Mad Dogs and Englishmen

For Amanda, friend of late, and all those others, who helped create the circumstances that led to this story.

tanding in a sunny meadow, the short, dark haired man said to himself "Cor, I wonder how much I could make out of this bit of land then, prices are high nowadays."
"Oh, but egg prices are low," replied the darkly clothed person, who had just appeared by the mans elbow, "people keep dying from those things." he finished.

As if nothing had happened, the man continued brushing grass seed from the brim of his hat, a stylish black hat, obviously cared for meticulously. "Are you really into property speculation little man?" said the other newcomer. "No, I study aberrant matter" said the man. "Oh, so you're a psychiatrist then paltry human." intoned the other. "If you're of that nature, then you had better see what sort of mind sets fire to a meadow" said the wispy, cynical figure pointing at thin wisps of smoke emerging from the other side of the meadows roll. "Maybe somebody will die." chuckled the stringy one. "How about walking over there then?" said the man, whilst reapplying the hat to his head. There was no reply, he began to feel uneasy, looking to either side he saw unfocused patches of light. "Are you still there?" he stuttered. "Yes, where else would we be on such a glorious day." answered a sardonic voice. When he looked again, both of his mysterious new 'friends' were there as clearly visible as the very light of the Sun. The very Sun which comes and goes with the seasons.

They began walking across the meadow's rolling slope, at least the psychiatrist was walking, his eyes wouldn't tell him if his companions were walking. The unease began to creep up his spine. Cresting the small hill, the crowd could clearly see the four small green-brown figures clustered about a tiny fire, cooking big, juicy sausages. They were smoking something, that something was causing the smoke, not the fire. "Hmm, smells good." said a booming voice.

Turning to his left, the shrink could hear the dark figure simply rattling with ado. "They're just goblins, leave them alo.." the headshrinker uttered under his breath. "Quiet Mortal!" ordered two elusive voices.

The reverie was destroyed by the thundering of iron shod boots, soon followed by three burly dwarves bursting from the trees. Shouting "Head for the bushes" they stormed across the green, daisy specked meadow, flattening grass and goblin alike, stomping into the hedgerow on the far side of the meadow. The three remaining goblins, highly disturbed at awaking from their stupor to find one of their number not only squashed but what's more, bleeding on the joint.

Enraged at this malicious waste, thinking of their 'starving' kin in far off lands, the little creatures took one last puff of the remaining roll up and headed towards the rustling bushes.

The three observers, being totally enraptured by the activity below started to talk about French Brie.

From the bushes the dwarves had appeared from, stepped two elves. They surveyed the scene of chaos. Seeing no dwarves but a trail of destruction left by their boots and the goblins following that trail, the elves slowed their pace and strolled over to the goblins' campsite. They rescued a fix from the awful carnage, after wiping the goblins' black blood off the joint onto a Sainsburys sandwich found in a discarded backpack they began to walk up the hill towards the lone man at its peak.

Meanwhile, the goblins had struck a series of vicious blows to the bushes. "Ouch!!!" retorted the bushes.

Pressing on, the degenerates reached the source of the rustling and this time struck at what was within, obviously the dwarves cowering in terror figured the goblins.

Back in the meadow, a lone dwarf emerged from the bushes into the sunlight. Looking about himself he scratched his head, wondering what type of creatures he and his fellows had passed and why they had been so rude as to not offer a puff. Never mind, he had managed to grab an end as he passed and his buddies hadn't noticed. "They were goblins, they went into the bushes." breathed the wind into the space between his ears. His glasses fell off. He didn't notice. He stooped, picked up a tasty looking morsel, found the correct orifice on his body, inserted the morsel and chewed. "Great stuff, bit crunchy though." "The goblins think they are attacking you and your companions." sneered a small storm which had erupted in his head. The dwarf sneezed. After seeing the rustling in the bushes, obviously the goblins his 'brain' informed him, he began to feel a chill on his stinking body. Turning slightly towards where he felt the wind had emanated from he saw a number of figures on the hill. He couldn't say how many figures were up there, not that he couldn't count, he had been to school once, it was just that he couldn't make up his mind as to numbers. He knew, though, that there were two elves up there. He began to walk up the hill, picking his nose heartily.

At that very instant, the goblins emerged from the hedgerow at a rapid pace, indicating fear, abject fear. Following closely behind was a large creature resembling a bull but with differences difficult to place. This 'bull' was also a very angry 'bull' with horns, very sharp horns. The goblins had short legs, the smallest goblin had the shortest legs but he must have had the loudest scream. The 'bull' had the last laugh.

The small goblin's scream stopped the conversation on the hill for a moment. This was the chance for the elves to get a word in edgeways, in unison when the screams finished echoing across the valley they said "What about the butter."

