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On the death of The Ice Lady in 1603 the English Crown went to the next descendant of Brady VII. This was the Scottish Queen The Ice Maiden who was incidentally a distant Great, great grandparent of The Ice Queen and lived at The Ice Mansion long before Buttercup ate all the porridge, in fact long, long before the Ice Queen was born . She became Ice Maiden 1 of England and believed in 'the divine right of queens' and took little notice of Members of The Jedi Council. She found a country divided by religion and although he managed to make enemies of both The Jedi and The Sith Lords she was looked upon as a Sith Queen and persecution of Jedi continued.
A plot to kill her was devised only two years after The Ice Maiden was crowned Queen of England which became known as 'The Gunpowder Plot'. Members of this group of Catholics included The Zookeepers Great Great Grandad, Diesels Great Great Great Uncle Bob, and Chucklevisions Great Great Great Cousin In Law although the best remembered of the group is Guy Fawkes - Born in York in 1570 and educated there as a Sith Lord. After his father's death he converted to The Jedi. In 1593 he left England to become a 'soldier of fortune' and joined the Spanish army in Flanders. He began to use the Spanish form of his name Guido Fawkes. Fawkes was approached in Flanders by The Zookeepers Great Great Grandad and crossed to England in 1604 to join the group.
Initially a house was rented next door to the The Ice Mansion and it was proposed to dig a tunnel from the cellar to the The Ice Mansions great hall. There, barrels of gunpowder would be piled and when the The Ice Maiden and all her subjects were assembled for the annual gossip ceremony on February 7th 1605 the barrels would be ignited. Guy Fawkes was set the task of lighting the fuse and escaping as best he could.
Digging began but progress was slow and by December 1604 the Great Hall had not been reached. It was then learnt that the Gossip Ceremony had been postponed until 3rd October.
A cellar directly under the The Great Hall of the Ice Mansion was then taken by Guy Fawkes, under the name of Burty, and he was instilled as the servant of the new owner. Small barrels of gunpowder were ferried across the River Calder by night, taken one by one into the cellar and covered with firewood. Elaborate plans had been made by Diesels Great Great Great Uncle Bob and the others as to what was to happen following the death of The Ice Maiden. The Bobble Maiden, a daughter of The Ice Maiden, was at once to be proclaimed Queen. Fighting was anticipated before Ice Maidens' followers would agree to her accession and in preparation arms and ammunition were stored in various parts of the country.
At this point a further member was brought into the plot, The Muffin Patriot. Money was needed to buy arms and The Muffin Patrot promised to give £2,000. The group returned to London in September ready for the Gossip Ceremony but again it was postponed, this time to November 5th. During this further period of waiting one of the plotters, probably The Muffin Patriot, wrote to Lord Muffin (his brother-in-law) with a warning not to be at the ceremony as...'they shall receive a terrible blow ... and yet shall not see who hurts them'. Guy Fawkes had been left in London again while the others rode to positions around the country to be ready to 'rouse their fellow Jedi after the death of the Queen. He was to spend the day prior to the ceremony in the cellar. A special slow-burning fuse had been prepared and placed in position. Suddenly there was a knock on the door and outside he found Lord Muffin and the Lord Chancellor who asked who he was and what he was doing. He replied he was a servant of Burty (the cellar had been hired in his name). A quick look in the cellar obviously revealed nothing but stacks of firewood ready for winter and the two men went away.
First to arrive were a angry Buttercup and her friend Daisy, Buttercup was always angry now-a-days since she was going through adolescence and had pinched the porridge from the Ice Mansion when Uncle Shrek went to the off-licence to get some Stellas and had slept in Han’s bed.
She was angry today because Luke Baggins had lent her PSP to her little brother The Uphill Gangster without telling her, Buttercup hadn’t bothered about her PSP for months and it had been sat in Mad Mick’s bedroom gathering dust but now because someone was getting pleasure out of her redundant property she was angry.
Guy Fawkes, after contact with Burty to report the incident, returned calmly to the cellar. However, his sense of relief was short-lived for later that night a magistrate and a file of soldiers suddenly appeared and Guy Fawkes was overpowered. A more thorough search of the cellar soon revealed the thirty or more barrels of gunpowder and Fawkes was taken away. The others could not be warned of the failure of the plot.
