Fleecy bits

Once upon a time, long before humans were said to exist, sheep did their own washing. They’d find a sturdy patch of gorse or bramble, rub themselves on it, and then collect the parts of their fleece which had got stuck to the spiky bushes. They’d use some sap to glue leaves together into the shape of a bucket, pop the fleecy bits in, and then take them down to the river to wash them. As those were the days before humans, the rivers were always free from pollution, so it didn’t take long for the waters to wash the fleecy bits clean. Once the fleecy bits were nice and refreshed, the sheep would hang them out on a line, just as you can see here. They’d let the summer sun dry them for days at a time, giving the breeze the opportunity to impart new smells and perfumes to the

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King Harold

This elegant sculpture is of King Harold, the legendary Horse King of Selhurst Common. I know it’s a bit far away, but there was a fence in the way, so I couldn’t get any closer. Whilst the landowner is enlightened enough to commemorate empires of horses, they are not enlightened enough to let people get close enough to properly worship the past. If I could have gotten closer, the base on which the horse head is resting would reveal to me an epitaph relating the mighty deeds of King Harold, from a time not too long ago. A time which could have extended to the present, if we human’s hadn’t turned out to be so narcissistic about who we celebrated and raised up in our myths and legends. In the olden days, we shared the mythic space with legendary beasts of which King Harold is a type. Beasts which soared in

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What is Monkey looking for?

What is Monkey looking for? Some say it’s justice, other’s the end times, other’s still his clan. I know though, that it’s actually a 20p piece: a special one he’s carried for more than fifty years. Monkey got the coin in change from a sweet shop when he was a kid. The sweet shop owner was the first human of any size to treat Monkey with dignity and respect, and didn’t even ask Monkey for any ID when he bought his cigarettes. So Monkey fell in love with the sweet shop owner, in his strange monkey-like way, and kept that 20p with him for ever and ever after, amen. Until recently, that is. One day, one sad and sorry day I should say, Monkey was playing with the calves of the cows in the Lammas Lands. He was running and jumping, climbing and rolling, and having a real monkey of a time

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The Path

“There is the path of joy, and there is the path of pleasure. Both attract the soul. Who follows the first comes to good; who follows pleasure reaches not the end. The two paths lie in front of [humanity]. Pondering on them, the wise [person] chooses the path of joy; the fool takes the path of pleasure.” Katha Upanishad It might seem silly, but I know for a fact that this golden path represents the choice presented to us in that Upanishad quote. It symbolises both the path of pleasure and the path of joy. I know this for a fact as I’ve walked both. During the first walking through a field of wheat, I chose the path of pleasure. So devoted to this path was I, that I even invented the Religion of Cake. Not only did I invent this religion, but I actually won a competition for Best New

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PoppingJock and the Ancient Order of Kentish Karate

This is PoppingJock, or rather, this was once PoppingJock before he got banished from his community and turned into a fence post. He’s got a lovely view over Abbot’s Cliff though; Jumpalina is to thank for that. PoppingJock was once a proud member of the Ancient Order of Kentish Karate who have protected the citizens of Kent since the time of earliest Doggerland. Like all members of the Order, PoppingJock was once a Warrior Tree who acted under the cover of nighttime to protect and serve the day creatures. During the day, Order members lived, and in fact still do live, under the hills of Kent. They’ve burrowed tunnels and great halls, which they reinforced with their dead. PoppingJock’s kin first came to Kent from the east via Doggerland in response to a call for help. Kentish day creatures were ruled over by two warring clans—the Blausters and the Rotters—who tyrannised

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