"All around my hat I will wear the green willow
Oh all around my hat for twelve month and a day.
And if anyone should ask me the reason why I'm wearing it -
It's my fucking business, 'cos it's my fucking hat."
I have no idea where to start with this. Chronological? Alphabetical? Emotional? Allegorical? Geographical? Fuck knows. Yeah, all right, why not?
Geographical
Canterbury. It has a very cool cathedral, and I had Seraphim in my head grinning over all the stonework and saying how there were seven dead Tremere buried under the archbishop's throne. Vaulted ceilings and cloisters are pretty. Walking round in newrocks whilst holding a huge black-edged book that looks like a bible (either traditional or satanic but is in fact Jonathan Strange) whilst on the arm of a boy in a kilt does get one some odd looks.
Alphabetical
A is for almost unintentionally Athanasian
B is for baking fairy cakes with brandy icing
C is for circlets of silver with amethyst and oakleaves
D is for a song about donkeys that doesn't get sung in public
E is for eating a coke float
Chronological
There was a wedding. I thought it might be like attending a party at the Unseelie Court. It kinda was. The bride was half an hour late and wore biker boots under her dress.
When I wasn't talking to a girl with multi-coloured hair about how pirate weddings or viking weddings would be really cool as a business venture, I was talking to an ex-army-Sergeant called Jay and his lady Sue, both of whom were lovely if somewhat unhinged. I am it seems batting three for three on freaking out squaddies by asking perfectly reasonable question like 'so what do dead people smell like - is it like tined tunafish?' and by having more scars than they do, something which is I'm reliably informed 'not right'. Heehee.
At the end of the evening there was some dancing with the distinctly inebriated and amazingly bendy Sue - she really could dance. (And had a habit of flinging herself backwards with abandon - no warning given - which scared the hell out of me as there was only so much I could do to counterbalance.) There was also some rather slutty dancing with the lady in question and being kissed by the lady in question. I figured if she was gonna wench at anyone it had better be me as that way Jay wouldn't kill anyone. As a plan it seemed to work.
Emotional
Yes. Disastrous? Sort of, yeah. When there are phrases like, "I spent years avoiding any sort of leash and now I seem to have made myself a noose" you know it's not all good. (Although "I followed your daughter home and wish to marry her," is quite entertaining.) I apparently have some perfect talent for turning hearts from stone to flesh just in time for them to be stabbed - hurrah for me.
There once was a girl called Morrigan who had an imaginary friend called Jay-Ache. And anytime anyone said to her, 'Can I be your best friend?' she looked a bit shifty and hopeful and confused all at once. This was because Jay-Ache was her best friend, but at the same time (being perspicacious and pokey-eyed) she recognised she couldn't ignore the real world. (And also these new people were nice, even if they weren't Jay-Ache {and who knew anyway, maybe he was living in their tummy or maybe they'd actually be better than him?}. Morrigan was loyal whilst still being open to possibility. Somehow this worked without broken promises - although she certainly couldn't have said how.)
Anyway. When she told people not to pester her 'cos she had Jay-Ache, they mostly looked at her funny and either got offended or tried to ignore this invisible acquaintance altogether. But the girl for her part never invited them back for tea - and cake would have been right out - (yet she always set a place at table for Jay-Ache).
One time a very particular boy asked if he could be best friends and she said 'no-maybe-no-maybe-i-have-a-best-friend-already-he's-imaginary-no-maybe-i-don't-know'. The boy in question was likely as equally disheartened as he was hopeful at this, but he made himself quite as agreeable as a potential best friend could and Morrigan at last agreed to go to his house (probably not for cake, but maybe for tea or at least for talking and running round the garden).
The boy set the table for tea and as he was sorting the cups he said, "Two places or three?".
Morrigan scowled. "Two?"
"What about your Jay-Ache?" the boy enquired.
And Morrigan blinked and sat down rather abruptly and felt very ill in her head and her heart and her tummy. You see she had got so used to dismissing Jay-Ache when anyone else was about and instead inventing excuses everyone else believed in, she had almost filed him amidst such flimsy excuses - despite the fact he was not. (This might seem very strange and equally wrong to you, but I promise, if enough people tell you that 2+2 does not equal what you think it does {despite the fact you know it does} you will start to play along a little just to stop getting tiresome red scribbles over your work-book.)
The upshot of it all was that Morrigan felt awful for even thinking of having tea with anyone that wasn't Jay-Ache, the boy felt awful for asking her to but hopeful that she might anyway, and Jay-Ache was quiet, sardonic and still invisible - as was his wont. Morrigan apologised to everyone she could, twice; the boy invited her back for tea another day and Jay-Ache was softly well-spoken as ever. And that was that.
If, by the by, one is looking for a moral or a clear cut happy ending, or even a true ending, it is not to be found here.
There. All of that may or may not have made a lot of sense, but then again the weekend didn't make a lot of sense - it was definitely fun and certainly mad, but sense in any way was not its strong suit.
