!! Little trophies will be awarded by his lordship in the evening.
Listen up Maid Marion, thou art but a wench, fit only for the ducking stool, heed up thou had eight fittings for thy costume at Mr Miltons alone and that came apart at the seems!!, doth thou thinkest thou are better at arrowing than thee?? I thinkest not!! my aim is true,and my weopon huge!! bring on your worstest cappers, thou lump! thou itch!!
Thou art a varlot and a knave to callest me so! Thy weapon may be huge, but dost thou not knoweth that tis not the size that maketh the difference, tis how you useth it! Methinks thou art all bluster and wind! Thee could not hit ye olde barn door at five paces!
Thou spends too much time at the inn and thy hand shaketh like a ear of corn in the summer storm!!
In fact I heard tis said, that thy aim is so bad, that it was one of thy arrows that did fell our noble King Harold at Hastings and not the vile Normans! Thou should be tried for treason!
oooooow! I see thee not! thou grub! thou sod back beatle! I shall cast such a spell, turn thee into a one legged ferret! I have no fear of the witch she holds no power over me! oh more chateau margo 59 I am bewitched!!
Brother & sister, thou both douth talketh piffle,mayhap a small wager wouldst be met on the field of battle ? winner taketh all , thy looser gets thee hense to thou stosks! WHAT SAYEST THOU ?
Tis our Brother! see how strong was my spell? a wager doth thou suggest, tis well said, only one problem Marion the witch hath no groats being of the fact she has holes in her bloomers and I feareth thou has lost her groats , the term I thinkest is Groatless!! stocks as maybe, but the seat on thou ducking stool spells Maid Marion, doth thou thinkest I am afraid of this wench, I will blister her with hog weed!, now where did I put that last bottle of Chateau Margo 59???
I seest young master Mike doth believe he has the measure of us all and doth tempt us with a wager. Well sir, I am willing to take thee both up and show you for the puffed up curs thou art! Tis typical that the men folk do strut and caper like a pair of turkey cocks upon the field. May your flight feathers go limp and fly half cocked! Maybe twould be wise for thee both to get some practise in, for thou shalt need to! Verily I say unto you, the stocks await your bag of bones and I shalt take the greatest of pleasure in seeing thou eat thy words, along with a rotten tomato or two!
Oi Robin, pass us that yonder jug of mead....
Round and Round I bind thee tight
Tis but sure your arrows flight
Onto times be gone for sure
Oops theres another one hit the floor!!!
Thou wager is set, a bottle of shattow margow fifty-nine.. to thy bestest bowman on thee field ."May thou'sts arrows aim be poor, & fall upon thy battle floor "...
What saeth oh dark lord, twill be a pushover, thy maid Marion is in turmoil the holes in her bloomers have gotten a whole lot worse, 'twas the seventh glass of mead that did it, she fell off thy ducking stool, pity no watter 'twas a hosepipe ban, I fear maid Marion nurses a sore head and rump end, I expect her to conceed anytime, as for thee thine arrows are sharpened and hitting thy evil normans everytime, we've probably heard the last of maid Marion when she comes to it will all be over ha!! ha!!
Good Sir (that tis a jest for a start!!!)
Thou art a dolt and a clodpoll. Tis folly to suggest that I am in turmoil over the archery contest. Nay, I am but laughing at thy foolish banter. Beware, for Herne the hunter himself has taught me well!
Art there any other brother or sister bowmen or women out yonder that can take this knave down a nock or two!
We shalt haveth to watch the wench they calleth Maid Marion. Letting a wench loose with ye olde long bow, may resulteth in her taking some poor serfs eye out. LOL.
Tis true brother, a wench with a long bow, thy stocks bekon her!! fear not brother the peasants shall thus thriumph, unless thou wench has a secret army!!!
Thee younge wench they calleth Maid Marion,
Whom wanders but never rushes,
Is proberbly someone else in disguise,
Liketh Olive from On The Buses.
Probably so but not a pretty !!
Tis well said brother, olive of Normandy i fear, mayhap maid marion duth siddle with thy Normans ? wench thy stocks & ducking stool await thee!! Thou should'st visit Master Miltons olde shoppe for thy new fitting of thy holley bloomers [ fitting No 9 methinks ]& thou besteth maketh thee water tighteth !!!! harr harr!!!!
Why spendeth thy graots at Miltons olde shoppe for thou bloomers, when one can get a better bargain and a more comfortable fit with the wind socks from the local airport.
Calling all Varlots, Knaves, Peasants, Serfs, Wenches, Slaves, Mistresses, and Damsels in distress, word has just reached thine kingdom from thy Darkest Lord of Twyford and thy greatest Surf in the kingdon of Romsey Lord Craig "Haveago," I call upon ye folks "TO ARMS"!!! sharpen thine arrows, fear not thy stocks, or thine ducking stool they only fit Maid Marion, she has secretly had a fitting unbeknown to her whilst at Mr Miltons last week, poor wench pie eyed on mead again!!
fear not thy stocks, or thine ducking stool they only fit Maid Marion,
Are thou quite sure thine ducking stool shalt taketh the strain of Maid Marion? And if thou beathe right, will thine ducking stool be able to be lifted up once loaded thus? And if ye droppeth the wench into the whatter, wilt thou not endeth up creating a tsunami?
