I'm a witch, not a landing strip

Last week's piloting episode made me think that perhaps I should look into getting a broom upgrade. Admittedly, not much more speed can be wrought out of Broom, but it could stand to be a bit more manoeuverable. The flyer from Dar Kart's Brooms & Hoes leant some pressure to my pondering. Well, that and nearly being flattened by a spaceship!

Yesterday evening, I was flying back from the pub - I'd only had one gin & tonic (Tanqueray, not hideous, chemically Gordon's) so I wasn't drunk - when I got the feeling that I wasn't alone.

"Dragon?" I called out, looking left. "Is that you?"

No answer. Perhaps it was that pegasus I've seen hanging around with Svaathor da Vjis?

"Oi! Birdbrain! Where are you?" I shouted, looking right.

Nothing.

Crap. It must be those Hoodies from Lakenham. Evil little sods have 'obtained' a warlock's hoe from somewhere. Tragically, their underdeveloped, delinquent minds are being developed by the hoe. I keep meaning to go over there and sort them out, but I just haven't had the time. That hoe has probably convinced them all that they're invincible warlocks by now. Actually, that would explain the recent increase in unsolved weird crimes.

"Oi, you little bleeders" I yelled as I looked up. And trailed off... "... Bugger."

A giant spaceship, the like of which I'd never seen before, was not three feet from the top of my head. And descending fast!

Jinkies!

I swerved to my left, opening up the acceleratrix. Broom lurched as it suddenly increased in speed. I lurched, too, and nearly brought up my lunch. Urrrgh. It wasn't that nice going down - I sure as Hell didn't want to taste it coming up as well.
As I swallowed, I felt a jarring shunt. Broom was suddenly pointing skywards and my back was pressed against warm metal.

Pushing off, Broom and I clattered up the side of the descending spaceship until we were left hovering as it headed down towards Carey's Meadow. Landing legs emerged from beneath the main body of the ship.

I stared in disbelief.

"Hey! You can't park there" I yelled after it. "That's a watermeadow. You'll sink!"

Pilots

It seems they'll let anyone be a pilot these days.

Not last week a yobbo on a magic carpet overtook me far too close for safety, never mind comfort. The leading edge of his 'carpet can't have been more than a hand's width from Broom's bristles as he pulled out. Needless to say, the thaumic fields of the two vehicles - and I give that description in the loosest sense of the word - clashed, causing Broom to stutter, the resulting feedback created a repulsor field, rather like that created when the positive poles of two magnets are brought together, which pushed Broom and 'carpet apart. The 'carpet pilot took off without so much as a wave of apology. The git.

Fuming, I gunned the acceleratrix, blasting out of the downward spin I found myself in before arcing around and executing an intercept course for the 'carpet. Magic carpets are renowned for their comfort and luxury, and the ability to carry multiple passengers in nothing less than opulence. What they are not known for is speed and manoeuverability. Probably because they are neither fast nor manoeuverable. Luckily.

As Broom and I closed in on our target, I obscured us, allowing a stealthy approach. Edging down Broom's shaft, I leaned forward and reached out. Another advantage of the Host being tall, is that I didn't have to bring Broom close enough to the 'carpet for the thaumic fields to touch again - the Host's arms were more than long enough to reach over and snag a thread from the trailing edge of the 'carpet. Having successfully caught the thread, I dropped back grinning as the 'carpet slowly unravelled. I descended, unobscuring, and came to a stop near the top of a Douglas fir where I wrapped the thread around the trunk a few times before tying it securely, keeping about six inches of the thread from the end.

Ascending, I accelerated, following the taut magic carpet thread. I caught up quickly, coming up from below in front of the 'carpet, of which only the front quarter was left - the stupid git pilot hadn't even realised what was going on behind him! Looking over my right shoulder, straight at him, I waved the thread in front of his face. His mouth made an 'o' of surprise.

Smiling sweetly evilly, I changed course suddenly, off to the right, deliberately grazing his 'carpet's thaumic field with Broom's, ready for the jolt.

"Oops! Sorry!" I called out as Madam Gravity took hold of him.

Happy birthday, Fuckkit!

Quick, everyone! Cakes at the ready - It's Fuckkit's birthday!

Forsooth, it is the Apocalypse!

There will be massive electrical storms, the likes of which have never been seen.

There will be an intense, baking heat, the like of which has never been felt.

We will eat naught but burning hot coals, and drink naught but burning hot cola.

Flesh will char on bone.

Rock will dissolve to dust.

Metal will flow like water.

Air will -



Oh, hang on...



False alarm. I'd left the oven on again.

(be)Hindsight

Drat! I've dropped my crystal ball down the lav.

I know it went 'round the U-bend because it cracked the pipe on the way. This means I'll have to borrow a Shit-Weasel again, to go down there and retrieve it.

I may be some time...

* storms out *







* storms back in *

Did anyone see where they parked their spaceship?

WAAAAAAAAAHHH - CHOOOOOOOO!

Oh my Christ! What in Hell was that?

