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FOGGYDAVES CANTENNA 
THE EVIL OVERLORD LIST

THE EVIL MINIONS GUIDE

OTHER EVIL/ HERO  GUIDES
A FEW VERSES 

NAMES I CALL MY WIFE & SHAKESPEAREAN INSULTS

COLLECTIVE NOUNS FOR ANIMAL SPECIES

SOME OTHER EBAY SALES WITH STORIES

THE REAL MEANING OF HAYNES MANUAL INSTRUCTIONS

SALAD FINGERS

TOMTOM SATNAV SAG BLUES

 

KITE MAKING PAGES

REVOLUTION KITE MAKING

 

CONTRIBUTIONS FROM READERS

STORIES BY HATTYMENDER  

STORIES BY HELEN WORRALL

 

STORIES  AND EBAY SALES

1     AN OLD LAND ROVER
2     EBAY
3     SELLING AN OLD LAND ROVER  
4     SELLING WHEELS AND TYRES
5     A NEW JOB AT THE FUNERAL PARLOUR
6     SELLING VIDEO CAMERA
7     MY BIRTHDAY TODAY
8     WITCHERY PART ONE
9     SELLING CANVAS HOOD
10   WITCHERY PART TWO
11   SELLING CARAVAN HITCHDRIVE 
12   WITCHERY PART THREE
13   SELLING RATCHET STRAPS  
14   WITCHERY PART FOUR
15   SELLING GOAL POSTS  
16   WITCHERY PART FIVE
17   SELLING A HI VIZ COAT
18   WITCHERY PART SIX

19   SELLING 3 TONNES OF CLAY    
2O  WITCHERY PART SEVEN
21   SELLING A WHEEL CLAMP
22   SHOPPING AND THE HESITANT DOORS
23   SELLING AN OLD PAIR OF BOOTS

24   THE REAL DE VINCI CODE

25   MY GUITAR AND AMP

26   SELLING MOTORBIKE PANNIERS

27   HALLOWEEN

28 SELLING A HIGHWAY CODE

29 ZEN AND THE ART OF  LAND ROVER MAINTENANCE

30  SELLING A CIGARETTE LIGHTER AND A TRIP TO SCOTLAND

31  CHRISTMAS LIGHT RAGE

32  METAMORPHOSIS

33 SELLING AN AMBER BEACON

34 THE UNIVERSE IS A  BIG PLACE

35 SELLING A  BLOW LAMP

36 SELLING BOOTS UPDATE

37 SELLING A  TORCH

38 SELLING A MOTORBIKE JACKET

39 SELLING A POWER JUICER

40 SELLING A HORSE WHIP

41 THE BOAT

42 SELLING LAND ROVER SIDE STEPS

43 SELLING A  TOW / RECOVERY CHAIN

44 SELLING LAND ROVER BULL BARS

45 SELLING THE FOGGYDAVE CARRIER BAG

46 CARAVAN RAGE OR AGINCOURT DEUXIEME PARTIE

 

 

 

STORY 14   WITCHERY PART FOUR   

 COVEN AT THE BOWLING GREEN

Where a home for the coven is found and destroyed and who is the man in white?

My Kicker of the codpiece is now known by her witch name Galantha which means snowdrop, she looks nothing like a snowdrop more an avalanche but I have been told the name is mathematically worked out. You too may wish to determine your  witch name

She is trying to involve me by making me a Warlock. I am sure some of her thinking involves sex of some kind so I am having none of it. Mind you one of her acolytes has a well turned ankle, and a nice smile when her teeth are in.................. This line of thinking could be bad for my health, as my wife seems to know what is going through my mind at any time.

 I decided that I must try harder to find a location, our cellar was too small, the shed was a burnt out hulk, the village hall or any property owned by the council was out. There must be premises of some sort available.
My wife though beat me to it. She had noticed that there is a building eminently suitable for her purposes, is used only one day a week, is in a remote location, and used by people who with just a little coercion may join her coven. I speak here of the bowls club, set at the far end of the playing fields behind the fishing lake. It is surrounded of course by the obligatory twelve foot electrified fence topped with razor wire and CCTV cameras, to deter the ever present threat of vandalism, and nocturnal nude bowling, which because of the warmer nights is a growing craze amongst more elder members of the club. Here the term “Jack High” has a completely different meaning, especially when Jack has been at the weed yet again. It would be “Dead Jack” or even worse “Short Jack” if ever his wife found out.
To get access to the club and its members my wife decided to join, being a complete novice, not having played the game before she practiced on our back lawn.

