Print Page | Close Window Continuing chronicles Printed from: Cycling Plus Topic URL: http://www.cyclingplus.co.uk/forum/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=11405 Printed on: 27/04/2004 Topic: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Topic author: Ravenbait Subject: Continuing chronicles Posted on: 13/10/2003 10:54:11 Message: Chronicles of the Cake Stop Vol. III No. 1 Autumn sets in; A fight breaks out; The adventure begins. Sitting in the Cake Stop bar and grill, the lovely and charming Kathy Pike is explaining animatedly how she managed to foil the evil machinations of the scientist who attempted to steal some very important equipment from her laboratory. Fatty, Rigby, Groucho and scm are listening enthralled, and not just by the delights of her womanly attributes. In true Amelia Peabody style Kathy has proved a true heroine, and her eyes flash with excitement as she tells her tale. "And then," she exclaims, "and then I picked up this big, wet, slimy branch and threw it at him and so he fell over and his face went smush! into a big toadstool. One of those red ones with the white spots on. They had already found the van he had stashed the stuff in.... er, I mean, in which he had stashed the stuff." "It's alright," Rigby whispers conspiratorially. "She's not in today. Chuffy says she's been ill." "Phew," says the plucky young Kathy, visibly relieved. "Anyway. And then when he got up he was all woozy and kept falling over, and he was really really cross. Told me I was a pesky meddling kid!" "Well done you!" Fatty tells her, admiringly. "I had to go give Rosencrantz a cuddle afterwards, though, because it was quite thrilling," she says, blushing modestly. "Well I should think so too," scm tells her. "A lovely young gentlewomen of a youthful persuasion messing with a dreadful ruffian like that. You were ever so brave." "I learned a lot from Captain Jack," she says, lowering her eyelids. Claire calls out an order from behind the bar and Shen gets up to collect his fresh bacon and egg buttie. As he does so the door bangs open and Steelman comes in, one of the temple maidens hanging off his arm. They are both wet and windswept and push the door shut behind them with some effort. "We are having the munchies," he explains. "It is very wet outside." The few riders who have made it to the Cake Stop on this rather dreary and dreich day are well aware of what Steelman has been doing to develop a case of the munchies. The Temple Maiden, a strapping Scandinavian called Helga with a cyclist's tan and faint spots of pink still flushing her face, certainly seems to have been having a good time. Through the window the rain can be seen pelting down, making a sound like a thousand horses galloping in shallow water. The trees are whipping backwards and forwards in what looks like a good Force 8 on the Beaufort Scale. The few leaves left by the season's transition from summer are being ripped from the thrashing branches and plastered all over the surface of the road and the bike park. The machines outside huddle miserably together and stare forlornly back into the warm interior where their masters and mistresses are safe from the storm. "Did we not get the covered bike park in the end?" MingMong asks, frowning at the sight of his precious being drenched and pelted by orange-brown leaves. "There just hasn't been time," Withers says apologetically, blowing on his coffee to cool it down. "What with the problems with the subscriptions, and the bike show, and the shirts, and the bike competition and actually editing the magazine as well... it's on the list, there just hasn't been time." They look out the window at the noble steeds standing dejectedly in the rain and all agree that it's much nicer indoors where Claire has got a fire going and there is the smell of fresh baking. Replies: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Evilchuffy Replied on: 13/10/2003 11:12:56 Message: Nice one Sam ...but I hope you weren't writing it at work darlin' "Did I thank you Carolina?." www.catniphollow.com -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 13/10/2003 11:23:29 Message: I was actually. That's bad, isn't it? I'm going to get into the poopy again . Alright. I'll just post some guidelines for particpation for those who don't know over on the other thread and then I'll get my head down to some UV consents and you'll just have to wait for the rest of it. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Evilchuffy Replied on: 13/10/2003 11:26:23 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Naughty poo drenched Sam-->I'm going to get into the poopy again . -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You're meant to deal with it, not drop yourself in it girl! Oh deary me... "Did I thank you Carolina?." www.catniphollow.com -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: oldnewbiker Replied on: 13/10/2003 12:18:31 Message: Please can I have a mention ,I never get one and feel left out . Why wait any longer for your world to begin when you can have your cake and eat it too -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: microphonie Replied on: 13/10/2003 12:52:42 Message: Sam makes a rather unsubtle attempt to get the Chronicles a mention in the mag: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "There just hasn't been time," Withers says apologetically, blowing on his coffee to cool it down. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Then lays the Boot of Satire right in: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "What with the problems with the subscriptions, and the bike show, and the shirts, and the bike competition and actually editing the magazine as well... it's on the list, there just hasn't been time." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "There's 70 billion people of Earth...where are they hiding?" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 13/10/2003 13:40:38 Message: When do i get my grand entry. Is it as valiant defender of the C+ crew re shirts. Or have i been forgoten? Robby T saying howdee -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 13/10/2003 13:53:15 Message: FatBloke waves a pool cue with hostile intent at Microphonie and they retire to the green baize to continue their long-standing contest. Over at the bar, nursing a mug of Horlicks and a small brandy, Oldnewbiker mutters something about having to come up with something for Rigby's birthday present and maybe the League of Gentlemen Cyclists and the Intrepid Sorority should organise a whip round. The door opens again, permitting the entry of a massive gust of wind that blows all the beer mats off the tables, turns the cosy fire into a raging inferno, and has the rack of C+ magazines all a-flutter. A few leaves turn lazy cartwheels on their way to the ground once the door has closed again. The Archaeologist shakes the dust off his jacket, makes sure his trowel is still holstered, and hangs his hat on the stand. Sheriff Ron and Muckspreader look wary, as history cannot be forgotten, and Yenrod is still not someone or something to be dismissed. The Archaeologist holds out his hands, palms upwards, in a peaceful gesture. "I'm not here on business," he said. "The Don deals with the Temple direct now. We have no cause to bring you trouble. It's cold outside, and wet. I just want something to eat and to warm myself." Yenrod has already hunkered down in front of the fire. Odd but evidently delighted noises emerge from his lips, the pretty pictures in the dancing flame enchanting him. Ron and Muckspreader glance at Claire, who nods that it is fine and makes a fresh pot of tea with a slice of fruit and saffron loaf she made to her mother's recipe, sets it on the bar. With a word of thanks the Archaeologist takes the tray and finds himself a seat not far from the fire where he still has a good view of the rest of the room, and surveys his surroundings. It is quiet in the Cake Stop today. There is not yet a sign of the reformed EvilChuffy or the Adonis figure of Gunner Rodgers. Kathy is Tim-less. Hairyhippy is sitting in one corner staring out at the rain, his muddy SPD-wellies left over by the door and thus revealing somewhat baggy socks on his feet. He has a pair of secateurs in his pocket. Cuddyduck and Groucho are arguing about whether the chocolate cake or the ginger cake is nicer. Estie isn't around, nor is Macleach or Derall or Flying Monkey or Helen or Elite 5th Cat. Ravenbait isn't around, nor is Nutty or ZimZum. Of the youngsters Kitzy and Thermidore there is absolutely no trace. It is eerily, spookily quiet. It is, however, also almost lunchtime and it isn't long before people start appearing. Chuffy arrives closely followed by Nutty, the ever charming Tim Pike and the spiritually enlightened guru that is Flying Monkey, and then there is a steady trickle of sodden, cold cyclists, all of whom require sustenance and drinks before they keel over from starvation and hypothermia. Claire is kept busy behind the bar and eventually Kathy steps in to help, feeling sorry for her. Although there is, as yet, still no sign of Ravenbait, everything seems to be settling into its normal habit. Apart from one dissonant clash in the atmosphere. Over by the darts board, Cuddyduck and Groucho are still arguing over the relative merits of their bits of cake, and it is not just a quiet squabble. It is becoming quite heated. The Archaeologist has, as yet, not touched his slice of fruit cake, preferring to drink his tea first, and now his attention becomes focused on this pair much more closely. He watches in amazement as the pair of the stand up and start pushing one another. "You wouldn't know a decent cake if it ran up and kicked you in the arse!" screams Cuddyduck. "Well you evidently have about as much experience of good patisserie as those chaps in Camp X-Ray!" Groucho bawls back, giving another shove. Amazed, the Archaeologist suddenly becomes aware of other arguments breaking out across the Cake Stop. Claire is reduced to standing behind the bar with jaw hanging open like a basking shark's, a tea towel clutched forgotten in one hand. Kathy is wearing a puzzled frown. Muckspreader wades in to break up Groucho and Cuddyduck, but quickly becomes embroiled in another fight between FatBloke and Microphonie over whether the white ball tastes better than the black one when you lick it. Sheriff Ron tries to help but is bushwhacked by a couple of varmints going by the names of Oldnewbiker and LamBO, who are pulling each other's noses and furiously disagreeing about whether squid or cuttlefish make better cephalopods than octopus. "This is very weird, " says Kathy, as more arguments are sparked by tiny matters of total inconsequentiality until the entire place is one great roar of fighting cyclists. "There is something going on here," the Archaeologist shouts to her above the din, ducking a Sidi road shoe that has been hurled across the room and dodging out of the way of a clumsily wielded pump. "This isn't normal. We need to find out what's causing it, and we need to get it under control!" Flying Monkey glides across the room with unruffled calm, effortlessly evading the streaking missiles and blunderingly pugilistic cyclists with all the ease of a Taoist monk in a waterfall. "I notice that all of the fighting is between those who have had ginger and chocolate cake, respectively," he says. "While I hesitate to impugn your fine baking skills, Claire, I suspect that this might be related." He was right; Claire could see that the fighting was confined to pairs of people, one of whom had eaten the chocolate and one of whom had eaten the ginger cake. No one else was affected, but as the ginger and chocolate cakes were the most popular, there weren't very many people left who weren't fighting. Tables were getting wrecked, pictures smashed and she was worried that someone was going to end up in the fire. She searches the room with her gaze until she finds the corner in which Steelman has ensconced himself with Helga. She runs over, discovers them oblivious to the goings-on due to having other things on their minds, and asks Helga to go up to the Temple and bring back some temple guards and some of the sacred water. When asked for an explanation, she merely gestures grimly to the chaos around her. "Oh ja, I go now," Helga nods. She returns with a troop of burly guards, their Adonis-like frames hinting at the origin of the material from which they were cloned, and a collection of bike bottles filled with a mixture of sacred temple water, maltodextrin, biosalt and liver salts. The guards go through the room, holding down struggling cyclists and squirting some of this potent mixture into their mouths, making sure they swallow. Before long the fighting has tailed off and all the berserkers are now lying on the floor groaning as if they had just woken up after a night out at the Wychwood brewery. Jimbo pokes a piece of cake. "What's this then?" he asks. "Looks like a mushroom. Do you normally put mushrooms in your chocolate cake, Claire?" "Well, of course not," she says, voice edgy. Kathy has picked up some of the ginger cake. "There's some sort of mushroom here, too." Suddenly all is clear. Someone has poisoned the Cake Stop. This is sabotage! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 13/10/2003 14:04:21 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by Gonzo When do i get my grand entry. Is it as valiant defender of the C+ crew re shirts. Or have i been forgoten? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- No, you haven't been forgotten. But be patient. These things take time to unravel or else it's not so much fun. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: aardvark Replied on: 13/10/2003 14:14:52 Message: umm. can I play. please can I be a hellhound, a small piglet or an enchanted bicycle. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Kathy Pike Replied on: 13/10/2003 14:16:51 Message: Can we also find a cure for ferret flu please, 'cos we've got two fuzzballs at home that keep sneezing pitifully and then wiping their noses on the carpet, and I'm getting fed up with cleaning snot trails off the floor. