Sabre- tooffed dragon

I ffink hith teeff ith giffingg him a sfpeach impedimenth

And he keeps biting his tongue

( at least I think that’s what he said)

Counter change dragon

Sorry, I’ve been so busy all week I forgot to post. I even forgot to take a picture of my display at the IMC, and I filled two whole gazebos this year!

I will fix the thumbnails that photo bucket has removed, but probably not until the week after next, still busy busy.

Norman

His name is Norman, after my granda. ( granda’s name was Richard, but he objected to being called dick, so used his middle name)

I named him after my granda because, before I was born, one of granda’s sows had a piglet with one head and two bodies, just like young Norman here. As a child I heard tales of the piglet, which didn’t live long, but was proudly sent to Durham university, presumably either for dissection, or to be pickled in one of those cool jars, or maybe both.

My mum told me you never see things in jars at fairgrounds any more, or freak shows ( mum recently found out her granda’s first wife, who died childless, was a proper tattooed lady)

Personally, I think you can learn a lot from pigs. For instance I first learnt that grown ups get scared when one of granda’s sows got loose, she charged ferociously at one of the men trying to round her up, and I swear he jumped six foot straight up into a tree like something from a cartoon. I must have been about three, and found this revelation fascinating, because before that I’d assumed that once you grew up you weren’t scared of anything.

however, I think this is a conjoined cat, so perhaps I should stop blathering on about pigs.

in other news, I actually finished the fantasy last Thursday ( I still have posts to catch up on before I do the big reveal, and don’t hold your breath because I’ve a busy week) and gareth says I’m suffering from artistic post partem depression…

Sporting history

some of you, I’m sure, are aware of the ancient and noble British sport of welly wanging, wherein burly macho types, schoolboys, and amply bosomed farmers wives compete to see who can hurl a Wellington boot the furthest. Most assume this sport to have been invented in the time of the eponymous duke of Wellington.

you would, however, be quite quite wrong.

Those who bemoan the current rise of namby-pamby health and safety culture are probably unaware that this phenomenon first raised its irritating head at the time of the iron duke himself, and that he was in fact it’s perpetrator.

You see, for many centuries, millennia even, the favourite sport of the English nation was dragon wanging, with each shire having its own indidual style, favoured type of dragon to wang, and devoted followers. Many would be the hours spent in village ale houses across the land discussing the finer aspects of form and scoring.

Such was the fervour for this sport that bored soldier on the peninsular campaign whiled away the hours with friendly bouts of dragon wanging – a certain Mr sharpe was said to be very good at it. Unfortunately, the wanging of wyrms is not exactly a quiet sport, and on frequent occasions the enemy were alerted to the British position by enthusiastic cheers and the screams of badly burnt spectators. The duke bore this quite cheerfully, having been known to indulge himself upon occasion, but drew the line when a badly aimed dragon accidentally blew up his entire supply of gunpowder. Thence forth he insisted that his men practice with old boots instead of dragons.

due to widespread enthusiasm for the national sport, dragons had become hard to find by that point, not to mention very expensive to purchase at jjb sports, so the old boot idea quickly gained popularity with poorly paid soldiers, who took the new ideas home with them on thier return from war.

here, however, we see an image from the golden days of the sport. Depicted is Alfred higginbotham, 1393 all Yorkshire champion, during his record breaking dragon wanging bout wherein he lobbed a wyrm all the way from ilkley moor to Lancaster town centre, causing Lancaster marketplace to burn down.

The cheering lasted for days. Much old peculiar was drunk. Several sheep were distressingly violated and had to receive extensive counselling.

Alfred became so famous he spent his remaining days touring the country giving exhibitions to his adoring fans.

~ahem~ it’s all true, honest. Would I make this shite up?

a few more twiddly bits finished this section

And im on to the very exciting final roll

whirly dragon

I’ve been really bad about posting, I meant to post yesterday and just forgot. Now I have three luttrell posts backed up and I just keep forgetting because I’m obsessing over finishing it rather than actually blogging about it – soooo close now, working on the final two creatures!

In other news, my family came for dinner yesterday and Trouble was a complete tart, he even managed to charm my dad, who is normally indifferent to cats. Luckily we locked him out of the dining room because last night he went mental for the remains of the venison pie and tried to start a fight with Gareth whilst Gareth tried to eat pie for dinner. Branston did his usual thing of looking extremely handsome then brutally attacking my stepdad whenever he went goey over the handsomeness – I would say Branston is a bad cat, but to be honest it’s not like Peter ever learns not to touch the grumpy bugger!

Oh, and I got five tickets (one adult and four pensioners) tickets to take my assorted parents to see Ian Anderson’s Christmas concert at Durham Cathedral, so I’m very excited.

And branston continues to set a stellar example of dignified behaviour, poise and elegance for the kitten…

ou

Starfish

and some text

And we are ready for another roll along!

Plus, the worlds least dignified ( and scruffiest) cat

Who is currently having a big sulk because the kitten pounced him.

Tiamat

AT least I think Tiamat was the three headed one?

I must admit I’ve been a bit slow posting and have built up a backlog of photos from this project, so I’m starting to get a bit confused as to what I’ve posted and what I haven’t. It doesn’t help that the cold I’ve had since Tuesday has turned my brain to porridge – I went out for the first time in three days just now, almost walked out of Boyes without paying for the pins I had in my hand, and then almost walked under a bus. I’m not at my cleverest right now!