Once upon a time, there were four children named Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy, and they were all sent away to a big country house in Cornwall at the time of the Great Coronavirus Armageddon. The house was owned by an ancient Scottish professor of rugby (as opposed to an ancient professor of Scottish rugby, who would be even more morose) who had had some adventures in his youth that no-one remembered now.
While he wasn’t that excited about bloody kids running around the place, he welcomed them warmly with some half-cooked pieces of cheese and toast, and told them to explore the house and gardens, and to please keep the noise down, and stay out of the way of the occasional tours that took place in the house.
One day it was pissing it down outside, and they decided to play hide-and-seek inside the house.
Lucy ran around the empty rooms, looking for somewhere to hide. She kept hearing voices in the corridor, and so she went on to another part of the house she hadn’t been in before. She pushed open a cobwebby, creaky old door and found herself in a disused, dusty gym with deflated balls, chipped mouthguards and still-smelly unmentionables scattered about.
“This’ll be a super place to hide,” thought Lucy. “Obviously no-one’s been here for years.” But then she heard voices just outside the door again!
“Ah fuck, I’m going to have to hide in one of these lockers.”
She opened the rustiest-looking locker of all, and pushed her way inside. There were old Lions shirts from tours in olden years, and she pushed through them, trying to get to the back of the locker. The locker seemed to be enormous, and it was getting colder and colder.
Much to her surprise, she suddenly found herself in a snowy woodland. It was dark, but she could see a light ahead, so she walked towards it. It turned out to be a lamp-post.
By the light of the lamp, Lucy could see a strange figure with the torso of a man, the legs of a black cat, and horns on his head. “Hullo!” he said. “Are you a Daughter of Maeve?”
“Well aye, my mum’s name’s Maeve, so it is: how did you know?”
“My name is Mr Iknus. You look cold. Please come to my cave for tea.”
Lucy gratefully accepted his invitation (upon my word, what do they teach them in the schools these days?), and listened to Mr Iknus’ tales of the Land of Narnia, for that was where he said she was, while he prepared the tea and scrumptious toast and tea-cakes. He told her that Narnia had been a lovely land, overflowing with milk and honey and excellent, free-flowing rugby matches, until a White Witch had seized control, made it always winter, released a virus in order to impose a lock-down, and cancelled all the rugby, yea even unto the Lions tour.
“Imagine that: always winter and never rugby.”
Lucy shuddered with horror. It seemed all too real to her.
Mr Iknus suddenly sobbed into his hands.
“Whatever is the matter, dear Mr Iknus?” cried Lucy.
“Ah, Lucy, I am afraid I am a bad person. I have promised the White Witch – for money! – to betray any Daughters of Maeve to her. But I cannot betray such a charming young rugby fan. Hush! I will lead you back to Lamp Post and the Corn Wall.”
Mr Iknus was as good as his word, and they slipped silently and furtively (“The Witch has spies everywhere, you know”) back through the woods to the lamp-post. Lucy could see the locker, and pushed her way back through the Lions shirts into the gym.
“Gosh,” she thought, “I’ve been gone for hours. The others will be worried!”
***
“I’m back!” cried Lucy, after she leapt back through the locker, and went racing back to find the others.
“What do you mean, you’re back?” said Peter. “You’ve only been hiding for ten minutes.”
“But I’ve been away for hours and hours, and I found Narnia, and heard all about their Narnian Lions, and Mr Iknus, and….”
“Now, now, Lucy,” said Susan, “You mustn’t make up stories because you got bored.”
Lucy stamped her foot. “But it’s all true, I tell you! I’ll show you!”
“Nah, that’s all right, ta,” sneered Edmund.
Lucy burst into tears. “Well, sod the lot of you rotters; I’m going back to see Mr Iknus, who’s nicer than any of you”, she sobbed, before flouncing off.
Edmund looked shifty and quietly followed her.
Lucy made her way back to the locker, pushed her way through the Lions shirts, and found the lamp-post. There was no Mr Iknus to be seen, but she made her way towards his cave.
***
Edmund had watched Lucy go into the locker and not emerge again. After waiting a few minutes, he decided to investigate.
Much to his surprise, he suddenly found his footfalls crunching on snow, and found himself in Narnia.
“Gosh! I say, Lucy was telling the truth after all! There’s the lamp-post.”
Edmund didn’t see anybody, and started trudging through the snow, feeling a bit sulky that he hadn’t had a warm welcome like Lucy. Suddenly he heard a majestic swooshing sound and, thinking it was a clever long off-load, turned around to catch the ball. The noise turned out to be a magnificent springbok-drawn sleigh bearing an icy-looking woman and some minions.
“Halt!” cried the woman. “What have we here? A Son of George?”