* CRASH BONK BINK * "What's going on up there?" "zzzppt mip pstsmp" "What're you doing here? You know what I sai... Good grief!!" "meep sptts beek" "What? Do you mean Beaky?" "zszspthbthipt mep" "Why, that selfish excuse for a feather duster!" * CLUNK * "When?" "I see... OK." "zasp mip thpibt" "No! Certainly not! I don't care how 'pleased to see you' it is. It's only smoke, nothing more. Now, hop it!" * Zzzzzzzzap *

Ick! The gargoyle sneezed and pebble dashed the neighbours car. To make matters worse, Grandma DeVise was back on the roof. I think it's the chimney stack - she says it reminds her of Grandad DeVise...

* shudder *

Anyway, judging by her ramblings, I think Beaky was up there too. It appears he tickled the gargoyle under its nose with his tail feathers. I bet the little bastard was hoping to get Car covered. Fortunately, the gargoyle's sneeze wasn't powerful enough to reach Car.

Poor neighbour, though. That stuff is like cement - if it's not hosed off straight away, he'll never get it off.

Flinch

I had found a few apples at the bottom of the fruit bowl that had shrivelled somewhat. Totally useless for poisoning and feeding to some vain, selfish little emo who thinks she can just wrap her father around her little finger and get him to spend all his hard earned money on her, rather than his attentive new boyfriend. Bitch.

What was I saying? Oh, yes. Apples.

Anyway, rather than just chuck them in the bin, I put the apples outside on the dining room window sill with the intention of throwing them on the compost heap. Needless to say, I forgot about them. They were in such a position that, when leaving the house, they weren't in line of sight, therefore, out of sight, out of mind. However, on my way into the house, I can see them, and every time I do, I think I must remember to chuck those apples onto the compost heap.

Except for yesterday.

Yesterday, as I approached the back door, I noticed that two of the apples had been attacked! At first I thought perhaps mice had had a go, but on closer inspection it appeared that the apples had been stabbed several times by a small, but very sharp instrument then torn apart and had the flesh removed. Quite macabre!

This morning, when I went outside to empty the kitchen compost bin onto the 'heap, I felt like I was being watched as I manouevered down the back passage. Despite twisting this way and that with furiously darting eyes - and nearly falling over with dizziness - I could see nothing to corroborate my feeling, yet I was sure there was something there.

It wasn't until I had sat down with a cup of coffee that something caught my eye:


A flash of black through the zantedeschia leaves.

The quick flapping of shadowed wings beyond the chlorophytum.

The scrape of claws on wood.

A yellow ringed orb of evil glaring balefully through the cold glass.

At me!


Shitting Hell! It was Beaky!


I flinched slightly, before recovering my composure. Well, this was a turn up for the books. Beaky's evil schemes for world domination had obviously come to naught. Now he's reduced to scavenging scraps. How the mighty have fallen.

Ha!

Almost there....

Not that I care about such things, but my hit counter is almost on 10,000! Only 70 more to go...

The fact that most of the hits are from myself is neither here nor there, so shut up!

Hex

Skivvy

This is now the third - and hopefully the last - weekend in a row that I've been treated like a common-or-garden labourer by The Parents. Worse actually, because I'm not getting paid, unless you count a tenner and a couple of bird feeders complete with peanuts and sunflower seeds - I just know what'll happen if those get put up in the garden, bloody Beaky will think it's an invitation to make my life a misery again!

At least there was no concreting involved this time. I only had to assist The Father put up a potting shed (on last weeks concreted base) for The Mother. However, there was a lot of hammering involved, plus fetching, carrying, pointing, holding, steadying, ummm-ing, aaah-ing, nose-wiping (my own - it was very cold outside) and removing-spiders-from-where-glass-should-be. Oh, and some sweeping, folding and shivering (I did mention it was very cold, didn't I?) afterwards. I did try getting some pouting in, too, but I ended up squinting because the sun was blinding me what with being so low in the sky.

Anyway, I roared home as fast as Car could safely manage it, ran a hot bath and luxuriated in its Rosemary scented*, soothing water for an hour or so, incidently writing this post as I did so.

Car needs a soak, too, but it takes up too much room in the bath...

* The herb. Not the madam down the road. * shudder *

Thwarting 'Me

I thwarted MirrorMe's nefarious schemes yesterday morning. I got up 15 minutes earlier and didn't look in a mirror once while I was getting ready.

When I got to work, I had one of the Host's devoted 'Hags check me over to make sure I was beautiful before going in to the lavs to look in the mirrors there.

Ha! MirrorMe was caught totally unawares and looked godawful. Bags under his eyes, hair in disarray, uncovered blemishes and a horribly skew-wif tie. When 'Me slinked off in shame, I saw my real reflection, somewhat translucent, but looking good. Hair was the nicest surprise. Even though I did it all by touch and mnemonic movement, it was in one of the best 'dos it'd ever been in at this length. I could've done with a shave, though, but there was no way I was doing that without a mirror.

All in all, a successful thwarting. I haven't seen 'Me in 24 hours! I might forego the mirror more often.