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: oldnewbiker Replied on: 13/10/2003 15:47:16 Message: Thanks for that I feel totally fulfilled In my minds eye all this takes place in the Dalesman cafe in Gargrave ,which would be a bit of a surprise as if everyone mentioned was there ,there wouldnt be room to swing a mini pump let alone anything else .Keep up the good work hope the effects of Lupus subside quickly. Why wait any longer for your world to begin when you can have your cake and eat it too -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Flying_Monkey Replied on: 13/10/2003 17:28:02 Message: I like being a spiritually-enlightened guru - if only it were true - but, can I get involved in some (ulimately spiritual) kung-fu bust-up with the evil forces of Carmageddon? Or perhaps the evil demon Lupus, from the dark reaches of the seventh hell... ----- If I only had a brain... ----- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 13/10/2003 17:51:04 Message: I got mentioned! I got mentioned! Hooray! I'm off to do some pruning. I want everything louder than everything else. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Evilchuffy Replied on: 13/10/2003 18:11:42 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Aardvark-->umm. can I play. please can I be a hellhound, a small piglet or an enchanted bicycle. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Aarders, we need more of this kind of stuff, you make me laugh you crazy gone kid you. I guess you likes the same drugs as I do Do feel free to drop in more often "Did I thank you Carolina?." www.catniphollow.com -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Evilchuffy Replied on: 13/10/2003 18:14:22 Message: Dammit Sam, you went for the same plot that I was going to go for (had I actually written anything). I was going to have you and several others replaced by Replicons designed to sow discord and cause unrest within the ranks. But I'll settle for mushrooms "Did I thank you Carolina?." www.catniphollow.com -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: cuddy duck Replied on: 13/10/2003 18:28:16 Message: cuddy duck has made his entree! Can't help thinking his insults would've been a tad more inventive, no? quack at ya -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 14/10/2003 11:12:12 Message: Hairyhippy stumbles over, scratching his head. He pulls a piece of mushroom out with grubby fingers, soil encrusted under his fingernails. "This looks familiar," he says. "Indeed," says Chuffy, peering. "I'm sure I read somewhere that Lilly was using one of these species in his experiments on dolphin communication." "I thought that was Leary and cephalopod communication," scm says, his eyes bloodshot and evidently still a little argumentative. "Anyway. I think they only come from a particular volcanic archipelago in the South China Sea," Hairyhippy concludes. "They're not readily available, you know? Who would be putting them in the cakes here, and why?" "We've had people try to cause dissension in the ranks before," Claire murmurs disconsolately [see Vol II - Ed]. "Hmmmm," Chuffy says, pulling a suspicious face. "I heard that Gonzo spends a considerable amount of time in the South China Sea. He claims he's doing entomology experiments." "You're not suggesting that we are being poisoned by one of our own?" Muckspreader exclaims, shocked. "I can't see that happening." "Perhaps not. But there's something fishy going on there anyway," Chuffy asserts confidently. "That scientist I caught," Kathy interrupts, ashen-faced. "He had just come back from somewhere near China. You don't think....?" "Gonzo and your mad scientist?" Rigby scoffs. "No, my dear lady. 'Tis mere coincidence, and nothing about which you should worry your pretty little head." Several of the others glance at each other, very pleased that none of the more violent of the Intrepid Sorority is around to hear that comment. It would take ages to scrub all the blood and gore off the floor, and then they would have to find another part-time pony boy for FatBloke. After that incident with the Marine Mammals Defence Fund, there was no telling how long that would take. With that the door springs open and the frame is filled with the preternatural splendour that is the demi- god Gunner Rodgers. "What ho my fine friends!" he cries. "Here I am displaying my fine body to the world while riding the delightful Giant OCR team special, causing young maids to swoon in all directions, and here you all are lounging around looking bloodshot and bleary. What's the matter with you all?" "They were poisoned by hallucinatory mushrooms someone had slipped into Claire's cakes," Flying Monkey says, hovering in the lotus position, a faint blue nimbus of enlightened spiritual awareness supporting him. "We think there is a plot afoot and somehow Gonzo is involved." Sheriff Ron shakes his head. "Some four thousand people know about the Cake Stop now," he says. "It's not like the old days, when all we had to do was get Colin to discombobulate the time lines a little. Even with Lance returned to the fold there are more dangers from more sources than ever before, and it's only going to get worse. We'd better get used to this sort of thing. The Cake Stop ain't what it used to be, my friends." "That sort of talk won't help," Gunner says, frowning disapprovingly. "Come now. We shall brave our faces and stride out just as we have always done. We shall strive and we shall succeed and we shall win fair hearts of fair maidens." Macleach puts up his hand. "Where are we going, Gunner?" "I'm sure we'll work it out," booms the Adonis-like babe magnet. "To your steeds, men, to your steeds!" Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Kathy Pike Replied on: 14/10/2003 11:23:45 Message: Ooh, it's getting exciting! Will we see Aeroflash again? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Shen Replied on: 14/10/2003 12:00:00 Message: Cor, I rated a mention. However for the sake of accuracy I am not a lover of butties due to the losing of weight I am engaged in. Sort of... I blus to admit that my town managed to invent the deep fried Mars Bar. Sigh, the shame of it. What was wrong with deep frying a leuttice for goodness sake? For Ferret Flu try a vet... I am stirr crazy now, Friday looms in my thoughts like a beacon of escapologist hope. FREEDOM! Sorry I kinow that good writing avoids !!!!!'s llike the plague but I am not a good writer just a verbose one. Shen -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 14/10/2003 14:27:14 Message: WOW. Thank you Sam. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Yippdi doo daa, and a yippidie dum dee. I have always wanted to be a crazed, deranged mastermind. Currently I am only crazed and deranged, i am studying to be a mastermind though. Robby T saying howdee -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: LamBO Replied on: 14/10/2003 14:40:00 Message: This seems to be panning out very satisfactorily. I feel part of "da family" now - what with my new found involvement in the narrative and all. - a muddled fool, full of lucid intervals - -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 15/10/2003 14:44:26 Message: Chronicles of the Cake Stop Vol. III No.2 "Use the Force, look," "Where is the seventh Level of Hell, exactly?" "I think we took a wrong turn at Basingstoke." The charming and plucky Kathy Pike has foiled the machinations of an evil scientist intent on stealing precious equipment from her secret underground laboratory, but it would appear that he may have wreaked his revenge by employing the assistance of the Cake Stop's very own Gonzo, entomologist and communications expert, henceforth poisoning the cakes with hallucinogenic mushrooms, causing the hallowed grounds to become rife with fighting and argumentation. Saved by the Temple Guards, the intrepid chums are now rallying under the watchful, gung-ho eye of the manly Gunner, and are setting out to put the world to rights. Out into the blasting wind, Gore-Tex zipped up tightly, lights sparkling and blazing in the gloom of heavy cloud cover. The evocative aroma of hastily applied embrocation fills the air, mingling with the ever-present scent of teflon spray and WD40. At this time of year there is also the must of fallen, rotting leaves and that indefinable, vague tang that hints at coming Winter sunshine and snow. Bicycles are unclipped and settled, ready for the off. Chuffy huddles inside his jacket, the Cardinal looking sulky beneath him. "Don't like this wind," he says. "It could easily knock us over, and it's getting worse." "Tosh and pish posh" giggles Rigby. He sets off and is immediately caught by a gust that pushes him into a bush. It is as if someone or something does not want them to leave the environs of the Cake Stop. "Where's the Priestess?" Gunner roars above the wind noise. "Sorting this out is her job. I'm quite manly enough to make it out of here, but the rest of you lily-livered oiks obviously need a helping hand." "She's ill," Kathy tells him, cowering from the wind behind Tim, in the stoker's position on the tandem that was named Her. "Haven't seen her in ages. Chuffy said she wasn't well." "Well can someone fetch her? Show some initiative you horrible lot!" Gunner bellowed with the irritation of a military man dealing with civilians. "Unless she's bleeding to death she should be out here fighting the good fight." At that moment a blue glow appears in the sky. "Wow," says Hasufel. "He looks just like Obi Wan Kenobi in Empire Strikes Back." The light reflects off their rain-wet faces as the ghostly figure of Aeroflash, now ascended to the side of the Goddess as a pure soul sacrificed in the pursuit of truth, justice and ABD-free cakes descends from the heavens and comes to a free-floating rest just above their heads. Pale faces crane upwards to see him, each pair of eyes reflecting a tiny figure outlined in coruscating sapphire. "The priestess has been taken prisoner by one of her minor demons," he says, voice mellifluous with the wisdom of the ascended. "She took her eye off the ball for a moment because she was distracted by somebody trying to justify driving their kids half a mile to school in a Humvee. One of the demons took advantage of the situation to sneak out of its paddock and inflict her with its influence and then went AWOL. It's running about in the 7th level of Hell somewhere and she's not going to feel any better until she catches it and puts it back where it belongs. Or whatever else she might have in mind." He grins wickedly. "Aha!" cries Gunner. "Then we must go and offer our able assistance. But we must get out of the Cake Stop first. Have you any sage advice for my fellow travellers, who are all so much weaker than I?" "Use the Force, look," says Aeroflash, waving one hand that dances with the fey light of St Elmo's fire. The blue nimbus expands down and out, surrounding the assembly in the same soft blue and lighting a path for them to follow. "Go, my friends. Go your way in safety and may the wind be at your back." Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: bardsandwarriors Replied on: 15/10/2003 15:08:04 Message: erm, can I have a very small part please oh great goddess of the writing art if everyone owned a car, what a smelly, dangerous, noisy, stressful, unhealthy, expensive society this would be... oh, wait... it is! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 15/10/2003 15:21:28 Message: You've got one. I just haven't written about you yet. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: groucho Replied on: 15/10/2003 15:21:56 Message: Do we go off two by two under the protective halo? Am I still paired with cuddy duck? Will I be able to keep up with him or have our cycling abilities been enhanced by the graciousness of the Goddess? Will we avoid punctures and speed cops, red lights and 4x4s? There must have been another drug at work because I would have not eaten either chocolate or ginger cake. What was in the tea? Anyway Goddess great stuff. My humble apologies for having the impertinence to respond. You must have some balls To open your mouth at all! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 15/10/2003 15:31:16 Message: Good grief! It's a story done comic strip stylee, and you'll get your characterisations and like them or I can write you out again. I don't think Kathy is really a model of Victorian moralistic modesty with a tom-boy streak, and I know I don't have supernatural powers and two black eyes (only the one), and FatBloke's incident with the Marine Mammals Defence Fund is almost entirely made up. And the whole point of a cliffhanger is to leave you waiting to see what happens next. Now behave! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: groucho Replied on: 15/10/2003 15:39:44 Message: My humble apologies for having the impertinence to respond. You must have some balls To open your mouth at all! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 15/10/2003 15:49:09 Message: That's quite alright, groucho dear. Responding is fine, petty nitpicking isn't. Now drink your milk and eat your biscuits, there's a good boy. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: oldnewbiker Replied on: 15/10/2003 15:58:06 Message: [quote]Originally posted by Ravenbait That's quite alright, groucho dear. Responding is fine, petty nitpicking isn't. Now drink your milk and eat your biscuits, there's a good boy. Why wait any longer for your world to begin when you can have your cake and eat it too -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: groucho Replied on: 15/10/2003 16:06:27 Message: burp You must have some balls To open your mouth at all! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: groucho Replied on: 15/10/2003 16:12:04 Message: Goddess I just want to save you. You must have some balls To open your mouth at all! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gunner Rodgers Replied on: 15/10/2003 16:12:51 Message: Carry on dear Girl, carry on. Why, it's riveting!!! I liked the "preternatural" bit. "You talk about love, love, love" Gunner Rodgers -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 15/10/2003 16:33:19 Message: Sam, i think a big hand is deserved for you. I think you are a cycle campaigner in Exeter (If not then ignore this) and according to the latest C+, Exeter had the 8th biggest increase in bike use out of any city in the UK. Well done. Robby T saying howdee -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 15/10/2003 16:43:40 Message: Why la sir! Thank you ! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: bardsandwarriors Replied on: 15/10/2003 17:31:18 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by Ravenbait You've got one. I just haven't written about you yet. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Oh, cool! I'll stop grovelling now then if everyone owned a car, what a smelly, dangerous, noisy, stressful, unhealthy, expensive society this would be... oh, wait... it is! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 15/10/2003 17:53:52 Message: I should very much like to bring my wheel barrow, wherever we are headed. It has some very interesting compost. That could prove usefull against, well whatever we're against. I has been growing it for some time. I want everything louder than everything else. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 15/10/2003 18:03:35 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by hairyhippy I should very much like to bring my wheel barrow, wherever we are headed. It has some very interesting compost. That could prove usefull against, well whatever we're against. I has been growing it for some time. I want everything louder than everything else. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am the evil villain and am immune to the smells of it cause i have a blocked nose. Ha, Ha. Robby T saying howdee -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 15/10/2003 18:07:13 Message: I shall compost you evil muppet. Then grow blue parsnips with bent bits on the end. I want everything louder than everything else. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Evilchuffy Replied on: 15/10/2003 18:11:49 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I shall compost you evil muppet. Then grow blue parsnips with bent bits on the end. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- But will they play the trumpet really badly and then explode? "Hot bees, bored in the trees" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 15/10/2003 18:47:56 Message: Why either of my boys who eat the blue parsnip suprise. You can't do away with evil you know. Look at what happened on the Timebandits. I want everything louder than everything else. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: cuddy duck Replied on: 15/10/2003 21:14:32 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I'm sure we'll work it out," booms the Adonis-like babe magnet. "To your steeds, men, to your steeds!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- er, raven, are you going to tell gunner that Adonis was a pretty-boy Greek with girlie-curls hair and a bottom like jelly on springs, or shall I? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: rob35 Replied on: 15/10/2003 22:22:20 Message: My first post on this forum posed the question, ARE ALL CYCLISTS BONKERS. After joining a club and seasoning my bottom, so to speak. I KNOW "WE" ARE. And the most bonkerest post on this forum Tele what, do we have a tele Fantastic Tale...When is it out in Hard back -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gordon Replied on: 16/10/2003 06:09:59 Message: Sam, I have just returned to the forum and am pleased to see that you have once again taken cursor to screen and started another Chronicle. If you decide to write me into this volume, would you please take pity on me this time. In the "Chronicles of the Cake Shop", I was given the task of teaching Theramin to sing "a different song" Rather than going with EvilChuffy's suggestion, I thought a good old sea shanty would do nicely. However, Theramin was only interested in learning new Kylie songs. To cut a long story short, I ended up losing my temper and beating up the little bugger with a Left-hand TA Zephyr crank fitted with an XTR SPD pedal (It's true, they really do shed the gore easily!) So please, Sam, if you do write me in, can I get more involved in the nitty-gritty this time? It's not always true that those who can't, teach. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 16/10/2003 10:23:54 Message: Cuddy, that's part of the joke. I wasn't sure anyone else knew. I think it's hysterical, and always thought he might be getting him confused with Atlas or Hercules or Jason or even Odysseus or one of the other great warrior heroes. Might as well call yourself "catamite" and be done with it . Adonis looked like Fotherington-Thomas. Could be worse. Could be Narcissus. Hairyhippy, if you really want compost and a wheelbarrow then have them you shall. Don't think I can't make it plausible. Just. Gordon, I'm so sorry to hear about your travails with Thermic, though pleased that the gore-shedding properties of the XTR are not exaggerated. I'll be sure to make sure you have more fun this time. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 16/10/2003 11:51:05 Message: Bardsandwarriors takes point, enthusiasm evident as this is his first adventure, with the similarly over- excitable Cuddyduck and Groucho right behind him. Further back, in the middle of the peleton, are the more experienced of the Cake Stop denizens, who know that this sort of intrepid undertaking can take quite a lot more time than originally anticipated and it pays to pace oneself. Hairyhippy is languishing near the back, riding the eccentric and somewhat twitchy steed that is the lilac Kirk with a Bob skewer through the rear hub, to which is attached a custom-built Bob Ibex with a lockable suspension post, which can double as a wheelbarrow. The drysack within contains his special supply of magical compost, well known to those in green-fingered circles as having the capacity to make anything thrive. The electric-blue path streaks out in front of them through a landscape darkened by a fierce storm. Above them the clouds bare teeth made of dark shadow, gaping maws looming, ogre-like, and from the woods on either side come unsettling noises and unnatural movements. The light of the path keeps the darkness at bay, preventing encroach by whatever black forces are attempting to foil their plans. "This is just like Pitch Black" says Hasufel, somewhat inaccurately. "We could do with having Vin Diesel around." "What sort of chap is he?" asks Rigby. "What does he ride?" "Er..." Hasufel is nonplussed and let's the idea slide. They emerge from the tree-avenue that lines the little-known backwater providing access to the Cake Stop. As the last man emerges from the arching foliage the vegetation seems to close over the road until there is no sign that there is anything there. The sky clears and the blue path fades away into the dim twilight of a crisp Autumn day. The gang cycles on a little further, largely because Bardsandwarriors is keeping things moving up front, but the pace drops and drops further until the main pack is barely crawling along, and eventually they grind to a halt, forcing the newer entrants to the League of Gentlemen Cyclists to stop and come back to rejoin them. "Where exactly is the Seventh Level of Hell anyway?" Gordon asks, eyebrows raised quizzically. "Ah," says Gunner. "We need Intelligence and Reconnaissance. Well done that man. Come along then, chaps. Where is Mistress Raven's abode?" "That would be near Exeter," Chuffy supplies, being the only one besides the reclusive writer ScottSam ever to have visited the precise location in the Seventh Level of Hell where the Temple Priestess spends her spare time. "That's some distance," FatBloke comments dubiously. "It's not like we can just cut through A-Time. Kathy and Tim have got the half-red tandem again, RB ain't here on account of some minor demon and Aeroflash has gone to be Yoda's toy-boy in training." "I have a little experience of these things," Flying Monkey offers graciously. "And Chuffkin may have succeeded in keeping it mostly hidden out of sheer shame at his once-delinquent behaviour, but that incident with the speed cameras outside Salisbury left him with some ability in that area himself." EvilChuffy blushes and peers very hard at a speck of dirt on the Cardinal's top tube. "There is weak spot in the space-time continuum at the crossroads by the Four Horseman about 3 miles away." Flying Monkey continues, ignoring Chuffy's embarassment with a tolerant smile. "It popped up when the Eldridge Pope brewery closed down, and although someone has started producing Royal Oak again I think it should still be there." "Jolly good show!" Gunner beams hugely and adjusts his bandana. "Onwards then troops! Heading of two-niner-zero and let's be having double time and be quick about it!" In a mass of whirring pedals and glittering spokes, breath steaming great smudges of vapour in the brisk evening air, the pack sets off once more to make the crossing into A-Time. Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 16/10/2003 13:03:25 Message: A-Time. That inter-dimensional weave where the surrealism of Dali meets the irreverence of Da-Da in a false-colour palette apparently devised by the boys working on Chaos Theory for NASA. Here there are giant worms that leave casts of plasticine blue; birds with legs too long and fragile possibly to support the weight of their massive, gently nodding heads if they were ever to set foot on a perch; clowns the size of buildings striding across the rolling topography with grins into which a double decker could fit; insects with eyes on stalks like deedle-boppers and iridescent wing-casings that whine in flight with the sound of a halide lamp warming up. Here there lives a man who is made entirely of crows; and the predatory snake-women, who slide pitiably along the ground as if with broken legs until the unwary traveller approaches to offer help, at which point they spring forward, extending their upper bodies like springs, and paralyse their luckless victim with poison that exudes from their nails and teeth. Here live the hopes, fears and daemons of a thousand cultures. Here live the Abstracts. Here live the Grotesques. The fearless cyclists of the Cake Stop are on a mission, and some of them have traversed this mind- bending country before. The rules are simple: stick to the path and Don't Ever Fall Behind. Previous experience has taught them a lot, and now Kathy and Tim's tandem is accompanied on both sides, and in front and behind, by others of the League. Nutty is following up the rear of Her, riding the brompton and hoping that the rubber bushes will not perish in whatever odd substances are found in the A-Time atmosphere. Enthusiasm curbed by the bizarreness of their surroundings, the newcomers to this gang of adventurers are no longer forging on ahead in front, but are now keeping themselves mid-pack, where familiar faces lend some sense of anchoring point, however falsely reassuring that may be. LamBO's face registers blank surprise at the sight of a gnarled tree on the horizon. It is not the tree that has him so startled, but the man with the floppy hat and one piercing, gimlet eye, crucified to its trunk and branches. LamBO nudges Shen hard in the ribs and points, but Shen just shakes his head. "Ignore it," he advises. "Ignore everything." They take a left fork in the path, then a right, led by Chuffy and Flying Monkey who are operating by instinct, instinct having told them that the two black birds who appeared shortly before the first junction with a resigned expression and mad eyes were not unfamiliar to them. "Is she stuck down a well?" Chuffy had murmured to them, but the joke had not been appreciated and they had flapped off without further ado. Now the two ravens are maintaining a steady distance not far in front, and, bereft of any more or even less sophisticated navigational aid, such as knowing where the hell they are going, the Cake Stop chums are following. * * * Eventually the cyclists emerge, dirty and weary, skins jaundiced from the yellow dust that gets everywhere in A-Time at certain points in the lunar calendar. They have been travelling for what feels like years, and have fought off the predatory snake women, avoided being squashed by giant clowns, fixed several punctures, met one of the burrowing worms face to face - which was not entirely pleasant - and been spied upon by he who is made of crows: the Hollow Man. Now they have completed the not-so-short cut and they find themselves gathering at another crossroads with a pub on it. This one is called The Cross, appropriately enough. Thought and Memory are squabbling about something, pecking at one another and hopping up and down. "Braak!" yells Thought. "Braak! Braak! Braak!" Memory shouts back. Flying Monkey, Gunner and Chuffy regard them uneasily, wondering if perhaps someone left some of the cake lying around. "Braaaaaaaak!" hollers Thought. Memory backs down and meeps sorrowfully. Thought stalks away from his brother towards the cyclists and sidles up to Flying Monkey with the air of someone whistling to appear innocent. "I think we took a wrong turn at Basingstoke," he confides and then sidles away again as if nothing had happened. "Did that bird just talk?" Gunner says in astonishment. "I couldn't possibly comment," Flying Monkey says, aware of the beady eye of the raven watching. "Amazing!" Gunner exclaims. "Normally birds just swoon when they see me. They don't get a chance to get a word in. Sometimes they get most of the way through 'Il Bueno!' but not often." Shaking his head in reluctant admiration for Gunner's unshakeable faith in his own impressiveness, Chuffy says "Not far to go now. It's just over the hill and round a bit. Sort of. Might as well stop in the pub for a pint. I'm parched." "Much as I am keen to get Ravenbait and Fingal back amongst us," Rigby says. "I have to say that is an admirable idea." And so, with only a bare two miles or so left to tackle before reaching the home of the Temple Priestess in the Seventh Level of Hell, we leave our intrepid friends enjoying a pint of Otter's finest in a local tavern, well-deserved after their tortuous trip through the backroads of A-Time. Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: cuddy duck Replied on: 16/10/2003 13:46:05 Message: Otter! I used to live a stone's throw from the brewery 'twixt Upottery and Luppitt.. <... weeps nostalgically for the blue-damp hills of east Devon. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Evilchuffy Replied on: 16/10/2003 14:36:57 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cuddles--><... weeps nostalgically for the blue-damp hills of east Devon. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Oh God, don't you start or you'll set me off! Exmouth....waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahwannagohomeNOW! "Hot bees, bored in the trees" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 16/10/2003 16:46:54 Message: What's this? This volume of our exciting and educational adventure periodical for boys and girls has hardly even started spinning up to speed and our intrepid companions are already bound for refreshment in a public house! A tavern, inn, hostelry! Should we fret, gentle reader? Should we be concerned that perhaps the priorities of our fair chums are somewhat out of sorts? No! Of course not! Making haste under any circumstance is most unseemly and a delicate pause for refreshment is only the gentlemanly thing to do under such a trying occasion. So tune in next time for the continuing tales to be found in Chronicles of the Cake Stop. Starring The League of Gentlemen Cyclists: Gunner - the Adonis of two wheels Tim Pike - the charming Mr Pike EvilChuffy - a scallywag with a heart of gold Flying Monkey - guru and all round good egg Rigby - a true gentleman Derall - another Founder of the League of Gentlemen Cyclists Steelman - the Teutonic master of pleasure FatBloke - wanted by the Marine Mammals Defence Fund Sheriff Ron Strutt - keeping order in time of peril The Archaeologist - master of holes and the Don's right hand man Yenrod - The Archaeologist's personal bodyguard Macleach - Keeper of the Sacred Irn Bru Muckspreader - Deputy Sheriff Hairyhippy - Chief Gardner Gordon - proclaimer of the obvious things that other men miss Shen - full of oriental martial promise ZimZum42 - a proven companion of exotic taste and splendour J.L.Seagull - long time no see Chris Land - not as slow as he says he is not forgetting MingMong Shane Gordy LamBO Groucho Cuddy Duck Oldnewbiker Rafletcher Jimbo Craig0201 Alans Wilf Terry The Intrepid Sorority: Ravenbait - the High Priestess of the Temple Kathy Pike - a plucky and courageous gentlewoman Claire - she who runs the Cake Stop Bar and Grill Redshift - another plucky heroine with an eye for a sword Estie - a wise woman of quiet demeanour Wafflycat - firm but fair Clare - chef and would-be soigneur to the League Bek - the honourable suffragette Also starring: Gonzo - under suspicion of treachery and sabotage Aardvark - a hellhound, piglet or enchanted bicycle The Triple Goddess of Cycling - an oasis of sanity in a world gone mad Colin the Chief Controller - a fat goblin Mrs Colin - a gentlewoman goblin married to Mr Colin Helga - Temple Maiden and Steelman's latest pleasure Thought - a raven Memory - a raven Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Pike - a pair of rascally ferrets Additional members of the League of Gentlemen Cyclists and the Intrepid Sorority Temple Maidens Temple Guards Assorted ineffable denizens of A-Time Actually, I have to apologise, because I've just read Vol II again and Vol III isn't anything like the same standard so far. I will try to do better . -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 16/10/2003 17:35:02 Message: We ahve every faith in you Sam I want everything louder than everything else. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 16/10/2003 17:41:08 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by Ravenbait Actually, I have to apologise, because I've just read Vol II again and Vol III isn't anything like the same standard so far. I will try to do better . -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Well actually i think that this one is better. That is only cause i am the criminal mastermind ... oh and the writting is also far better as is the storyline. Robby T saying howdee -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gunner Rodgers Replied on: 16/10/2003 18:02:45 Message: Splendid!!!!!! Could just use a few more "Gooks" and "Charlies" and "clicks" though> Sorry But it is good!!! "Hey, Mr Tambourine man, play a song for me" Gunner Rodgers -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 16/10/2003 18:05:45 Message: We've hardly started yet, Gun lad. The gooks, spicks and charlies will turn up later, I'm sure! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: cuddy duck Replied on: 16/10/2003 18:14:50 Message: Gonzo's the criminal mastermind??!! Wow, like now we're reeeaaaaalllyyy in trouble. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 16/10/2003 18:17:50 Message: Cuddy are you intending your posts to be taken with a large pinch of salt or not? Robby T saying howdee -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 16/10/2003 18:17:56 Message: Sssssh. You think I'd really give that much of the game away so soon? Sssssssssh. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 16/10/2003 18:33:19 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by cuddy duck You know - and please don't take this the wrong way furry one - I'm not sure Gonzo is particularly well cast as an evil mastermind. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You see cuddy, criminal masterminds need to have a fatal flaw. Have you never seen any of the spy films? All that we need now is to find out that you are my brother. You went along the path of the good, me, i went bad. Robby T saying howdee -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 20/10/2003 12:25:23 Message: Chronicles of the Cake Stop Vol. III No. 3 "You are now leaving Migarđ; this way for Hel and Niflheim"; "No, don't do that, you'll only annoy him"; A falseness is uncovered. We left our intrepid adventurers sitting in The Cross inn, almost at their initial destination - the home of the Temple Priestess in the Seventh Level of Hell - having escaped from a storm-blockaded Cake Stop with the aid of the ascended master that is Aeroflash. They have threaded their way through A-Time with the aid of Thought and Memory, the two ravens, managing not to lose anyone this time, and as we rejoin our heroes we find them getting ready for the off once more. Having quenched their thirsts at the tavern, the Cake Stop troop spend a few minutes catching hold of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern with the help of some prawn cocktail flavoured crisps, and then they assemble on their various steeds, who, up until that point, had been causing a blockade in the village one-way system as the pub had no parking facilities for bicycles. They turn left and lever themselves up the steep hill past the school on legs that have cooled down just enough to become stiff. There is mumbled cursing dotted across the group as various denizens become aware of the pain in their legs and wonder if stopping for a pint was such a good idea after all. Estie, Chuffy, Biff and Kitzy are all quite keen to see the Seventh Level, having taken a test that said that the Seventh Level was the place for them should they ever take up a timeshare option in Hell (although the salesman who stopped by was rather dubious about Kitzy's suitability). Others, like FatBloke, are wondering whether they can take a detour to Level Six. There are a few whose compatibility only stretches as far as Level One or Two, but those will be far too far out of their way to go visiting. They hit the ridge and glide along in the company of the rooks and crows, watched solemnly by cows grazing in the fields. Out in the arse end of beyond there is no traffic noise; no engines or throbbing exhausts to mask the quiet swish of rubber on tarmac and the occasional geiger-counter percussion of freewheels. Finally they come to a bend in the road and a slight dip. There on the right hand side is an enormous tree; an ash tree. Its branches reach so far up into the sky that the crown is lost in the clouds. There are four stags nibbling upon its leaves and an eagle sitting in the branches who has a hawk in his eyes. A squirrel runs up and down the trunk chattering noisily. Right at the top there is a small flash of gold that moves jerkily. "Wotcher Ratatosk," says Thought. "How's it hanging?" The squirrel pauses in its apparently amphetamine-fuelled rush down the trunk."Oh, you know. The usual. Just going down to see Nidhogg to collect another insult for Vedrfolnir, assuming the elongated c*nt has got through enough of that last mouthful of dripping, gory flesh to enunciate for a change. It's a dog's life for a squirrel round here, I tell you. Going anywhere nice?" "Seventh Level of Hell. Ravenbait's house," Memory responds, poking some feathers back into place. "Oh, that'll be nice, right enough," the squirrel nods, tail twitching as if it has a life of its own. "How are Dain, Dvalin, Duneyr and Durathrar?" Thought asks, referring to the stags. "Hungry, as always. It's a wonder this tree doesn't blow down in a gale, the amount it has to put up with. Still, Urd, Verdandi and Skuld seem to know what they're doing - you'd think so, they've been at it long enough - so I'm not too worried for the moment." There is a strangled roar from deep beneath the feet and wheels of the Cake Stop massive, a sound like thick paint being forced through plastic pipes underwater. Ratatosk jumps, legs stiffening in fright. "Gotta rush. Nice seeing you. Take care. Watch out for Garm. And there are roadworks on the Bifrost bridge...." His voice tails into nothing as he vanishes into the ground somewhere behind a hawthorn bush. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern struggle free and go looking, but come back none the wiser. Chuffy and Flying Monkey are examining a signpost set just outside an old, riveted wooden door in the trunk of the tree. The pointers are in the shape of hands with index fingers indicating directions. Moss and lichen are growing on it. There are signs for Nidavellir, Jotunheim, and Svartalfheim, and another one saying "Muspellheim and the South". Underneath the pointers, facing the door so that it is the first thing seen upon exiting, there is a sign reading: "Welcome to Midgarđ. Twinned with Discworld. Midgarđ welcomes careful drivers." "Come on then, you lot," Thought says. "There's a lift for the bikes," Memory adds. The ravens move forwards and rap on the wooden door with their beaks. A rune suddenly glows on the door, looking like nothing else but a CND logo or a Y where the upright carries on right to the top, and then the door swings open. Unexpectedly, it does not creak, but glides silently on its hinges. Inside there is a sign pointing downards saying: "You are now leaving Midgarđ. This way for Hel and Niflheim." There is another door saying: "Private. Authorised personnel only," and another sign pointing vaguely upwards saying: "This way for Vanaheim, Aflheim, Asgard and the Gods." Memory raps on the door marked private and a small, swarthy figure opens it. "Oh, it's you," he grunts. He surveys the massed and waiting expectant cyclists and then looks behind him. "We should fit you all in, but the tandem will have to go on the hook in the corner and we might need to come back for the recumbents." Similarly to the TARDIS, the lift at the end of the passage that lies on the other side of that very utilitarian door is a lot bigger on the inside than it looks from the outside, and with much jostling and a little argumentation, eventually all the steeds are inside and the lift is jammed with bikes and cyclists like veal in a crate. "Which floor please, " asks the dwarf. "Level Seven," says Chuffy in response to Thought's expectant look. "Level Seven," the dwarf replies. "Right you are then, guv. Going down." Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Evilchuffy Replied on: 20/10/2003 13:39:50 Message: Top notch my dear old corvid! I may have to dig out my 'Who's Who In Hel' for some of the references but it all adds to the fun. Incidentally, this is my 2000th post. I saved it for you, special like. To infinity and beyooooooond, avanti! "Hot bees, bored in the trees" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 20/10/2003 13:43:35 Message: Well done chuffers. Also i tried the test and only got to level 2 (or was it 3). Any problem, no matter how big can be solved with a little ingenuity and ... bungee cords. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 20/10/2003 13:57:05 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by Evilchuffy Top notch my dear old corvid! I may have to dig out my 'Who's Who In Hel' for some of the references but it all adds to the fun. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Think of it as a free subliminal education in Norse mythology, dear boy. quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Incidentally, this is my 2000th post. I saved it for you, special like. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Why thank you sir! And well done you! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Macleach Replied on: 20/10/2003 15:33:47 Message: Great stuff Sam. I would like to wear a Gladiator style breast plate and shoulder pads in the story, fashioned from guess what? Empty Irn Bru cans of course ! I can also be prone to "berserker" like episodes after a can like "Slaine" from 2000AD comic ! "It'll be the same old thing that make a bulldog hug a hound...." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 20/10/2003 17:49:07 Message: I hope we didn't forget the compost. I have a feeling we're going to need it I want everything louder than everything else. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: kitzy Replied on: 21/10/2003 06:42:36 Message: this is brilliant Sam! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 21/10/2003 11:58:57 Message: The lift drones downwards for a seeming eternity, the hum of the mechanism almost silent; felt rather than heard. There is no perceptible movement. It becomes uncomfortably warm and the compartment is filled with random sucking and slurping as thirsty cyclists make use of their hydration systems. It is quite dark in the lift, the only illumination afforded by an orange and red glow that comes from beneath, as if there is a searing pit of flame far below. There is a solitary ping, as if from a lonely and rusted bicycle bell, and the faint background vibration ceases. The dwarf hops up onto a stool and pulls a lever by grabbing hold of the end and dangling from it. The doors open. Thought and Memory croak something to the dwarf and half-hop, half-flap out through the opening. After the briefest of pauses the Cake Stop party pile out. According to Dante, the Seventh Level of Hell is guarded by the Minotaur, who snarls in fury, and it is also encircled within the river Phlegethon, which is filled with boiling blood. He tells us that the violent, the assasins, the tyrants, and the war-mongers lament their pitiless mischiefs in the river, while centaurs armed with bows and arrows shoot those who try to escape their punishment. The stench here is apparently overpowering, although Dante had not had the misfortune of meeting AndyGates after a baked beans and tuna baked potato session. This level is also home to the wood of the suicides, which is described as having stunted and gnarled trees with twisting branches and poisoned fruit. At the time of final judgement, their bodies will hang from their branches. In those branches the Harpies make their nests. Beyond the wood is scorching sand where those who committed violence against God and nature are showered with flakes of fire that rain down against their naked bodies. Blasphemers and sodomites writhe in pain, their tongues more loosed to lamentation, and out of their eyes gushes forth their woe. Usurers, who followed neither nature nor art, also share company in the Seventh Level. It isn't quite the tragic horror painted by Dante. When the Cake Stop massive arrive, it is somewhat chaotic. A fight had broken out between suicides from The Smiths' Fan Club and some of the more dismal members of the self-indulgent Goth faction. Some of the name-calling has by this time become quite spiteful. A gang of would-be vampires has got together with some overdose victims and they are trying to bring an end to their respective afterlives by either overdosing on contaminated blood or having blood drained: being dead, this isn't really working out for them. All of this is taking place in surroundings that are achingly beautiful, and yet not one of the Goths, suicides, gay homophobic fundamentalists or lawyers is aware of this. Just to one side of the entrance, in a tavern that looks like it was kidnapped from the Austrian Tyrrol, Attila the Hun and Taras Bulba are sharing drinkies with several other tyrants and warlords while playing Canasta. A large Viking has a martini with an olive on a stick in it. "Always come here when I fancy a change," he bellows, Brain Blessed-like, in response to FatBloke's quizzical glance. "Can only get mead in Valhalla!" "They seem to be having a good time," Chuffy says. "And it's so gorgeous here. Why are all those others so miserable?" "This is Hell, you know," Thought tells him. "What did you expect? What did you think Hell was?" "It's forgetting what's right in front of your nose," Memory adds with a wink. "The Seventh Level of Hell is where people come when they forget that they have the right to have fun and enjoy being alive," Thought tells Chuffy. "Apart from that lot in the Despots Inn. They have a riot. Hell isn't always hellish." The ravens take to the air, leading the way down a road that has perfect surface, perfect camber and perfect scenery to either side. Mountains jostle with alpine lakes and streams. In the near distance there is white surf, rocks and beaches. Woods cast shadows of green-smelling resin and earthy musk. Carried on the gentle, cooling, aromatic breeze is the song of a baying hound, and it is getting closer. Garm is a ferocious beast, the offspring of the trickster Loki and the giantess Angrboda. He guards the gates to Hell and normally picks people up when they enter this realm, but he has had a bit of a sniffle lately and has been off his food. He is therefore not galloping with his usual fervour towards the intruders who escaped his attention by using the staff lift, but they can see him in the distance; the size of a small horse with a close grey pelt, flaming eyes and teeth the size of icicles. "I don't suppose anybody brought a gun, or grenades or something," Cuddy Duck comments mournfully. "No, don't do that, you'll only annoy him," Thought says, swooping low over their heads. There is a collective swallow and the bunch speed increases by a few miles an hour. The hound follows, but does not seem to be gaining any ground. A chain gang forms at the head of the pack to keep the pace up, staying away from the great hound they can hear chasing them. There is only the sounds of transmissions, tyres and breathing as they speed through the undulating topography. Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: FatBloke Replied on: 21/10/2003 12:05:10 Message: Go on! Go on! What happens next??? Sam, your graphic description of the 7th level sounds remarkably similar to a caravan park near Clacton in which I once had the misfortune of spending a few days. I'm still waiting. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Kathy Pike Replied on: 21/10/2003 12:22:16 Message: Wow! Getting exciting! Keep going. On a pedantic note, I thought the Wood of the Suicides was on the 3rd or 4th Level of Hell, but it's been a while since I visited, so I could easily be wrong. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Macleach Replied on: 21/10/2003 12:47:47 Message: More, more (jumping up and down in small child mode)..... "It'll be the same old thing that make a bulldog hug a hound...." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: timbertiles Replied on: 23/10/2003 06:46:00 Message: Dear Madam Sam Raven, Do you write medical/scientific articles? If so please will you do mine. I get stuck for words and you seem to have a way with them. Keep them flowing. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: bardsandwarriors Replied on: 23/10/2003 11:00:42 Message: I hope no one gets a puncture! That Garm monster might develop an appetite, and then where would we be? if everyone owned a car, what a smelly, dangerous, noisy, stressful, unhealthy, expensive society this would be... oh, wait... it is! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 29/10/2003 12:06:22 Message: Kathy, Chuffy, FatBloke and Nutty leave their steeds in the care of their chums and cautiously enter the house. Each of them is aware that the great hound has their scent and it will not be long before he catches up with them. They seem to have entered through the back door. There is a small utility room with a washing machine, a sink, two sacks of dry dog food and sack of cat food, a set of hooks loaded with coats and some muddy wellies on the floor. There is also what is probably a chest freezer and another small door into a lavatory. The main door out leads into the kitchen. There is a large table on which are laid out several pots of tea, mugs, cakes scones and jam. A warm glow radiates from the Rayburn. A black and white cat is sleeping on the metal covers shielding the hot plate. As they enter, a swarm of silver sparkles scatters with myriad, high-pitched giggles, like a dust cloud in sunlight suddenly come to mischievous life. "Wow," says FatBloke. "She's obviously expecting someone." One of the ravens hops up onto the table, sighs theatrically and helps itself to a scone. The other is waiting by the door opposite the one by which they entered. Kathy opens it and she and Chuffy follow the raven along the bare floorboards of the corridor and up the creaking wooden stairs, leaving FatBloke and Nutty to sort out tea and cake for everyone. The bird does not wait for them but pushes open one of the doors with its huge, black beak and struts inside. "Hello?" says Kathy, following. Ravenbait is sitting in bed, another cat at her feet. It scrambles off the duvet and vanishes in a panic. "Stupid bloody cat," Ravenbait grumbles snottily. "Hi guys. Tea's up downstairs. Sorry I didn't get up. I'm all grotty." "You shouldn't have bothered," Chuffy says somewhat reprovingly. "I didn't," she replies, waving a nasty-looking tissue airily. "I have minions for that sort of thing." "How are you?" Kathy asks. "Utterly bloody miserable," the priestess replies moodily. "That bastard demon. I'm going to rip his arsehole out through his tonsils when I catch the little gobsh*te." Her normally alabaster skin is red, blotchy and flaking; the ebony eyes puffy and teary. She blows her nose noisily. "Aeroflash told us what had happened," Chuffy explains. "We came to help." At that moment there is nervous halloo from the stairs. "Come on up," calls Ravenbait. It's Giant Man, looking worried. "Garm is almost here," he says. "Gunner is organising everyone into a defensive position and says you should stay in here where it's safe." "Bugger," says Ravenbait. She climbs rather unsteadily out of bed and blearily peers out of the window. "Hurm," she says, and takes a gnarled wooden staff from its place in the corner. "You see," she says, slowly wobbling out of the room, leaning on the staff, the others following and exchanging confused looks. "Garm has a cold, and, ferocious as he is, he wouldn't come all the way out here because he frankly can't be arsed at the best of times. It's a helluva job - pardon the pun - getting him out here when there's someone who needs getting rid of. Excuse the final preposition." She's inching her way downstairs now, her Winnie the Pooh pyjamas humorously incongruous. "I did have an enchanted bicycle downstairs," she continues. "After that lupus demon managed to pull one over on me it vanished. There was a piglet in the yard for a couple of days but then it vanished as well. Not like I wasn't feeding it." Grumpily she shoves her feet into a pair of walking boots, not bothering with the laces, and shrugs into a waxed cotton jacket. "I'm sure I remember being told something about piglets and that bicycle when the chap dropped it off." She opens the front door, clomps outside, the Rudy Project Freons finding their natural place on her face. The ravens take up their positions, one on each shoulder. "Chap?" Chuffy repeats, not really understanding what she's talking about. "The Morningstar," Ravenbait elaborates, sniffing and wiping her nose on a tissue. "Has a bit of a thing for titanium and this was 751. Handlined lugs, mind." She shades her eyes from the sun and gazes out past the restless, shifting square of cyclists, pressed together in tight ranks, the outer lines holding bicycles pointing outwards; it looks like a many-armed vehicular starfish. "It was Garm you said was chasing you, wasn't it?" Galloping towards them, foam flying and slavering tongue lolling pinkly from gaping maw, eyes burning with the flames of the deepest pits of hell, the huge dog is now only a few hundred yards away and closing fast. Its paws kick up clods of dirt, its back arching concave and convex, ears flapping. Quarry sighted, it is now running silent, but even at this distance they can hear its breath choughing as it runs. Ravenbait ambles round the side of the ranks of cyclists, clomping her way in front of them with apparent unconcern. "I think the fever has gone to her brain," says Cuddy Duck. "Shouldn't we get her back where its safe?" "Do you want to tell her?" Steelman asks him. The hound is so close now they can smell it, and hear its claws on the grass. "Madam, please remove yourself to a place of safety while we quell the beast," Gunner's manly voice rings out, so stern and commanding that Kathy, like most right-minded women, goes quite weak at the knees. Ravenbait seems to ignore him and merely stands leaning on her staff in her PJs and wax jacket, as if she were a contestant on 'One Man and His Dog' who had only just got out of bed in time to make it to the contest. When the hound is so close it seems the can feel its spittle on their faces, Ravenbait gives a piercing whistle. "Aardvark! Down!" She commands. The instruction carries such force that several Cake Stop folk find themselves on the ground without realising what they were doing. Th dog drops to the ground as if it has been shot, then catches itself with a shake of its massive jowls, starts to get up again. Ravenbait lifts her shades onto her head and stares the dog in the eyes, in the manner of Paddington Bear. It whuffs, whines, and then puts its head on its paws, tail thumping hopefully. "Come here," she says, more gently. The dog trots over. It is the size of a shetland pony and dust flies when she gives it a good clap on the shoulder. "This isn't Garm," she explains. "No?" Chuffy says, still hovering warily behind the defensive formation. "He's bloody enormous." "Garm's bigger," Ravenbait tells him. "This is Aardvark. He's a hellhound, piglet or enchanted bicycle. Currently a hellhound. Looking and sounding rather like Garm, I'll grant you, because that damn lupus demon's been playing his tricks." "Not Garm?" Flying Monkey is dubious and uncertain still. "Not Garm," Ravenbait affirms. "Although the mistake is perfectly understandable." She thus makes an admirable excuse for the humble author inadvertently leading the noble, and by now no doubt somewhat affronted reader astray. Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: enginmh Replied on: 29/10/2003 14:37:26 Message: Go on! Go on! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 29/10/2003 17:40:46 Message: Just give us a minute to get our collective breaths back. There's such a thing as too much excitement. It is isn't it? It's Nicholas bl**dy Parsons. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 29/10/2003 18:03:17 Message: No talk of me recently... Have a drool over this, i do daily http://www.cyclingteam.net/merchandising.htm -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: yenrod Replied on: 30/10/2003 15:25:41 Message: What I wanna know is; Am I still looking into the fire babbling to myself (with spelling mistakes) Or have I missed my name orso... " all the chicken heads be QUIET ! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Kathy Pike Replied on: 30/10/2003 16:15:52 Message: Well, there's now a magic beanstalk to worki into the story... (http://www.cyclingplus.co.uk/forum/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=12304) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 30/10/2003 17:35:43 Message: I have just the thing to make it grow. It is isn't it? It's Nicholas bl**dy Parsons. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: muckspreader Replied on: 30/10/2003 17:47:15 Message: Hairy, you'd better be quick because Aardvark the enchanted piglet is busy rolling around in it!!! 'keep it in the big ring' -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: simplesbharris Replied on: 02/11/2003 00:37:47 Message: I know its a bit late, and I dont have many posts, but is there any chance of sqeeeeeezing me in somewhere? I've never been part of a story, and it seems like such good fun! ME - future TdF WINNER - you read it here first. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 03/11/2003 10:14:18 Message: Give me a minute to catch up. I've had (sort of still have) flu and been ill for ages now and now I need to see what everyone has been up to. If you're in the cast list you're still in there somewhere, if you request a mention you'll get one, and now I need to see what ideas I can find from the rest of the forum. Macleach, of course you can have Irn Bru armour. Might take me a little while to get back onto this, though. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Macleach Replied on: 03/11/2003 10:25:59 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by Ravenbait Give me a minute to catch up. I've had (sort of still have) flu and been ill for ages now and now I need to see what everyone has been up to. If you're in the cast list you're still in there somewhere, if you request a mention you'll get one, and now I need to see what ideas I can find from the rest of the forum. Macleach, of course you can have Irn Bru armour. Might take me a little while to get back onto this, though. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cheers RB ! Hope you are feeling better in due course. I'll crack open a tinnie of the orange nectar and drink to your health at lunchtime today. "Big fun, to be had by everyone" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: kitzy Replied on: 03/11/2003 11:03:34 Message: hope you feel better soon -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: cuddy duck Replied on: 03/11/2003 11:46:12 Message: is your partner equipped to deliver reflexology? My intuition tells me your meridians are clogged and short-circuiting. Plus hot fresh ginger and lemon and honey beverages, and mountains of cycling mags (with the odd Cosmo tuccked inside) entertain. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 03/11/2003 12:43:28 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by cuddy duck is your partner equipped to deliver reflexology? My intuition tells me your meridians are clogged and short-circuiting. Plus hot fresh ginger and lemon and honey beverages, and mountains of cycling mags (with the odd Cosmo tuccked inside) entertain. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My partner is not, sadly. My meridians aren't clogged, exactly, so much as completely mangled. Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: cuddy duck Replied on: 03/11/2003 18:41:28 Message: Mangled Meridians Batman!! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 03/11/2003 20:32:55 Message: It sounds awfully painfull. I'm not even sure if I have meridians. If so, I certainly don't know where they are. It is isn't it? It's Nicholas bl**dy Parsons. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 10/11/2003 14:05:16 Message: Chronicles of the Cake Stop Vol III No 4 "No, don't let him do that, it's not nice." "I thought Krakatoa was West of Java?" "This isn't Jules Verne you know!" Gunner has ordered the defensive formation to stand down and some of Ravenbait's minions have managed to rustle up some fresh tea and coffee. They are now picnicking on tea and cake on the grass outside her house. Aardvark is rolling around on the ground, apparently attempting to rub worms into his skin for some reason, or perhaps he just likes the feel of it. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are peering suspiciously at the pony-sized hound from the safety of the corner of the picnic blanket, but are mainly far too intrigued by the possibility of free fruitcake. Thought and Memory are slyly wandering, suspiciously aimlessly, around the assembled cyclists, and every so often one of them will perform some strange antic as a distraction while the other nips in to steal a bun. Ravenbait isn't eating much, but sits on the edge of the picnic blanket drinking tea and sniffling into a tissue. She seems to have an endless supply of them hidden in her coat. "So," says Microphonie. "I take it this demon thing is still on the loose, then." Ravenbait nods, blows her nose. "He's out there somewhere. He shouldn't be able to get into any of the other levels of Hell. You never know, though. I'm practically quarantined, so I can't go look. He might have made it to the Fourth Level, as I suppose you could describe him as prodigal, or he might have gone down to Level Nine in an attempt to get promoted to one of the Malebranche." "So, " says Kathy, "If we find him for you, Aeroflash says you'll get better." Ravenbait nods tiredly. "If it weren't for that little gobsh!te my immune system wouldn't have been under stress and I could kick off this stinking cold. Once I've got him back under control where he should be I'll be as right as rain. So, anyway, tell me what's happening back at the Cake Stop." The incident with the mushrooms seemed such a long time ago. They had almost forgotten that was what had prompted them to come all this way in the first place. Macleach, resplendent in his invincible armour of Irn Bru, which he had donned as defense when it seemed that Garm was coming, explains quickly about the cakes and the fighting and their suspicions regarding Gonzo, Muckspreader and the Archaeologist chipping in every time he misses out some detail. "I think Gunner was going to take us to the South China Sea," says Oldnewbiker in a conspiratorial whisper. "But then there was this wind," Scm chips in, "and we needed Aeroflash's help to get out of the Cake Stop." "Does he live with Yoda now?" Rigby asks. "Does he have to have very small cupboards?" Everyone favours Rigby with a baffled, disbelieving stare. "I was only asking," he says. "So let me get this straight," says Ravenbait, (largely for the benefit of the readers). "Kathy hits a mad scientist with a soggy twig..." "It was a big, heavy branch," Kathy pipes up indignantly. "Someone slips hallucinogenic mushrooms into the cakes, which Hairyhippy and Chuffy here positively ID as coming from the South China Sea," the Priestess continues, "and you all thought that it must be Gonzo because he spends time looking at insects in the South China Sea." "That's about the size of it, dear lady," Gunner affirms. "Not by himself, obviously," says Muckspreader, somewhat lamely. Now that the evidence had been stated so plainly, it didn't seem so clear cut any more. "He obviously had help," says Cuddy Duck, a little snidely. "He couldn't manage this on his own." "Why do you think Gonzo might have put hallucinogenic mushrooms into the cakes?" Ravenbait asks them slowly. "To cause fights, obviously, the insufferable rotter!" Rigby exclaims, righteously incensed. "Not the actions of a gentleman at all. I propose to have him black-balled." "Keelhauled!" Grimpeur adds, with relish. "And why do you think he might have done this?" Ravenbait asks, even more slowly. "Well, obviously he has foul plans for world domination," says Fat Bloke, munching on a scone. "Not convinced," the Priestess shakes her head. "Don't really see how slipping a few mushrooms into our cakes is going to aid the fight for world domination." "Maybe he was just using us as guinea pigs," Kathy says in a shocked whisper, knuckles held to her teeth as if to stop herself from whimpering. "Maybe he's going to use it on everyone else now that he knows it works." "No, don't let him do that, it's not nice," Ravenbait says, pulling a disgusted face. "Well, no, that's why we came," says Bardsandwarriors. "No, not Gonzo. Aaardvark." The big dog is trying to lick jam off Fat Bloke's face. "He uses that tongue to clean his own balls, you know. And worse." "Oh." Faces pale as imaginations collectively realise the potential consequences of being licked by a Hellhound. "Well, look. I can't help out in any way until I get this Lupus demon back where he belongs. So I suppose you can either help, or head on without me and I'll catch you up once everything is sorted out here," Ravenbait tells them. "I can let you have the two ravens....oh." Thought and Memory are lying on their backs, feet in the air, wings slightly outstretched. They are gurgling. Other than that they could be dead. "Little toerags have been stealing cakes again. Look at them. Their eyes would only ever be bigger than their bellies if there was an endless supply of food," the Priestess says, irritated. "I don't suppose either of you is related to Loki, eh?" There is no response, just gurgling. Thought's left foot twitches slightly. "Okay, so you'd have to go ahead by yourselves until either I'm free or those two have digested." "We've come this far to find you," Chuffy says. "We might as well stay to help." "Indeed," Gunner agrees. There is a murmur of general assenting from the others. "All right then," says Ravenbait. "I'll just get someone to clear away the dishes and then we can begin." Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Macleach Replied on: 10/11/2003 14:09:07 Message: Nice mention, thanks :-) "Bicicleta emocion" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 13/11/2003 14:04:41 Message: What will happen now? Will our plucky companions in adventure manage to track and detain the dastardly Lupus demon, thus releasing the mysterious Priestess to aid them in the quest to find the villain of this dastardly tale? Will they survive the rigours of a hunt through the very fields and blasted plains of Hell itself? Was Ravenbait right to say that Garm would cause them no trouble, or is the great hound waiting to take advantage? Could it be that there are those amongst the Cake Stop who even now are contemplating the unthinkable, and wondering if the Priestess isn't rather too rum to be acceptable as a member of the Genteel Intrepid Sorority? Find out in the ongoing tales contained in our educational adventure periodical for boys and girls of all ages. Chronicles of the Cake Stop! Starring The League of Gentlemen Cyclists: Gunner - the Adonis of two wheels Tim Pike - the charming Mr Pike EvilChuffy - a scallywag with a heart of gold Flying Monkey - guru and all round good egg Rigby - a true gentleman Derall - another Founder of the League of Gentlemen Cyclists Steelman - the Teutonic master of pleasure FatBloke - wanted by the Marine Mammals Defence Fund Sheriff Ron Strutt - keeping order in time of peril The Archaeologist - master of holes and the Don's right hand man Yenrod - The Archaeologist's personal bodyguard Macleach - Keeper of the Sacred Irn Bru Muckspreader - Deputy Sheriff Hairyhippy - Chief Gardner Gordon - proclaimer of the obvious things that other men miss Shen - full of oriental martial promise ZimZum42 - a proven companion of exotic taste and splendour J.L.Seagull - long time no see Chris Land - not as slow as he says he is Nuttycyclist - not fruity, you know Withers - the Godfather of C+ Thermidore - Kitzy's greatest admirer not forgetting MingMong Shane Gordy LamBO Groucho Cuddy Duck Oldnewbiker Rafletcher Jimbo Craig0201 Alans Wilf Terry Simplesbharris WeirdNeville Jokeyjon The Intrepid Sorority: Kathy Pike - a plucky and courageous gentlewoman Ravenbait - the High Priestess of the Temple Claire - she who runs the Cake Stop Bar and Grill Redshift - another plucky heroine with an eye for a sword Estie - a wise woman of quiet demeanour Wafflycat - firm but fair Clare - chef and would-be soigneur to the League Bek - the honourable suffragette Kitzy - an impressionable young maiden Also starring: Gonzo - under suspicion of treachery and sabotage Aardvark - a hellhound, piglet or enchanted bicycle The Triple Goddess of Cycling - an oasis of sanity in a world gone mad Colin the Chief Controller - a fat goblin Mrs Colin - a gentlewoman goblin married to Mr Colin Helga - Temple Maiden and Steelman's latest pleasure Thought - a raven Memory - a raven Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Pike - a pair of rascally ferrets Additional members of the League of Gentlemen Cyclists and the Intrepid Sorority Temple Maidens Temple Guards Assorted ineffable denizens of A-Time -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 13/11/2003 17:46:21 Message: Hurray! It is isn't it? It's Nicholas bl**dy Parsons. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 13/11/2003 17:53:17 Message: I will get a blasted mention in the mag for this, I will. Si's always getting a mention, and Chuffy's been in there twice now. No fair! Anyway. Give me a day to get the rest of No 4 done. I have two other projects ongoing at the moment as well. One of them you can see the beginnings of here -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 13/11/2003 18:00:34 Message: Nice descriptive work Sam. It is isn't it? It's Nicholas bl**dy Parsons. