It's Friday, time for a little Blessed!

Have I Got News For You - UNCUT - Brian Blessed (Part 1,2,3 and 4)

The Greatest ever fight!

I love this. It is the finest example of great TV, I have ever seen. If I am feeling low, I shove this on.

The Pechs

As you know I've been working on my writing. This is a story I found while I was investigating local Scottish myths. I really liked it and I'm hoping to add some part of it in my story.

I also found a story about the Brownies. The Brownies were mythical elf's who would be at their happiest when cleaning. JK Rowling used this idea for her house elf Dobby in the Harry Potter books. It is also how the girl version of the cubs in the UK got their name.



"LONG ago there were people in this country called the Pechs; short wee men they were, wi’ red hair, and long arms, and feet sae braid, that when it rained they could turn them up owre their heads, and then they served for umbrellas. The Pechs were great builders; they built a’ the auld castles in the kintry; and do ye ken the way they built them?—I’ll tell ye. They stood all in a row from the quarry to the place where they were building, and ilk ane handed forward the stanes to his neebor, till the hale was biggit. The Pechs were also a great people for ale, which they brewed frae heather; sae, ye ken, it bood (was bound) to be an extraornar cheap kind of drink; for heather, I’se warrant, was as plenty then as it’s now. This art o’ theirs was muckle sought after by the other folk that lived in the kintry; but they never would let out the secret, but handed it down frae father to son among themselves, wi’ strict injunctions frae ane to another never to let onybody ken about it.

"At last the Pechs had great wars, and mony o’ them were killed, and indeed they soon came to be a mere handfu’ o’ people, and were like to perish aft’ the face o’ the earth. Still they held fast by their secret of the heather yill, determined that their enemies should never wring it frae them. Weel, it came at last to a great battle between them and the Scots, in which they clean lost the day, and were killed a’ to tway, a father and a son. And sae the king o’ the Scots had these men brought before him, that he might try to frighten them into telling him the secret. He plainly told them that, if they would not disclose it peaceably, he must torture them till they should confess, and therefore it would be better for them to yield in time. ‘Weel,’ says the auld man to the king, ‘I see it is of no use to resist. But there is ae condition ye maun agree to before ye learn the secret.’ ‘And what is that?’ said the king. ‘Will ye promise to fulfil it, if it be na anything against your ain interests?’ said the man. ‘Yes,’ said the king, ‘I will and do promise so.’ Then said the Pech ‘You must know that I wish for my son’s death, though I dinna like to take his life myself.

My son ye maun kill,
Before I will you tell
How we brew the yill
Frae the heather bell!’

The king was dootless greatly astonished at sic a request; but, as he had promised, he caused the lad to be immediately put to death. When the auld man saw his son was dead, he started up wi’ a great stend,’ and cried, ‘Now, do wi’ me as you like. My son ye might have forced, for he was but a weak youth; but me you never can force.

And though you may me kill,
I will not you tell
How we brew the yill
Frae the heather bell!’

"The king was now mair astonished than before, but it was at his being sae far outwitted by a mere wild man. Hooever, he saw it was needless to kill the Pech, and that his greatest punishment might now be his being allowed to live. So he was taken away as a prisoner, and he lived for mony a year after that, till he became a very, very auld man, baith bedrid and blind. Maist folk had forgotten there was sic a man in life; but ae night, some young men being in the house where he was, and making great boasts about their feats o’ strength, he leaned owre the bed and said he would like to feel ane o’ their wrists, that he might compare it wi’ the arms of men wha had lived in former times. And they, for sport, held out a thick gaud o’ em’ to him to feel. He just snappit it in tway wi’ his fingers as ye wad do a pipe stapple. ‘It’s a bit gey gristle,’ he said; ‘but naething to the shackle-banes o’ my days.’ That was the last o’ the Pechs."

TIMMY MALLET

It wasn't till after 2am that I got to my kip last night. I had a cheese & toast sandwich around about 1am with a cup of tea.

I know what you're thinking. I shouldn't have had the cheese sandwich so late as it would obviously give me nightmares. You would be right, but nobody likes a smart arse. (that one's directed at my girlfriend)

So anyway, I started having strange dreams. Not nightmares per say, but really frickin strange. From what I can remember I was in this video.



