THE DINGLY DELL by Gideon Reeling
Barra is playing the part of Xavier Bristlebloat (THE FOX) in Gideon Reelings show THE DINGLY DELL at Camp Bestival 2011
The best recipes are handed down - they are whittled away into a perfect shape by generations of spoons. They are carefully remembered, treasured, scribed with quills for eyes that cannot yet see and passed hand to hand, hand to fist, hand to hungry mouth until finally the pot will produce a sustenance fit for a King, fit for a Man or a great Beast even. But what care have we for Mutton. Our bellies and our hunger are inconsequential.
Sometimes a beast or individual must to look back into the missty mists of times past in order that he may see more clearly what he is and from what he was begot. Is not His Story the mad hurried scribblings of the victorious as they load up the chests before their trudge home or to the next port of call?
There was not always a Village here. Once all here was trees and water. And once every beast and tiny crawling thing, every blade of grass and all the leaves on all the trees were each possession to the Great Le Brune. Known as the ‘Unfair' he ventured far and wide in his crusades, alone his Lady sat within the castle keep with no-one but her ladies and her men at arms and wise men and her serving people and all their supporting retinue and estate to mind her. But Le Brune would return Victorious from his visits to the Saracen with his men at arms, and his Bishops would come and together they would slice into the pie and feed heartily and smile to sit within those warm and secure walls of stone and steel with soft things about them.
Le Braune did rule with a thorny fist and all his men at arms around him but even from afar his sword had reach. And each his Constables would take his oath to serve unto the death as if to some great prophet in their vehemence to uphold the rights of he Le Braune, and scurry here and there in labours to collect his taxes for which the King had given grace.
But there were beasts and individuals that believed that ‘He repents in thorns that sleeps in beds of roses'. There were some of these preferred a bed of briars and burrs be theirs than to spend their days picking blooms and scattering petals here and about and never yet stopped to smell the perfumes.
It was folk such as these who ventured away from walls and keeps to lodge again with Mother Nature and avail themselves of her canopy.
The best recipes are handed down - they are whittled away into a perfect shape by generations of spoons. They are carefully remembered, treasured, scribed with quills for eyes that cannot yet see and passed hand to hand, hand to fist, hand to hungry mouth until finally the pot will produce a sustenance fit for a King, fit for a Man or a great Beast even. But what care have we for Mutton. Our bellies and our hunger are inconsequential. Sometimes a beast or individual must to look back into the missty mists of times past in order that he may see more clearly what he is and from what he was begot. Is not His Story the mad hurried scribblings of the victorious as they load up the chests before their trudge home or to the next port of call?
There was not always a Village here. Once all here was trees and water. And once every beast and tiny crawling thing, every blade of grass and all the leaves on all the trees were each possession to the Great Le Brune. Known as the ‘Unfair' he ventured far and wide in his crusades, alone his Lady sat within the castle keep with no-one but her ladies and her men at arms and wise men and her serving people and all their supporting retinue and estate to mind her. But Le Brune would return Victorious from his visits to the Saracen with his men at arms, and his Bishops would come and together they would slice into the pie and feed heartily and smile to sit within those warm and secure walls of stone and steel with soft things about them.
Le Braune did rule with a thorny fist and all his men at arms around him but even from afar his sword had reach. And each his Constables would take his oath to serve unto the death as if to some great prophet in their vehemence to uphold the rights of he Le Braune, and scurry here and there in labours to collect his taxes for which the King had given grace.
But there were beasts and individuals that believed that ‘He repents in thorns that sleeps in beds of roses'. There were some of these preferred a bed of briars and burrs be theirs than to spend their days picking blooms and scattering petals here and about and never yet stopped to smell the perfumes.
It was folk such as these who ventured away from walls and keeps to lodge again with Mother Nature and avail themselves of her canopy.