The only pastime on her island anything like bowls was the very dangerous sport of “Stopping”. This involved throwing a round boulder up a slope and letting it roll down. In rolling down it gathered moss, twigs, lumps of earth, and other bigger boulders. When finally it reached the thrower again it had grown in mass and weight by many times its original. The thrower then had to stop it; the heavier it was the faster it would be rolling. The winner was he or she who stopped the most weight in twenty minutes. As in fishing matches it can be the person who catches more little fish who wins over the person who catches one big one. (This is true of so many things in life). So it is with the “Stoppers”, the smaller the boulder thrown up, the lighter it was when it came down. You could throw more small ones than big ones, and stop them more easily. The danger came from the “Super Stoppers who put everything into one or two boulders. These athletes were built like brick out houses, the trouble came when their ambition to stop the “Big One” outweighed their abilities. It is a fundamental law of nature that when a heavier mass with energy hits a lighter mass at rest the lighter mass will be displaced or squashed. So it was with the “Super Stoppers”. Many were either flattened as a hedgehog on a motorway, or they were caught up in the debris on the boulder as it went over them and were carried down into the sea, and a watery grave.

Back to the bowls. My wife a “Third class middleweight super stopper” juggled the bowls in her hands as one would a few tennis balls (If she was middleweight then the heavy weights must have been very big people, and by big I mean .......big). After an hour of practice my once beautiful well manicured lawn looked like a scene from the WW1 trenches after a particularly heavy artillery bombardment. My dearest uses the "Barnes Wallace" method of  bowling as in the famous film, The Dam busters, with much the same technique skimming the bowl across the lawn until it shattered the jack. Her other method is the no contact “Howitzer"  technique whereby the bowls first contact with the ground is when it hits the jack again shattering it. She eventually got the idea of rolling the bowl, but insisted on taking a run up instead of the obligatory foot on the mat rule.
Resplendent in her pure white bell tent of a dress with freshly emulsioned pair of plimsolls, (yes two, she tied one to her wooden leg to protect the green), Also a white 50 gallon Mexican straw hat, (we made holes in the 25 gallon one and stuck it on the donkey). She went for her enrolment interview chaired by Major General (Big boy) White,  and Mrs. Irene P Nightly both of whom smelled of moth balls and carbolic soap. My wife is a very imposing, one may say scary woman who when in a room fills it in many ways, from the size of her shoulders, to the aroma of her athletes foot (singular). The interview was over very quickly maybe it was her Halitosis or her menacing stare who knows, but she was accepted and the ink barely had time to dry before the committee left the room for more airy places.
My loved one being the sort of helpful person she is volunteered to attend to the cleaning of the club house at the end of the day, and thereby obtained a key. The only other key holder being Bernard Entwhistle the postie who did a bit of green keeping in his spare time, but mostly just oiled the sit on mower and other machinery.
At the stroke of midnight my wife, or should I say Galantha as she was now in witchery mode, entered the club house. She was accompanied by her two acolytes carrying a heavy cast iron cauldron and a bag of “Flora and Fauna” i.e. roots etc and various disgusting animal parts both dried and bloody. They placed the cauldron in the middle of the clubhouse floor and poured in the water. Galantha then started putting the bits and pieces in the pot, all three chanting the famous speech from the bard. My dearest insisted that they all be naked, I think as a symbol of purity but probably it was just to stop their clothes getting dirty.

"Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble."

There was a problem, the cauldron was not bubbling, how could they be real witches if there was no bubbling, there was always bubbling it was one of the rules, a cauldron had to bubble. To do this it needed to boil, to boil it needed a fire. A fire needed fuel, petrol was fuel, and mowers needed petrol. So the garage was raided and a jerry can full of petrol was found, a quantity was poured into an old frying pan which was placed under the cauldron and lit, soon the water was steaming with a very satisfying bubbly/ploppy sound and the clubhouse was lit by the dancing flames. It was also filled by copious amounts of toxic fumes from the burning petrol and the contents of the pot, and so the chanting carried on

Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

By now the fumes were affecting the trio who were bursting into coughing fits and falling into unconsciousness; also the acrid smoke was filling the room so that visibility was limited. Then the flames  got out of control and were setting fire to the floor. The situation was looking very serious indeed and my normally serene wife was beginning to panic. Suddenly the door burst open and a white clad figure strode into the room, covered from head to toe in a full rubber suit that was undulating as though filled with water or some other fluid. This apparition wobbled over to the fire and grabbing an extinguisher tried to put out the flames which licked around him. Who was this brave hero, this strangely appareled fellow who, with no thought for his own safety was now attacking the flames with feet and hands...... Then he sprang a leak, whatever was in his suit shot out in a great arc away from his body, the great arc met the flames which in turn shot back up the arc to his body. On reaching it a great sheet of flame erupted from his suit propelling him out of the door and into the fishing lake, where in a white cloud of steam he disappeared below the surface. In the meantime my beloved and her two blue rinse acolytes had revived and escaped across the Bowling Green their flight hidden by palls of smoke as the club house was engulfed in flames but were stopped when they got to the locked gates the key to which was in the flaming club house. But once again they were saved, out of the smoke appeared the white clad hero, his suit now in wet tatters streaming about his body. He was driving a double gang motor mower at great speed bursting through the gates and on down the drive onto the main road. My dearest taking the opportunity ran through the gates and slowly wended her way home keeping to the shadows.
I was awoken by the sirens of the fire brigade as they sped through the village to attend the conflagration, and heard the tread of my wife upon the stairs as she made her weary way to bed.
Of the man in white nothing was seen, the mower was found outside Bernard Entwhistles house on the newly mown verge, and it was noticed that Bernard was limping as he did his post round. Although this looked highly suspicious all the evidence was circumstantial. So the burning of the club house was put down to arsonists, possibly “hoodies”, who must have used the mower to joy ride on. Smoke had obscured the CCTV footage.
Have you noticed when a person robs a bank the CCTV footage is always grained and unclear. Why spend lots of money on cameras when from the results you do not know if it’s a man, giraffe, or Oran Utan. Is this done on purpose so that the robber may never be caught and the insurance claim can then be inflated by several thousand pounds?
So even had there been no smoke it is doubtful if the film would have been of any use. Had they looked at the tapes from the day before they would have seen Bernard carrying four cans of engine oil, a tyre foot pump, and a brown paper parcel into the garage mmmmmmm.
The image below was caught on camera as the white clad hero came through the bowls club door. Taken by Miss Drinch Spinster and part time acolyte of this parish, on one of those cheap and cheerful cardboard cameras bought from the local chemists. Why she had a camera is under investigation by my wife, who suspects her of being an undercover sensation seeking ninety eight year old journalist for the local Cross Stitch weekly.
I have noticed though that Bernard keeps staring at the house when he delivers the occasional letter or postcard from the wife’s relatives. It seems as though he wants to speak but is a little nervous or afraid, I don’t know which, maybe it’s just my imagination. They are building a new club house, out of brick this time, and on Bernards advice locating the machinery store around the back where it’s more out of the way from prying eyes (I think WE know why he wants his privacy don’t we children).

The man in white

How to find your Witch name

---------------------- Numerological Formula for Names-------------------------------------
1. How to find your Birth Number.
Add all the numbers of your birth date.
Example: March 10, 1954 = 3+1+0+1+9+5+4 = 23
Bring down the final two digits (23) and add together.
Example: 2+3 =
5 is the Birth Number.
2. Now to find out if the name you have chosen is appropriate for you.
Alphabet and number equation.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
A B C D E F G H I    
J K L M N O P Q R
S T U V W X Y Z
Now by using the chart above calculate the name you have chosen by adding the letters and final sum.
Example: name = DIANA, D = 4, I = 9, A = 1, N = 5, A = 1
4 + 9 + 1 + 5 + 1 = 20
Bring down the sum and add:
2 + 0 = 2 2 is the Name number.
Now your birth number is 5 so you will need to add a letter equivocate to 3 (C, L, U) or you could add 2 letters, (one equivocate to 1 (A,J,S) and one equivocate to 2 ( B, K, T).
Example: Dilana = 4 + 9 + 3 + 1 + 5 + 1 = 23, 2 + 3 = 5
Diakana = 4 + 9 + 1 + 2 + 1 + 5 + 1 = 23, 2 + 3 = 5
If you don't like any of the names that are created to equal 5, try another name.

Notice the caveat at the end “If you do not like it try another name”. So why go to all the trouble in the first place.
                             ----------------------------------------------------------------------

Note  If anyone has ben affected by any of the issues raised in this story, ie Oil fetishism, Witchery, Boiling frogs, midnight nude bowling etc, please do not contact me as I can be of no help what so ever.

 

Copyright © David B Forrester 2008

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