The Ice Maiden herself questioned Guy Fawkes and although he admitted to plotting to blow up the Houses of Parliament he refused to give the names of other conspirators. Several of the group had joined together at Holbeach and all realised there was no support for them - no-one would take up arms with them and risk their lives in a cause that was obviously doomed to failure. Eventually the house they were staying in was surrounded by soldiers and armed men. The Zookeepers Great Great Grandad was killed and the others taken prisoner when they were too weak or badly wounded to fight any longer. Some were hung on January 30th 1606, but Fawkes and others were hung on the 31st except for The Muffin Patriot. He was sent to the Tower of London but not harshly treated. When he died shortly afterwards poison was suspected but never proved. Part of the Gossip Ceremony each year includes a search of the buildings by the Yeoman of the Guards in their Tudor uniforms, armed with pikes.
Since them days far in the dawn of time we have always used the time around the 5th November to celebrate our bonfires in memory and celebration of the thwarted plot, If the Ice Maiden had been killed then The Ice Queen, Luke Baggins, Bobble, Stig and Hans would not be here today and the world would be overall a much darker place.
For myself in the village of Bradley this means we have our annual get together at the venue of The Zookeepers house, which maybe a decade ago was our annual p*ss up but now-a-days as a result of the excesses of alcohol our numbers have dwindled and those of us who are still surviving have given up drinking due to health or mental issues such has pancreatis or insanity. So well the autumn leaves fall quietly onto the soft ground.
Smells of bonfire glide through the air. The redness of November hangs from the clouds. The chilly breeze clinging onto the ears of those who choose to follow the Bonfire tradition. The odd firework shooting up into the deep black night, and then exploding, revealing a beautiful light show of seconds. All is well, as many of the British people socialise and drink, oblivious to what is going on, within the shadows.
A figure, no taller than 6ft, no older than 40 sits in the darkness of the woods sipping away at his kestrel super-strength. Waiting. Waiting for his cue. Waiting for his cue silently. A master of disguise, or maybe just a master disguise. He never seems to smile, he never seems to frown, he never seems to show any emotion at all. He just stands within the shadows, lurking away from people, waiting, staring, listening, silently. Totally aware of his surroundings and amongst all things time. His face seems long and pale, and his eyes dead as the night, his hair, his dark thin hair, combed over, and parted to the side. He stands there motionless, his ungloved hands placed neatly in his jacket pockets. Black seems to be his colour; his long heavy jacket, his thin tight trousers, and his tall thick boots are all black.
He waits.
He didn’t want to got to The Zookeepers bonfire this year and he wasn’t going to dress up as Father Christmas neither, he had withdrawn from life, he was The Ticking Bomb also known as the Muffin Man.
About ½ mile from where The Muffin man was sat staring into space thinking up the most inconvenient times in which to play his stupid music on full volume in the Zookeepers garden things were beginning to heat up because once again The Zookeeper had decided to light the Bonfire before the majority of the guests had arrived.
I just had to be the first to try out the wig as you can see in the photo (right) and I did feel a sense of relief.
I am not quite ready to go out in public yet but sat at this keyboard in the safety of my bedroom I have forfeited a night at the AA to experiment wearing my mums clothes and well maybe it could be the secret stress buster that The Tasmanian Devil Bitch speaks of.
By the time the evening was over most of us had experimented by wearing the wig much to the gone out looks of the neighbours who
She was also angry with Hermanie, Stamp-off and Wirral for beating up her friend Daisy because they both wouldn’t camp out Friday night, but the real reason why the beat Daisy up was because they wanted Buttercup to join them and learn to become agents of the dark side but Daisy was in the way.
Buttercup wasn’t speaking to her Uncle Mad Mick neither because he had banned her from his bedroom for beating Luke up and threatening to throw his PSP on the floor otherwise she would probably have got a lift up the road with him in his car affectionately called Christine II.
The Zookeeper welcomed Buttercup and Daisy into his Zoo with the raging bonfire blazing away in his backgarden and anxiously swallowed a diclofenac for his muscle pains in his back along with two Ibuprofens.
The Zookeeper was missing his drip stand, he had got very close to it after his recent stay in hospital, in fact he had modified it with more low profile wheels and a titanium body, at first it was suggested that he wear a hat with a hook on the top to affix his drip when leaving hospital but in the end it was decided that he should do without for a while anyway.
Every year around November time he goes into hospital for a few days and this year was no different, this years health collapse was a result of Master Shrek leaving him his dogs to look after while he moved in “temporarily” at his sister The Ice Queens Ice Mansion and then conveniently forgetting about them.
The dogs caused The Zookeeper to have another one of his “do’s” and in the end resulted with him returning the dogs to Uncle Shrek and getting thrown over the Ice Queens washing line by The Russian Spy, it was also the reason why Uncle Shrek wasn’t here to entertain us all with another of his pyrotechnic displays lighting the bonfire since now The Zookeeper and Uncle Shrek have ceased speaking to each other.