And if anyone should ask me the reason why I'm wearing it -
It's my fucking business, 'cos it's my fucking hat."
I have no idea where to start with this. Chronological? Alphabetical? Emotional? Allegorical? Geographical? Fuck knows. Yeah, all right, why not?
Geographical
Canterbury. It has a very cool cathedral, and I had Seraphim in my head grinning over all the stonework and saying how there were seven dead Tremere buried under the archbishop's throne. Vaulted ceilings and cloisters are pretty. Walking round in newrocks whilst holding a huge black-edged book that looks like a bible (either traditional or satanic but is in fact Jonathan Strange) whilst on the arm of a boy in a kilt does get one some odd looks.
Alphabetical
A is for almost unintentionally Athanasian
B is for baking fairy cakes with brandy icing
C is for circlets of silver with amethyst and oakleaves
D is for a song about donkeys that doesn't get sung in public
E is for eating a coke float
Chronological
There was a wedding. I thought it might be like attending a party at the Unseelie Court. It kinda was. The bride was half an hour late and wore biker boots under her dress.
When I wasn't talking to a girl with multi-coloured hair about how pirate weddings or viking weddings would be really cool as a business venture, I was talking to an ex-army-Sergeant called Jay and his lady Sue, both of whom were lovely if somewhat unhinged. I am it seems batting three for three on freaking out squaddies by asking perfectly reasonable question like 'so what do dead people smell like - is it like tined tunafish?' and by having more scars than they do, something which is I'm reliably informed 'not right'. Heehee.
At the end of the evening there was some dancing with the distinctly inebriated and amazingly bendy Sue - she really could dance. (And had a habit of flinging herself backwards with abandon - no warning given - which scared the hell out of me as there was only so much I could do to counterbalance.) There was also some rather slutty dancing with the lady in question and being kissed by the lady in question. I figured if she was gonna wench at anyone it had better be me as that way Jay wouldn't kill anyone. As a plan it seemed to work.
Emotional
Yes. Disastrous? Sort of, yeah. When there are phrases like, "I spent years avoiding any sort of leash and now I seem to have made myself a noose" you know it's not all good. (Although "I followed your daughter home and wish to marry her," is quite entertaining.) I apparently have some perfect talent for turning hearts from stone to flesh just in time for them to be stabbed - hurrah for me.
There once was a girl called Morrigan who had an imaginary friend called Jay-Ache. And anytime anyone said to her, 'Can I be your best friend?' she looked a bit shifty and hopeful and confused all at once. This was because Jay-Ache was her best friend, but at the same time (being perspicacious and pokey-eyed) she recognised she couldn't ignore the real world. (And also these new people were nice, even if they weren't Jay-Ache {and who knew anyway, maybe he was living in their tummy or maybe they'd actually be better than him?}. Morrigan was loyal whilst still being open to possibility. Somehow this worked without broken promises - although she certainly couldn't have said how.)
Anyway. When she told people not to pester her 'cos she had Jay-Ache, they mostly looked at her funny and either got offended or tried to ignore this invisible acquaintance altogether. But the girl for her part never invited them back for tea - and cake would have been right out - (yet she always set a place at table for Jay-Ache).
One time a very particular boy asked if he could be best friends and she said 'no-maybe-no-maybe-i-have-a-best-friend-already-he's-imaginary-no-maybe-i-don't-know'. The boy in question was likely as equally disheartened as he was hopeful at this, but he made himself quite as agreeable as a potential best friend could and Morrigan at last agreed to go to his house (probably not for cake, but maybe for tea or at least for talking and running round the garden).
The boy set the table for tea and as he was sorting the cups he said, "Two places or three?".
Morrigan scowled. "Two?"
"What about your Jay-Ache?" the boy enquired.
And Morrigan blinked and sat down rather abruptly and felt very ill in her head and her heart and her tummy. You see she had got so used to dismissing Jay-Ache when anyone else was about and instead inventing excuses everyone else believed in, she had almost filed him amidst such flimsy excuses - despite the fact he was not. (This might seem very strange and equally wrong to you, but I promise, if enough people tell you that 2+2 does not equal what you think it does {despite the fact you know it does} you will start to play along a little just to stop getting tiresome red scribbles over your work-book.)
The upshot of it all was that Morrigan felt awful for even thinking of having tea with anyone that wasn't Jay-Ache, the boy felt awful for asking her to but hopeful that she might anyway, and Jay-Ache was quiet, sardonic and still invisible - as was his wont. Morrigan apologised to everyone she could, twice; the boy invited her back for tea another day and Jay-Ache was softly well-spoken as ever. And that was that.
If, by the by, one is looking for a moral or a clear cut happy ending, or even a true ending, it is not to be found here.
There. All of that may or may not have made a lot of sense, but then again the weekend didn't make a lot of sense - it was definitely fun and certainly mad, but sense in any way was not its strong suit.