August 18th, 2013

Brythen

But the Dog came back...


The Cat Came Back.

The door burst open just now, admitting an importunate Brythen who charged through the livingroom leaving black muddy footprints everywhere.

Philmophlegm began to sing his own version of the song, which goes:
"But the dog came back,
An indeterminate amount of time later
The dog came back
At a time of his own choosing..."

I really wish this were less true.

In other news, this week I leaned over to grab an insignificant weed, twisted *just the wrong way* and did something to my back, which left me flailing in extreme agony in the mud. Note to self, if your back 'goes' it probably is worth the pain to just stand up again. Do NOT lie down. You will only have to stand up again at some point.

It has still not entirely gone away, and I have some sort of fluey thing as well, just as a twofer. Bah.
Baying

Morgana's Shoes

I tripped over someone being terribly amused and superior about the clothes and setting of the BBC TV series Merlin - again.   Oh dear, the clothes are not medieval!  Oh dear, the modern shoes!  Oh dear, the modern idiom!
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As I see it, there is this odd idea that history is history, and fantasy is fantasy, and anything before Tolkien must be history. But of course Tolkien didn't invent fantasy.  Fantasy is just what history used to be, before it decided to cut its hair and get a job.  I am undecided whether fantasy is nowadays history that has decided not to sell out, or if it is just history's weird hippy uncle that wanders around smoking odd things.