Soon after Buttercup and Daisy arrived then Mad Mick, Luke Baggins, The Bradley Megaphone and Marcus Deponicus Popeyeus turned up to join The Zookeeper and his son The Uphill Gangster for the exiting evening.
Mad Mick brought with him a big box of fireworks and some rockets he had bought off a lad at his works for £37, Mad Mick was a 3 year recovered alcoholic, a notorious character easily capable of fitting in nicely in the TV program “One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest”.
The Bradley Megaphone is The Zookeepers mum and also the caterer for the evening, she is also one of the villages main source of Gossip, it is said that she has detailed files of everyone she knows, she also has a Zoo of her own having 6 ½ dogs and several cats and loves painting peoples houses.
Also Marcus Deponicus Popeyeus is The Zookeepers brother who made a miraculous recovery after a severe motorcycle accident in 1987 back in the days when we were all mad tear-aways.
Finally Luke Baggins is Mad Mick and The Ice Queens son, and Luke was a bit upset as well with Uncle Shrek, because he too had also the hand of generosity badly bitten (see note *)
* about a year ago Uncle Shrek had his former residence The Salt Pot Mansion robbed and as a result had his games console pinched and well Luke being the generous and angelic character he was lent Uncle Shrek his own PS2 because Mad Mick had two of them at his house.
Now one year later he wanted the PS2 back since his own was playing up so well he had asked his mum the Ice Queen and then taken one of the three PS2’s at his house and brought it to his dads.
Well to cut a long story short, Uncle Shrek had told The Ice Queen that the one Luke had taken was not in fact the one Luke had lent him, but the one Luke had lent was in fact broken and he wanted the working one back because that belonged to The Knight Rider, so as a result of this Luke was now without a PS2!
Now there were 8 of us at an annual event which had seen in the past over 30 people turn up but sadly over the years these social events gradually die a death and many of the characters have found far more exciting places to go to celebrate the thwarting of the plot back in the 16th century to kill the Ice Maiden or have been consumed by the dark side.
Talking of the dark side the 9th person to arrive was Diesel, who The Zookeeper has made his personal quest to train as a Jedi and despite the odd set back has made tremendous strides forward out of the shadows into the light.
Diesel claims to have initially been in his greatest moment of darkness at the depths of despair visited by a magic pixie who told him to find the Zookeeper like Ben Kenobi told Luke Skywalker in Star Wars to visit the Degobah system and see Yoda.
The rest has they say is history, and well here he was Diesel in all his glory come to join us with our annual bonfire which was burning away in the centre of the Garden while we all excitedly anticipated the evenings events.
Our final and most eagerly awaited guests of the evening were Chuckle vision and The Tasmanian Devil Bitch who was accompanied by two of his bodyguards and had decided to celebrate the memorable evening by coming out into the open with his “secret” hobby of cross dressing (which was of course thanks to The Bradley Megaphone common knowledge to the rest of us)
As the fire crackled, Chuckle vision and Luke busied themselves entertaining us all with an excellent fireworks display, The Bradley Megaphone set about making the burgers and hotdogs and Diesel chatted contentedly with each other about quantum electrodynamics and Feynman diagrams I gave The Tasmanian Devil Bitch an extensive interview.
“I just heard this rumour, you know this viscous rumour that if I dressed up something like a woman, I would get four beers and well four beers is four beers, Ill be sharing them with our lass of course, unfortunately she cant be with us tonight because she is working till ½ nine like – shell be shafted” said The Tasmanian Devil Bitch struggling to be heard through all the noise.
I pressed him further as his two bodyguards eyed me up with concerned faces then he divulged it all…
“I don’t know I guess the compulsion to wear female clothing began by chance at the age of 10. For no apparent reason I went into my sister's bedroom and finding her underwear drawer open I took her bra and panties to my room and tried them on. She was coming up to her 12th birthday and had decided that only girls would be invited to her party. I had been pressing to be included for sometime to no avail. Although I had returned the bra to the drawer, the panties were found in my room. I was told not to take other people's things again and I thought that was the end of the matter. Two weeks later on the day of the party I was told that they had changed their minds and I could go but they had a surprise for me. I was led to my bedroom and to my horror laid out on my bed was a party dress, frilly knickers, knee length white socks and even a `Shirley Temple' type wig. Despite my protests I was told if I wanted to be a girl here's my chance. The party went ahead and I was the centre of fun. It did not end there. For 2 weeks every evening after school I had to change into girl's clothing as a punishment. To my surprise as the evenings went on, I was secretly enjoying the experience. Since then at every opportunity I have cross dressed.