It wasn't a scary dream as I've said, but it still freaked me out.
So for that reason, I'm putting Timmy Mallet up there with clowns and carnival folk. No more cheese at night for me. EVER!

Alter Bridge

So I'm off to see these boys tonight at the Carling Acadamy.



I met my girlfriend five years ago today at the Glasgow Green fireworks display. So tonight is our anniversary. I'm looking forward to the gig. there's nothing like a bit of rocking out to clear the cobwebs. Have a lovely Bonfire night everybody.

Marky, Who loves to rock!

Loch Vachlan

We sat close to the fire. Huddled in its warmth; hypnotised by the flames like a couple of human moths. The crackling of wood and occasional sparks, were for that moment, more engrossing than our need for conversation. Our fishing rods where beside us, perched on Y shaped branches.
The Loch was still as ice, cold and uninviting in its dormant state. Silver moonlight danced across its black surface. Trees surrounded us, like shadowy giants. Their tips roughly conducted by the rhythm of the wind.

Simon was first to notice it. “Daya hear that?” The fire cracked in anger as my attention wavered. “Hear what?” Simon pressed his finger to his lips and held up his free hand. “Shhh, listen.” I cocked my head and strained to hear. Coming from what seemed miles away, were low thumping noises. They were uneven and growing louder by the second. I straightened my head. The noise kept building to a heavy thunderstorm level until eventually, it became unbearable. Simon was shouting something, but there was no way to hear him. The ground began to shake and our footing became unsure. To the east of where we crouched covering our ears, trees exploded into more trees. Clots of earth flew up and plummeted to the Loch, sending a wave on us, and our campfire. Then it stopped.

As I removed the wet hair from my face, and flicked water from my beard, I noticed a boat floating a few meters away to my left. In the light of the now full moon, I could see a blond haired kid lying on his back in the boat. His hands tucked behind his head, he stared up at the mast. He seemed lost in a daydream. Too captured in the moment to notice the chaos around him. I turned to Simon, my mouth agape. I pointed to the boat, just as a roar, which made the previous noises sound like a mouse scurrying across a wooden floor, erupted to our right. Clutching our ears and screaming, we collapsed. When the roar stopped, the thunderous footsteps started again. I staggered to my feet and grabbed the nearest tree. I looked across. A dark fog engulfed the Loch side trees.

The fog quickly started to dissipate. The trees cursed by its touch, stooped and ashen: resembled a cigarette when left to burn. The faintest sneeze from a bird would bring them down. The fog, almost gone now, still had a dark core. It moved up and down, in time with the hellish footsteps, finally stopping at the edge of the Loch. It began to grow again, seeping out into the night sky. Creeping ominously towards the water, giving it the appearance of a passing steam train. I still held the tree, like some paternal shield, transfixed on the mysterious vapour.

Gently, as the fog touched the Loch, it collapsed into itself; a monstrous forked tongue snaked out and dove under the water. In a second, it was out of the water again. A massive pike flapped furiously, imprisoned, in the coiled end of the tongue. “Fish!” Simon, still lying on the ground, shouted. I actually took my eyes off the thing to look at him and shake my head.

When I retuned my attention to it, the tongue was drawing back to a long snout. A snout lined with teeth the size of men. Its jaws were vast; they measured at least half the Loch in breadth. The black fog was coming from its cave size nostrils. As it brushed over the massive pike, which now looked like a baby goldfish stolen from the safe haven of its bowl. The pike stopped flapping; the forked tongue unfurled its thin tip and let the fish drop lifeless to the water. The creature then moved forward, into the Loch.

Seeing the creature in its entirety when it entered the Loch was like watching an old Japanese Godzilla movie. It had the shape of an Alligator. If an Alligator, could grow to the size of a battleship. Apart from the ash of the withered trees on its back, it was pure white. Its scales reflected the silver of the moonlight. It would have been almost beautiful, if it were not for the one burning red eye perched atop its huge snout, and its three mountain shaped cranium ridges. It lay in the water, half in, half out and started to open its mouth in a yawning motion. Water began to rush in through its gaping jaws. As if it was breathing in the entire Loch. When it closed them, the water flooded back out, creating a wave. The boy and the boat moved slowly forward, towards the monster.


The rest of this tale can be found on a cereal box near you soon.
Marky.