Duth Miltons Olde Shoppe do cottage marques as well?
Ah ha, so another piece of spider spittle hath join the Maid Marion Bashing - I care not, for thou shalt all be dancing to a different tune cometh the sixteenth day of June. I know not what this fixation with my nether garments is! Thou are strange and rude fellows.I say fellows, for "men" thou art not!
Tis a vile slur on my goodly name to couple me with the dunghead Normans!! I am a true Saxon of this wondrous and noble land and I am brethren to Hereward the Wake and when he doth find that thou art a mocking one of his loyal subjects, then thy jesting will come to a painful end!
I will see if the targets can be placed at thy feet, just to make sure thee all have a chance of hitting it! Anything further away than that, will leave thee a quaking in thy boots.
If I am a witch then thou had all better watch thy step, my brother in magic Catweazle (a personal friend who lives in the cave down the track from my tree house in the wood) with deal with thee! Ha!
PS mead I likest not! Now a draught of cider or a sloe and juniper berry elixir that tis a different sieve of fleas!
Ha. Thy weazle words worry me not of your supposed prowess with the bow. Your bragging doth cause me no disdain.We from beyond the Gap of Watford,know full well that Maid Marion shall not prevail with her feeble attempts.The lead flashings from her local church,carefully secreted in her poacher's bloomers will verily weigh heavy on her balance,sending her arrows skywards towards the sun. Ne'er to be seen again. And hark ye well that I fear not Lord Graham's Chateau Colostomy. I shall be fortified on the field of battle by copious ammounts of Ye Old Tom-a potent brew to beat all others. You have been warned. I shall take no prisoners. I shall prevail over all others.My ancestor Harold's death will be avenged.
Thou ist correct about the lead flashings that hath been nicked frometh the roof of thy chapel and thus being used to weigheth down the undergarments of poachers bloomers made I mighteth inform thee from a silk parachute procured byeth the Maid Marion for the use thereof, and obtained from the Bursledon motor car boot sale for the princely sum of 4 groats, and frometh the follow advertisment:
SILKEN PARACHUTE FOR SALE.
Nay, not another two dolts with nothing on thy minds except bloomers!!!! What a sad bunch thou art!! Call yourselves Lords, thou are nothing but maggot poo! - and just as useless.
Dost thee actually know how to hold a bow and arrow? Methinks non of you have the strength to draw breath let alone draw a bow!
So Tis thy lord of the nether regions flexing his dainty bow, the last I saw of him was when he was lying face down in the mud at Hastings, give up now stay north of the gap thou northerners hath no power over us, and what s with this Maid Marion lead lined bloomers she hardly be able to stand let alone draw back thy bow, and where art thou aids from the great forest flown sideways again to thy tower tut! Tut!
I have to agree with thy noble knight Lord Graham. If thee Maid Marion should have her bloomers loaded with the lead of the local church, let us pray that she doeth not have so, as this will make a considerable strain on ye olde ducking stool and will inhibit a herniaus astrinomicalus on any poor soul attemping to lift her on the said equipment. Me thinks that some spell needeth to be said by our good friend Catweazle of the dark path under adamcos, and I hasten to add that lead lined bloomers may constitute a breech of The Health and Safety (etc) Act. 1974.
My Lord Graham should take heed. I will not contenance such mailicious screed from the likes of him and his soft Southern counterparts. I shall unleash the Whippets of War and the Flat Caps of Doom next month when I descend past the Gap of Watford into your lands for ye revelry. And rest assured that no ammount of lead lined bloomer flashing by Maid Marion will put me off my stride. The mud of Hasting's field to which you refer was no more than a mud pack to instil fear into your feeble troops and any I take prisoner will be force fed Puddings of Black and ye peas of mush.
Please do cometh into the Southern Counties and ye olde Saxon Kingdom of Wessex, as we hold control of the ancient capital of all England namely Winchester where they sayeth that King Alfred the Great burnt the cakes. ( this could have been maid maron who burnt them whilst playing cards )
I HELD A HAND THIS PAST SATURDAY,
IT MADETH MY POOR HEART SING,
IT WASETH THE SWEETEST HAND I HELD,
FOUR ACES AND A KING!
Bringeth it on oh Lord of the Nether Regions, by the hairs of Catweazles beard I telleth thee that my aim is true, and mayhap there shalt be some fun.
I shalt meeteth thee at Hexwood refreshed having arrived using the new magic of this time namely
Never hath I heard such bloated egos as from such lowly fellows. Rest assured my letcherous Lord, there wilt be no flashing of anything from me! Except of course the flash of my arrow from my trusty bow, winging its way to the centre of the target!! Tis wise of thee to bring thy whippets, for they canst go fetch all thy arrows that have missed and bring them back to thee to have another try!
As for thy black puddings thou canst stick them up thy tabard.I fear no pudding of any kind (I know Lord Graham and he is pudding enough for anyone!)
As for thy peas of mush - trust ye fellows North of Watisford to ruin a fine and noble vegetable and reduce it so to such a sorry sight.