I sometimes like wearing our lasses knickers. I didn't think it would go any further than that. Then I started wearing her camisole top and then her bra. Eventually I started putting on her dress. By the time I got to that stage I realised I was a lost cause and that I might as well put make up on as well. I then had to buy a wig so that I could go out of the house in my dress and make up. A bald man walking down the street in a frock would look pretty stupid wouldn't he?'
I think that I cross dress to escape from stress, when they put on stockings, a dress and a bra I can feel all my cares and worries fading away. I feel calm and relaxed and so my body benefits enormously. Choosing underwear and putting on lipstick and nail varnish helps me to find a different part of my personality and to forget my day to day anxieties. For me transvestism is a healthier way of relaxing than smoking or drinking and probably no more expensive or absurd a hobby than golf.
Some may feel it surprising that I should be able to throw off stresses simply by putting on different clothes. But there is plenty of proof to show that clothes do have an impact on the way we look at the world and the way we feel.
There are, without doubt, other ways in which when stressed I could obtain relief. But most of the available alternatives are likely to be considerably more damaging to me, our lass and society in general than dressing up in fancy lingerie. I could undoubtedly obtain a similar level of release by taking tranquillisers (likely to become an addictive habit like The Zookeeper has found to his cost), smoking cigarettes (likely to give me cancer) or drinking myself senseless. Alcohol alters the senses and so makes stress bearable for many. Clothes can affect the senses with a similar result. The difference is that wearing silks and satins won't wreck my liver. Why is the importance of the skin as a sense organ so vastly and consistently underestimated? It is odd that society should, in general, choose to regard alcoholism as a forgivable and understandable consequence of overwork whereas cross dressing remains such a misunderstood remedy that most transvestites make enormous efforts to keep their dressing a secret.
I sit on a bench in the garden, in the sun, painting my finger nails in a gloriously decadent shade of red. I know of no more relaxing activity. You have to concentrate totally. It is impossible to think of anything else. Painting your nails requires every ounce of available concentration - particularly when you are using your non dominant hand to paint the nails of your dominant hand. I understand at last why receptionists never even look up when they're painting their nails.'
`There is a woman in every man. But some men just never let her out. I think they are the unlucky ones.'”
By the time he had finished talking all twelve of us were listening intently to what he had to say, most of us had been there using chemicals in one form or another to relieve stress, The Zookeeper (who was as I write this popping a Tramadol) and Chuckle vision who was today 15 weeks sober after chronic pancreatis brought on by alcohol, myself who still attended AA over 3 years after admitting defeat following a lot of years with active alcoholism and Diesel who had just been liberated from the darkness by The Magic Pixie.
It has even been rumoured though not substantiated that Daisy and Buttercup had experimented with chemical stress relief, could cross dressing be the answer though for us boys, just start letting out our locked in feminine side.
Mad Mick waited patiently in Christine II while Marcus Deponicus Popeyeus negotiated climbing into the passenger seat with the assistance of his mum The Bradley Megaphone for there return journey back to there 6 ½ dogs and numerous cats.
On Mad Mick’s return from the first Taxi journey he picked up the promising future Jedi; Diesel, Buttercup, Daisy and Luke leaving the Zookeeper and his son The Uphill Gardner alone once again.
Half a mile away in the depth of the woods an autumn leaf falls quietly onto the soft ground. Smells of bonfire glide through the air. The redness of November hangs from the clouds. The chilly breeze clinging onto the ears of those who choose to follow the Bonfire tradition. The odd firework shooting up into the deep black night, and then exploding, revealing a beautiful light show of seconds.
The Muffin man awakes from his alcohol induced trance feeling a little disorientated and stands up and staggers a little before wobbling off back home.
had come out to share our bonfire, the firework display was spectacular but I did get a few minutes in Chuckle visions hectic schedule to ask him a few questions as well.
"I was an alcoholic
I fell over all the time.
Timber! I didn’t fall alone.
When I passed out I tried to take a few with me.
It was hell on my friends.
In the finish I had no friends.
I lost everything through
I lost all self respect. I even lost my pornography collection
That was all 15 weeks ago when I reached rock bottom with pancreatis and I prayed and prayed…
God can do anything, take the needle out of the arm, take drugs out of the blood stream, and restore sanity in a flash. But that’s not my story. My recovery was slow. Maybe slow is best. I repented four years before I was able to hear His word. Faith comes from hearing, and I couldn’t hear until I could hear. I still had the compulsion, the urge to use. Life was hell, dry hell. I was still insane. Still running the show Chucklevisions’ way, not God’s. I lived in anxiety (the Spirit of Fear), an insane man, a frightened failure, a dry drunk.