Amazed by the woman’s intuition, yet intimidated, Edmund stammered that he was indeed a son of George. The woman looked at him fiercely, then suddenly changed her manner.
“Poor lad, you look frozen. I am the Queen of Narnia. Please step into my carriage, and I will give you sustenance. Do you like Turkish Delight?”
As it happened, being a thoroughly repulsive character, Edmund did like Turkish Delight. He stepped into the sleigh, and was given a warm fur – yes, real fur – to wrap around himself, and as much Turkish Delight as he could swallow, as well as a lovely drink. The Ice-woman now seemed much more like a beautiful Queen-woman, the most delightful person he’d ever met, and he eagerly attempted to answer all her many questions.
After having covered the basics of Edmund being pro-Brexit and a Saracens fan, she asked him about his associations in the land of Corn Wall. She was particularly interested in the fact that there were four children bonded together, and that they were all rugby fans. She exhorted him to bring them all to visit her, and promised more Turkish Delight if he should oblige – because unfortunately she had run out of the stuff at the mo.
Greedy for more, and feeling all-powerful, Edmund stepped out of the sleigh and made his way to the lamp-post, where he encountered a radiant Lucy.
“Oh, Edmund, so you’ve found Narnia too! I’m so glad someone will believe me now.
“I’ve seen Mr Iknus, and he’s told me that the White Witch, who claims to be Queen, but really isn’t, hasn’t found him out so far. She really is a dreadful woman who hates rugby.”
Edmund said nothing, but followed Lucy back through the locker.
Ovally Balls 
Meanwhile in Kent……
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Trisk – ah, okay. 2 km is not a very long walk! I suppose you can make it longer by walking around the periphery….
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On Farming Today the other day they said the eggs are not in short supply but the packaging for the eggs is the problem. And the Danish factory that supplies many of the UK’s egg cartons is shutting down for two weeks. The farmer they interviewed said there were only 3 manufacturers across Europe.
About 7 minutes in: https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m000glbb
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‘A Los Angeles boy who is believed to be the first teenager in the United States to die from complications due to Covid-19 was denied treatment at an urgent care clinic because he didn’t have health insurance.’
The Land of the Freeeee ……..
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Nice words Thaum……
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Kent is just a hive of criminality and depravity
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We’re not moving out of Prague at the moment but are allowed to parks and what not and at present as many times a day as you like, need the masks on, of course.
Drove a few kilometres up the road to Jahodnice, Strawberryville, for a walk around for a couple of hours.
Tomorrow snow’s predicted. Monday me and the boy home alone so we’ll go to Zidovske Pece, which translates as Jewish Ovens or Jewish Furnaces. The origin of the name is unclear but some reckon it’s from the time in the 18th Century that Maria Teresa expelled the Jews from Prague – our area, which used to be a rufty-tufty sort of place, was only incorporated into the city in 1920* – and some Jewish people lived in caves on the hill.
It’s a pleasant enough park and good for the lad to run around in.
* We live in Upper Zizkov, Lower Zizkov had a worse reputation. According to one book I’ve read before it was incorporated it was the Czechlands’ 3rd biggest “city”.
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@tomp
Egg cartons are pretty easy to make. Much easier than hand sanitizer for example, and there’s shit loads of people making that now in the UK. Some ingenious people (probably related to the bog roll industry using off cuts to make paper based cartons) will fill the gap.
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Foolish to mention, I know, but I seem to remember as a kid going with my mum to the local ” supermarket” with egg cartons in the shopping basket, and picking out eggs from a straw lined box, hence reusing the same box dozens of times. Lack of egg boxes not too difficult an issue to overcome, I would have thought. or not.
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OT, that’s what I’d’ve thought as well. It was news to me that there were only 3 manufacturers in Europe.
Perhaps someone could suggest this sideline to Richard Branson. Poor bastard’s down to his last 2 Caribbean Islands I gather.
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Fucking hell, people are going to start fighting over egg boxes now, aren’t they ?
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In rugby-related news, why insurance companies are bastards.
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@tomp
Typical of global highly optimised yet fragile supply chains. We’ll see much more reshoring of manufacturing now with a lot more built in redundancy.
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@SBT – Morrison’s have started doing that. Take your own carton and pick them out of a giant tray.
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In rugby-related news, why insurance companies are bastards #5,762……..
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Egg boxes shortage are no problem at the end of the chain as every consumer can bring his own home made box. But how do you bring the eggs from the farms to the supermarket? Trucks filled with hay?
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Farm-to-fork eggspress.
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(I am deeply sorry for that.)
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@flair
In the long run egg production will be decentralised and we’ll have more, smaller egg farms. Something like 80% of the cost of food is transport so the shorter distances travelled may lead to higher welfare standards.