The 'bull', having disposed of that mild irritant it had happened across in the shrubbery, set eyes upon a group of indeterminate numbers on the top of the hill. It paused to decide whether to charge or to creep round the field's edge and come at them from behind.

This pause in the thought of the 'bull' gave time for the dwarf to reach the party, he was now sure there were five people already there but had no idea how that number had entered his head. "Hi, I'm the Poison Dwarf." he introduced himself in a loud, piercing voice.

The 'bull' had made up its mind. This was not an entirely difficult task because it was a very small mind, but bigger than that of the dwarf. It would charge.

The psychiatrist moved over to the gaunt looking person and said "You do look positively underfed, look, I can see your ribs sticking through your cloak." Then pointing his machine gun at the on rushing 'bull' he continued, "Why don't you catch yourself some food, there's a nice chappie". Slapping the black garbed gentleman on the shoulder he sauntered out of the meadow. The remembering his country code, he turned, pulled the gate to, fastened the shackle and continued on his journey.

"Oh really, yes I do feel a little light lately." replied the victim of the analysts sarcasm. Rolling up his sleeve revealed a bony arm which he inserted into the void revealed by an opening in his cloak. He began to feel around within. One of the elves, the one who had introduced himself as Twig, Lover of Bushes, lifted the cloak from behind and peered within; only to find a bony finger pointing at him and a voice crawling across his skull into his ear saying "Keep Out! Your not invited to this party, you coke addict.". Looking slightly pale, the shocked elf mused "Erm, what about the 'bull'." "The 'bull', what 'bull'?" giggled an ironic voice. "Th..That O..One" stammered the other elf, his stutter had returned, the Sun must be going down, it would be dark soon.

Gesturing casually with his right bone complement, the dark aspect pointed his central phalange at the 'bull'. The 'bull' did not stop in its tracks. This was for two reasons, firstly the bull was still alive, secondly, the bull was a 'green' bull and wouldn't wantonly squash defenceless daisies. In response to this insolence on the 'bulls' behalf, the dark aspect paled to be more a more shady aspect and commented, "Oh balls, the batteries are dead again, Duracell, pah!"

"O'ar me maties, you be 'avin problem wit that thar queer lookin cow don't thee" quipped a local bumpkin who 'just happened to be passing'. "Would you care to join the party?" called a baffling voice. "What parte be that then, the Nazi Parte" he replied. "If you wish, here have a membership card." came the voice, a small orange card appeared amongst the hay strands in the bumpkins top pocket.

The 'bull' having stopped to listen to the proceedings with the village idiot suddenly bellowed with rage. All in the area turned to find the dwarf standing at the rear end of the 'bull', trying to hoist himself to a more appropriate height for his purposes. Between his short, sharp breaths he breathed "Queue up folks".

Five minutes later, the elves out of common decency, especially in front of a lady, had managed to pry the odorous and amorous dwarf from the 'bull'. The 'bull' turned its head, looked around dazedly and mumbled "Where am I?". At that it started to walk away on unsteady legs. It staggered and the elf named, Comet Harry Carrie, came to its rescue and gently held it upright.

The dwarf, shrugging himself free of Twig, Lover of Bushes, brushed his jacket down and commented "Woman! Hah! Don't know what's good for them, ungrateful bitches." and promptly walked back down the hill into the bushes to join 'the lads'.

Come back here you silly ephemeral entity." groaned the dark, spectral figure as the bumpkin, after having examined the small orange card, started to troop off down the hill in a characteristic manner, the goose-step I believe. "Ah, deja vu." sighed the other spectre, casually producing a bunch of yellow Edelweiss' and presenting them to the unsteady 'bull', tucking them into its new, red leather collar. "Anyone got anything to make a leash from?" cried the aloof elf. "Why certainly." enthused the bumpkin, pulling the black leather belt from his trousers and handing it to the elf after removing the wicked looking dagger from it. "Where did you get that toy from?" one of the party questioned. "Which one?" replied the bumpkin with sarcasm.

Five minutes later the depleted group was standing quietly on the crest of the hill, the bumpkin with Twig, Lover of Bushes, the two cowled figures together and Comet Harry Carrie huddling close to the 'bull' for warmth. All conversation had stopped with setting of the Sun. "Hey bumpkin, fancy a visit to the inn down the road?" invited Twig, Lover of Bushes. "What, you mean The Peacock, okay then", dragging themselves from the excitement of conversation around them, the bumpkin and the chirpy elf wandered into the Sunset hand in hand.

"Do you drink coffee?" quizzed the bull. "Of course." responded Comet Harry Carrie. "Shall we leave them then?" inquired the bull. "Yes, just let me get my sleeping bag." came the reply. At that the elf retrieved his backpack and taking hold of the leash led the 'bull' towards the trees.

"Weird people." commented Death to Cynicism as they walked jauntily through the tree tops.