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: kitzy Replied on: 14/11/2003 07:00:18 Message: brilliant stuff Sam -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 14/11/2003 07:31:40 Message: Sam should get a prize for this. I feel a C+ medal coming on! Don't take anything i say seriously, after all look at my pic and you won't be able to Have a drool over this, i do daily http://www.cyclingteam.net/merchandising.htm -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: LamBO Replied on: 14/11/2003 10:03:15 Message: Your dedication to the cause does you credit. I would like to see a pastoral interlude. Some oasis of bucolic bliss would serve to invigorate our intrepid voyagers. With my oft criticised hairy legs I am more than happy to assume the roll of Satyr/goat god type. Obviously this scenario could be an umlikely change of scene en-route or a mass hallucination by way of the fabulous fungii. Just thought I'd confuse you even more.............. - a muddled fool, full of lucid intervals - -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 14/11/2003 10:45:41 Message: Why is it that, as I write the next episode, I can't get past the idea of Gunner being played by Bruce Campbell? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 14/11/2003 11:46:02 Message: The dishes had been cleared away. A cloud of silver sparkles had descended with a sound reminiscent of mosquitoes on nitrous oxide, for a brief instant forming a shimmering pool over the scattered remnants of the picnic. When they had lifted off and scudded away there was no sign that there had been any feeding of guests going on at all. "Right then," says Ravenbait, rubbing her hands together and then sneezing loudly and violently. "With all of us at it, we might manage to do this. Just wait here a minute." She ambles back inside the house with a perfunctory command to Aaardvark telling him to stay. When she returns she has dressed in more familiar attire, is accompanied by Fingal and is gingerly holding a pair of manky boxer shorts by one corner. She ponders a moment, looking from Aardvark to the boxers and back again. "Damn instruction manuals, always going missing. Now how did he say it went?" "What is it you want to do?" Flying Monkey asks. "Oh, just one of the standard 67 transformations," she tells him. With a smile Flying Monkey takes a hair from his head, makes several passes over it. There is a rainbow flash and in the slight purple and orange haze it leaves, Aardvark has taken on his piglet form. "Well, easier to keep up with him and pigs can find truffles, can't they?" the priestess says somewhat belligerently in response to the dubious looks with which the others are favouring her. She takes the manky boxer shorts and drapes them over Aardvark's nose. "Go find," she whispers in his ear. The little pig shakes himself, sneezes slightly, and then trots off happily further into the depths of Hell. "Mount up!" cries Gunner. He is suddenly besieged by a small host of silver sparkles, who sigh breathily and seem only to want to be near his manliness. "What's all this?" he exclaims. "Get away with you! What are they?" Ravenbait smirks as she rides past. "Faeries, Gunner lad, faeries." Startled, he watches carefully, and as one of the tiny creatures swooshes past his eyes, only an inch or so away, he catches a brief vision of naked blue skin, shimmering, nipple-less breasts, almond eyes the colour of wood moss, pointed ears and sharp teeth. The company moves off, slowly. The piglet only has little legs and Nutty is heard to mumble something about wishing he'd brought Mrs Nutty along because the pace is nice and steady and now that she'd been up Cheddar Gorge on a Brompton, she might have actually enjoyed this. Terry is heard wondering whether the piglet isn't somehow related to Habeus Porcus from "Doc Savage: Man of Bronze" and then, somehow, they are singing the title music from the eponymous film as they pootle along the smoothly metalled surface. Gunner is trying very hard to ignore his retinue of admiring faeries, which are zinging around his head making soft cooing noises, occasionally brushing against his skin with a touch as soft as a dandelion clock. He is sure that they would not be able to keep up if the Cake Stop posse were travelling at a pace more befitting the beauteous OCR Team Replica, but the cyclists are forced to match the pace of the piglet. "Mistress Raven," he finally calls in desperation, brushing a faery out of his face and then apologising, embarrassed, for his forward behaviour, for they are still evidently female. "Would it be possible to have the hound back so that we may go a little faster?" "He's a hellhound, Gunner," the priestess replies. "We might not be able to keep up." "But, dear lady, I am besieged. Nay, plagued. It is too much for a man of decent, gentlemanly sensibilities." The priestess looks back over her shoulder, and mumbles something indistinct. With a collective moan of disappointment, the faeries are left behind, unable to progress. Gunner looks back to see the small cloud hanging stationary above the road where his head had been, and then it scoots off at a rapid pace, back the way they had come. The landscape around them changes, becoming more dramatic, less welcoming. The air begins to take on the unmistakeable stench of rotten eggs and the clear sky is becoming streaked with orange and grey, the pallor of smoke invading the cerulean blue. Over on the distant horizon, a vast, dark mountain belches and spews black clouds. Jets of gas the colour of wet concrete spurt from jagged cracks, deep within which can be seen the eye-hurting glow of molten rock. "I thought Krakatoa was west of Java," says Hairyhippy. "Didn't know there were any seabirds down here," says Chuffy, grinning widely. "What?" J.L. Seagull frowns. "Well, look," Chuffy replies, pointing at the volcano. "It's puffin." "Looks like things have certainly taken a tern for the worse," Groucho adds. "Yeah," Jimbo agrees. "We could be completely shagged here." "I could be fooled into thinking that was Mount Doom, if I were gull-ible," says Terry. Ravenbait suddenly brings the gang to a stop. "It is," she says ominously. She leans down, mutters something to the piglet. Aardvark immediately turns back into a hellhound. "Little pigs might get eaten, where we're going," she says. Kathy looks frightened, clings to the back of Tim's jersey with one hand. Arellcat and Redshift glance at one another resolutely. Redshift reaches down and brings out a curved, single edge sword from its sheath on the bottom of the recumbent, tests its edge and then returns it, sucking her thumb to stop it bleeding. Now that they look, they see they are the top of a steep, tortuous descent, and at the bottom is a grey, stinking wasteland. Gravel piles rise, steaming toxic yellow from oily, black earth, which stretches on into the foothills of the great volcano. There are no trees here, only bushes; twisted, misshapen and stunted, poisoned into deformation. The breeze carries the tortured screams of those who have only just come into full awareness that the pain will never become blunted, that there is no hope of becoming inured, that eternity is far more than the mortal mind can comprehend. From their vantage point, the cyclists can see thin, bedraggled humans being whipped by enormous creatures with massive horns and lascivious serpent tongues. Those are the sinners guilty of fraudulence and malice; the seducers and pimps. Slowly, stumbling over sharp, ember-hot stones, the hypocrites struggle to walk in lead-lined cloaks. The simonists, wedged into stone holes where their feet are licked by flames fed directly from the spitting fire-mountain, kick and writhe desperately. The magicians, diviners, fortune tellers, and panderers are all here, as well as the thieves. Some wallow in the products of human defecation. Serpents writhe and wrap around men, sometimes fusing into one other. Bodies are ripped apart with sucking, slurping, crunching sounds. The sinners here are afflicted with scabs like leprosy, and lie on the ground, scratching so fiercely as to tear their skin off with their abused, broken and bleeding nails. "I was afraid of this," Ravenbait says grimly, stifling a sneeze as though her life depends on it. "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Malebolge." Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Flying_Monkey Replied on: 14/11/2003 12:05:20 Message: All this and Dante too - fantastic! PS: remind me what a 'simonist' is again!!! ----- The nature of Monkey was... irrepressible! ----- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 14/11/2003 12:18:05 Message: From Simon Magus; Acts, viii, 18-24 Simony is usually defined "a deliberate intention of buying or selling for a temporal price such things as are spiritual of annexed unto spirituals". While this definition only speaks of purchase and sale, any exchange of spiritual for temporal things is simoniacal. Nor is the giving of the temporal as the price of the spiritual required for the existence of simony; according to a proposition condemned by Innocent XI (Denzinger-Bannwart, no. 1195) it suffices that the determining motive of the action of one party be the obtaining of compensation from the other. In other words, selling spiritual services. Offering prayer in return for cash. Evangelism . -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Terry Replied on: 14/11/2003 12:22:34 Message: He he, beats reading employment law books anyday! ------------------------------- www.essexroadscyclingclub.com "It's like hitting a brick wall." Duffers - L'Alpe d'Huez -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: microphonie Replied on: 14/11/2003 12:48:26 Message: Are you sure that's Gunner riding with us? There's a distinct lack of "'NING-ing", and dodgy 80s song lyrics around him...could we have an imposter in our midst, perchance? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "No but, yeah but, no but, yeah but...shut up! I weren't even there...don't give me evils!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: FatBloke Replied on: 14/11/2003 14:52:59 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nutty is heard to mumble something about wishing he'd brought Mrs Nutty along because the pace is nice and steady and now that she'd been up Cheddar Gorge on a Brompton -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nutty!! Just who, may I ask, is Cheddar George!!!!! I'm still waiting. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: nuttycyclist Replied on: 14/11/2003 15:00:14 Message: Haven't a clue who George is as I hadn't been reading this thread (work to do and all that). Can we have a short musical interlude whilst I head off for a read? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: Anything I say in this post is my own opinion and not that of any organisation or company I may belong to. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Macleach Replied on: 14/11/2003 15:31:10 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by FatBloke quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nutty is heard to mumble something about wishing he'd brought Mrs Nutty along because the pace is nice and steady and now that she'd been up Cheddar Gorge on a Brompton -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nutty!! Just who, may I ask, is Cheddar George!!!!! I'm still waiting. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He was a character from the Beano or Dandy I believe. "Players only love you when you're playing" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: nuttycyclist Replied on: 14/11/2003 15:34:32 Message: Well well Ravenbait, Please accept my apologies. I'd read page one when it was first written, but never re-visited it. I have now got to the bottom of page 4, and enjoyed every minute of it. I shall continue reading when I'm next at work. (Being my birthday, I'm leaving on time today). -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: Anything I say in this post is my own opinion and not that of any organisation or company I may belong to. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: groucho Replied on: 14/11/2003 16:08:31 Message: Malebolge - Mountainbikers are lazy, easily bored only laughing greenly envious oops wrong thread Nice one RB, Majesty ..and the tumbleweeds just tumble. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 14/11/2003 16:13:24 Message: My apologies humble preistess but there is a typo in your epic. "Looks like things have certainly taken a tern for the worse," Gonzo adds. I am currently not in the 7th level of hell but actually in the south china sea. Unless my super villainly power is to astral project to be punny i am afriad that you have made a mistake most heinous. Don't take anything i say seriously, after all look at my pic and you won't be able to Have a drool over this, i do daily http://www.cyclingteam.net/merchandising.htm -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 17/11/2003 09:03:20 Message: Fixed. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Gonzo Replied on: 17/11/2003 09:06:04 Message: Thank you. I feel much happier now. Don't take anything i say seriously, after all look at my pic and you won't be able to Have a drool over this, i do daily http://www.cyclingteam.net/merchandising.htm -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: nuttycyclist Replied on: 18/11/2003 11:13:36 Message: SAM!!!!! Did that get your attention? MORE!!!!! where's the next instalment? MORE!!!!! Please? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: Anything I say in this post is my own opinion and not that of any organisation or company I may belong to. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 18/11/2003 11:18:42 Message: Hang on, hang on, it's coming. I had to have a rant this morning. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: FatBloke Replied on: 18/11/2003 11:21:11 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by nuttycyclist SAM!!!!! Did that get your attention? MORE!!!!! where's the next instalment? MORE!!!!! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Typical!!!! Can't be arsed to read it for 3 weeks, then he wants it all at once!!!! I've got it!! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: nuttycyclist Replied on: 18/11/2003 11:23:11 Message: Well some of us have to do a job as well as playing on the net all day ... and some of us do make mistakes in what we decide not to read as they look like taking up too much time -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: Anything I say in this post is my own opinion and not that of any organisation or company I may belong to. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: nuttycyclist Replied on: 19/11/2003 13:07:44 Message: I'm being ever so patient here. Is it nearly ready Sam? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 19/11/2003 13:17:59 Message: I have a job too, you know. You'll get me into trouble with Chuffy for neglecting my job. I'm working on it now. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: nuttycyclist Replied on: 19/11/2003 13:21:06 Message: its ok I won't tell chuffy if you won't -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: Anything I say in this post is my own opinion and not that of any organisation or company I may belong to. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Evilchuffy Replied on: 19/11/2003 13:24:17 Message: Will you young buggers stop whispering, the batteries on my hearing trumpet have packed up. Harrumph... Johnny who? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 19/11/2003 14:44:27 Message: When we left our intrepid companions, they were at the top of the literally devilish descent from the Seventh Level of Hell to the Malebolge, the Eighth Level, following the trail of the Lupus demon who has rendered the Temple Priestess a mere shade of her former self, aided by Aaardvark; a hellhound, piglet or enchanted bicycle. In the distance spits the eternal flame of Mount Doom, from the broiling bowels of which come the flames and heat that feed through the various arenas of this most tortuous afterlife to bring pain and eternal suffering to those whose own attitudes render them deserving of an inhuman fate. Ravenbait sneezes, then asks solemnly: "Is everyone sure their tyres are up to pressure?" She doesn't mean anything by it; it's just to break the silence as they gather their nerves for the descent. A couple of the bikes start fidgeting, freewheels creaking slightly, front wheels nuzzling around on the hard-packed dirt that the road has become as their riders half-stand astride them, gazing down into the dismal grey valley below. "Best to check your brakes as well." A wind scuds across the ridge, somehow chilling the bones while leaving no impression on skin. It brings the smell of sulphurous tar; the crispy pork aroma of seared flesh; the acrid, cloying stink of burning hair. There are burnt smells, hot smells carried on a zephyr that seems to come straight from the depths of some wasteland icier than Siberia in midwinter. "What is the plan of attack, dear lady?" Gunner asks manfully. "See those horned things down there? Those are the Malebranche. Well, some of them. I'm betting our little friend is after promotion, but they won't have a skinny little oik like him. I think we could be in and out without even bothering them." She hums to herself. "Although it would be easier if Huginn and Muninn hadn't stuffed themselves with jam scones." She gestures downwards. "Don't talk to anyone," she continues. "Don't talk to them, don't listen to them. Remember that this is their hell, not yours. Did we have anyone destined for Level 8? Yes? Well this is just a flying visit. You're not staying. If anyone tries to talk to you, whether sinner or demon, pretend you didn't hear. They might think you're ghosts. Don't eat or drink anything, like I need to tell you that, and if you see a scrawny little bugger that looks a bit like Gollum but with a pointed tail and red eyes, you grab him. If anyone physically attacks you in a way you can't ignore, holler and we'll get out of here." She favours them with a bright smile. "Ready?" Beams of light blaze out from the lumicycles slung beneath Fingal's aerobars, tilting downwards as his front wheel leaves the ridge and leads downwards into the depths of Hell. The wind attacks them, pushing backwards. Flying Monkey remembers the wind that assaulted him and Aeroflash when they were contacting Colin the Chief Controller at Avebury, and this is very similar, although nastier-smelling. It apparently comes from nowhere and chews into them. Flying Monkey can hear snatches of muttered incantation the Priestess is grinding out from beneath clenched teeth. She is not strong at the moment, and is failing to make much of an impact on this wind that guards the edges of the Malebolge. He pushes forwards and lends his strength to the effort. Their way is made somewhat easier, and Ravenbait flashes him a grateful look of thanks without faltering in her chant. When they reach the bottom the wind dies away. The air is stifling with the heat of the volcano, and Nutty is worried that the dirt on which they ride will be hot enough to melt his tyres. As they pause to regroup, he reaches down and feels the ground. To his surprise it is icy cold. "Level Nine below us," says Ravenbait. "About as far away from heat as one can be. In places it penetrates the ground even here. Quickly now, ladies and gents. We don't really want to spend any more time down here than we have to." "I say dust off and nuke the place from orbit," Gunner says. "It's the only way to be sure." Ravenbait grins at him and then they are off again. There is a distinct trail, but it is barely more than a slightly smoother surface snaking its way between the steaming gravel piles. Naked, writhing bodies, encrusted with suppurating scabs, grind desperately against the rough ground below them, scoring bloody trails in their own flesh with fingernails blackened by trapped, necrotising tissue. Some of them reach out to the passing cyclists with agonised faces, tendons straining in emaciated bodies now sickened by the physical manifestation of spiritual torment. Sunk into the ground in spaces left between the gravel mounds are deep cess-pits, in which people identifiable as such only by the whites of their horror-struck, panic-filled eyes dog-paddle and kick with limbs forever on the point of failure. The mounds themselves, the cyclists see, are not just rubble piles but contain people trapped within them. Tiny orange flames can be seen flickering through gaps in the stones. The steam that vents through them stink of sulphur and is blisteringly hot. Up against the cliffs on either side of the valley there are more people, fixed up there with massive serpents slowly and eternally crushing them, bone by tiny bone, the whole thing a horrific, writhing mass of screaming flesh and sinuous pain. Closer to the volcano are the stumbling, gaunt figures of those being made to walk across the glowing rocks spat our from the mountain, cloaks of lead grinding them more heavily into the ground. Their feet do not bleed, despite the slashing edges, for the stones are hot enough to sear any cut as it is made. This close, the size of the Malebranche, wielding their whips as freely as they wield their long, forked tongues, is more apparent and far more terrifying. Kathy closes her eyes and refuses to look. As the single stoker, she is the only one able to afford that luxury. Aaardvark, being a hellhound, is quite happy, but they are keeping an eye on him in case the Malebranche decide they are hungry. Remarkably, he also seems to be perfectly able to continue tracking the lupus demon, which is just as well. Thought and Memory are still lying gurgling on the ground outside the Priestess' house, and are in no fit state for aerial reconnaissance. "Priestess!" The company of cyclists comes to a sudden stop. Ravenbait narrows her eyes and looks to her left. Gunner moves resolutely forward and takes up a protective position on her left flank, close to her elbow. Sauntering towards them is a man of incredible, bewitching beauty. He is fey in appearance, with incredibly gentle eyes and a nimbus of hazel hair that reaches to his shoulders. He bears an incredible resemblance to modern depictions of Jesus, with a slightly feminine mouth and flawless skin. To the Cake Stop's collective surprise, Ravenbait dismounts and bows with respect. "Morningstar," she greets him. "It has been a while." "I didn't expect to see you this far down. You're not thinking of vacationing in Cocytus, are you?" he asks with friendly tones. "No, my Lord," she says, earning a discomfited glare from many of the other cyclists, who do not necessarily understand that, when in Hell, it pays to be polite to the Devil. "We come in search of a lupus demon who escaped from my domain." "This one?" Lucifer snaps his fingers and one of the immense, horned demons thuds over, each footstep making the ground quake. It laughs, the sound rumbling like the movement of tectonic plates. Caught between the very tip of its thumb and forefinger, the aforementioned lupus demon is wriggling like worm on a hook. "That would be the one, yes my Lord, " says Ravenbait, with a steely look at the struggling demon that speaks of many horrors lying in wait for the creature. "Well, seeing as how you did such a nice job of adjusting my rear indexing last week, you can have this one for free." He turns to the enormous beast still holding the lupus demon. "Boris, will you just drop that off at Ravenbait's for me? There's a chap. Make sure he's not going to get out again before she gets home, will you? Splendid." The Malebranche stomps off, chortling to itself. "And this would be that enchanted bicycle, yes?" he pats Aardvark on the head. Aardvark wags his tail happily. "Excellent. Excellent. Well," he says brightly. "That seems to have sorted out everything all round, wouldn't you say?" The cyclists nod, somewhat uncertainly. "Priestess, I hope that I will be seeing your splendid...er....face again on our Sunday club runs now that your recovery is assured." "Oh, I wouldn't miss them, Lucifer," Ravenbait replies with a winsome smile. "I thought you might say that," the Devil replies, and for an instant there is a hint of his power in the undertones of his voice. The Priestess's deliberate flirting does not fool him entirely, but he enjoys the game enough to continue playing. "See you Sunday morning then." He smiles beatifically at the pack, and then saunters off again, vanishing quickly. "Are we going to Level Nine, now?" asks ZimZum42, who is just about to put a deposit on a timeshare there. "You want to keep going down?!" Kathy exclaims, horrified. "This isn't Jules Verne, you know!" "We're going back," says Ravenbait firmly. "Hope you've got legs for the climb." "Ning!" Gunner says, baring teeth in a massive grin. "Of course we do! Right you 'orrible lot! Get those bikes turned around! Move it move it move it!" With a sense of relief and accomplishment to fuel them, not to mention an overwhelming desire to get some peace and quiet away from the desperate, gut-wrenching screams of the tortured, the Cake Stop posse turn round and head for tea and cake at Ravenbait's, mission accomplished. Sam http://www.ravenfamily.org "Selling atonal apples and amplified heat..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: nuttycyclist Replied on: 19/11/2003 14:52:29 Message: Oooo thanks Sam. Unofficial coffee break over - back to work. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: Anything I say in this post is my own opinion and not that of any organisation or company I may belong to. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Evilchuffy Replied on: 19/11/2003 14:56:34 Message: Smiting! Old Norse! Extreme violence! Gwynneth, where are she? Johnny who? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: jokeyjon Replied on: 19/11/2003 14:57:17 Message: Thanks Sam, I shall print the chronicles off and have them bound in genuine impskin! cease firing, hook in. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Ravenbait Replied on: 19/11/2003 15:19:44 Message: quote: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Originally posted by Evilchuffy Smiting! Old Norse! Extreme violence! Gwynneth, where are she? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It has to fit into the story . I can't just put it in wherever. It needs to be slotted in seamlessly. I haven't forgotten. If I'd put a big battle scene in there it would have taken forever and I'm supposed to be working! Quit complaining, you! And Gwynneth are in the hoover! It look quite fetching actually. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: Evilchuffy Replied on: 19/11/2003 15:32:16 Message: Ooh, there's lovely then. But if Gwynneth are in the hoover then who are in the boiler lagging? Johnny who? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: groucho Replied on: 19/11/2003 15:34:07 Message: Excellent stuff Highness! With regard to hill climb back I shall be towards the rear of the possee, no triple, you know! ..and the tumbleweeds just tumble. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: nuttycyclist Replied on: 19/11/2003 15:40:00 Message: Well that's fine for you lot, I'm still on the Brompton . Maybe I should fold it up and walk. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: Anything I say in this post is my own opinion and not that of any organisation or company I may belong to. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reply author: hairyhippy Replied on: 19/11/2003 17:52:37 Message: Still got goose pimples! Wonderfull stuff. The smelly wind might of been me. It is isn't it? It's Nicholas bl**dy Parsons. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cycling Plus : http://www.cyclingplus.co.uk/forum/ © 2004 cyclingplus.co.uk Close Window