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Wonders. Vintage Quins on BT3. 2012 Prem final v Tiggers. Both teams had quality players and ambitions. Interesting how the rules have changed 2 red cards by current rulings already.
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From the Mothership’s live blog:
Red in tooth and claw….
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OT, when the 2CV was designed by Citroen, one of the engineers’ requirements was that farmers should be able to drive the car to the market with eggs simply laid on the back seat without any protection. Hence the famous Citroen suspension.
I doubt though that there are enough 2CVs left in the country to provide for 70 m people.
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@flair
The resurrection of the 2CV will be one of the major unforeseen impacts of the coronavirus outbreak.
All because we don’t have enough bloody egg carton manufacturers.
Vive la France.
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why don’t supermarkets have collection points for egg boxes to send them back up the supply chain – it’s not complicated
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Il ne faut pas mettre tous les oeufs dans la même 2CV.
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On ne peut pas cuire une omelette sans casser une 2CV.
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Thaum, you just killed me!
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And so did OT.
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I had a Mexican colleague and friend named Carmen* who would hilariously mangle idioms in English.
She’d come to work with her copious tresses done up in a severe bun, and by about 9:05, someone would have pissed her off, and her hair would start releasing itself from its bindings.
The things she came out with included:
– And so I said to her, hey! The shoe only fits if you wear it! (This actually made perfect sense in context.)
– And so I told him, hey! Don’t put so much cream on your tacos! (Apparently this is a Mexican saying, no le pongas tanta crema a tus tacos, ie get over yourself.)
*She wasn’t unlike Julia Migenes-Johnson in looks:
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Dyanes were the best.
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Mein Hund hat keine Nase.
Wie riecht er?
Schrecklich!
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Thaum, a Geordie guy I worked with has a sister in law from Thailand. She used to come home from English lessons in Newcastle with phrases such as “Wur Mary’s fell wrong”
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Con el vino y la esperanza, todo se alcanza.
(Wise saying written on a tourist ashtray from Spain.)
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I had to google translate that, but right enough
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OT – OK, that’s fine.
But we are shutting down the cause of coronavirus. Wasn’t the same with opioids. I don’t think that the response should be the same in those two cases but the causes of opioid addiction are still out there.
Planes are subject to fairly strict safety checks to ensure they don’t happen.
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MrsIks did her Organisational Psychology thesis in English, and I was the heroic proofreader. My favourite was the literal translation of Unternehmer (German for employer, company) into Undertaker.
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A few years back I was at cricket practice and a mate asked if I was going to the pub after. I said no as I’d promised the missus I’d be back promptly and wouldn’t drink. He had a think and said I was “Pod palzem” (under the thumb).
I got home and asked if I was “pod palzem” and was told not to be so sorry. Of course I wasn’t under the thumb. No I was “pod pantoflem”, “under the house slipper”.
Czechs have some nice ones that don’t make sense in English. Someone once told me that he liked “white sex” especially if he come home drunk from the pub. Turned out he liked a midnight snack.
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Mein Hund hat keine Nase.
Wie riecht er?
Schrecklich!
One of Hitler’s finest.
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An American friend of mine was flying to NZ. When the cabin crew came around shortly before landing to collect the headsets, he blushed profusely and stammered a reply of “No” when the stewardess asked him, in her Kiwi accent, if he’d had sex?
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Six whats?
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AVs – I’ve worked with a few kiwi’s. One used to have to ‘present a (PowerPoint) dick’ to a committee on a monthly basis. Eventually I told her how it was coming across but it was quite funny for a while.
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There’s some amusing rugby stuff on the Pick channel….
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‘Rugby’s Funniest Moments’
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PMSL
They’ve shown the footage of Scotland celebrating a victory over Aus, in Aus, where two Scottish players jump into the celebration and clash heads, with at least one player having to go off with blood running everywhere.
“Normally the Scots just celebrate by beating each other with the wooden spoon.”
Sorry, Scots!
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That was Strokosch and Ansbro if memory serves. Shame about Ansbro – there was a lot of talk around him becoming a great player. He was strong and quick, which we definitely needed then. Think injury did for him and he had to retire quite early.
In fact, if I had access to some sort of information based technology that would allow me to look up something like an encyclopedia and get a biography of a particular person, I’d try to find out what did happen to him.
But that sounds a bit like something a proper librarian would do. Thank dog I’m not one of those.
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Hello
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Weird, I posted about Joe Ansbro but I got a note saying “That message cannot be posted”
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He retired due to a broken neck, as you would
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Evening Ticht!
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I hope Ansbro’s retirement wasn’t related to that head clash!
I occasionally get a similar message, but if you reload the page it’s fine.
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