Finally, 15 weeks ago, I surrendered. At the end of my rope, on my knees at five AM, I asked God to take it all, my life, everything. I resigned as General Manager of Myself. I said the sinner’s prayer incoherently, but the Lord knew my heart. Unconditional capitulation was the only way for me. `All to Him I freely give. I surrender all.’
Within weeks I was led to my Saviour, Jesus Christ, by a born-again Christian who took me to baptism, total immersion. (The tank was quite small. The pastor thought they might have to do me in sections.) Rising from the waters, I received the Holy Spirit, spoke in another tongue. Joy, freedom, peace - my whole being was flooded with the love of the Lord. I have not looked back since. God straightened out all my affairs. Took away my fears and anxieties. The compulsion to drink was removed on that day.
Removed by Jesus.
God gave me a sound mind. He meets all my needs. I am the happiest of men - and perfectly upstanding. Praise His Name.
There is no one too sick to be healed, no one too vile to be saved. Jesus rescued me, the sickest psychologist, and He will do the same for anyone who surrenders. Thank you for reading my story. Bless Lord Jesus! "
Like The Tasmanian Devil Bitch he too had found new life where all around was hopelessness and now he drank lucozade and exclaimed “praise the lord” at every encounter.
Back away from all the noise deep in the woods the Muffin man sat still, very still; the closer you get to the Muffin Man the clearer the noise becomes, although it still is very quiet; tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. And when your brain does eventually register the sound, you feel empty, although it is just for a mere two seconds, the feeling of emptiness then hangs above you like a rain cloud, just hanging, silently, motionless, waiting for its cue.
In his eyes a clock sits, ticking and tocking. But to see the clock a sharp eye is needed, for it is so faint and small. Just under his eyes, a scar lye, a long thin scar, almost appearing to bleed, slowly, and endlessly.
It’s now getting late, and people make their way back home, tired, often drunk, the screaming of fireworks play inside their ears, and their noses full up with burnt wood chips. One after another they leave, but he just stands there, in the shadows, waiting, waiting for his cue. Stood in the same stance for hours and hours waiting…
Back at The Zookeepers, finding Diesel still talking nostalgically to Marcus Deponicus Popeyeus both eating one of The Bradley Megaphones beefburgers I asked him just to say a few words of significance into my Dictaphone and here is what he said while humming the theme tune to the film “Trainspotting”
"Choose The Force
Choose a side.
Choose a Jedi Knight.
Choose a wise old two foot high puppet for a teacher.
Choose a f**king big Deathstar.
Choose star destroyers, blasters, TIE fighters and a light sabre.
Choose a black suit, black helmet and matching cape.
Choose a loan from Jabba the Hutt.
Choose a philosophy.
Choose an Emperor.
Choose a planet with an orbiting moon.
Choose a three planet system in
the Dromoda system and f**king enslave them. Choose the rebels and wonder why the fuck you're kneeling by the Emperor on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting next to the Emperor watching whole planets being enslaved in mind controlling, force crushing battles, stuffing f**king replacement parts in your body. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, p*ssing your last in front of your son in a miserable Deathstar, nothing more than an evil dictator to the selfish, evil, f**ked up brats who fight for you.
Choose a future.
Choose the Force. I chose not to choose the Force.
I chose something else.
I chose the Dark Side ......"
But today Diesel has put it all behind him and like me lives for today and for the moment now, right on queue at that very moment a kaleidoscope of colours burst in the sky above us and I had an overwhelming feeling that everything was going to be alright.
Luke Baggins and The Uphill Gangster were playing with there lightsabres and Chuckle vision was lighting the last of the fireworks, The Tasmanian Devil Bitch was chasing The Zookeeper round the garden calling him “petal” and adding he understood he was a little shy because it must have been a while.
Daisy and Buttercup where laughing gaily with Marcus Deponicus Popeyeus while nibbling away at the last of the Hotdogs prepared by our excellent caterer The Bradley Megaphone.
The embers of the bonfire cast an eerie glow round the garden, the odd flame ignited briefly before burning up the small amount of fuel it had found and then dying again, in the Kitchen the Bradley Megaphone was getting all her plates together and Marcus Deponicus was hobbling in from the Garden.
In the room The Zookeeper was taking his nightly dose of 2 Naproxen, 1 Tramadol, 4 Lumeracoxib and 1 Diclofenac while Diesel gave Daisy an Buttercup advise on future boyfriends.
Our annual bonfire was winding down now and first to bid farewell was Chuckle vision, The Tasmanian Devil Bitch and his two bodyguards who had all come on there bicycles, an unusual site I know subject to wolf-whistles in jest at Tas’s choice of clothing.
The End
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