Colin was a JJytgHQp (pronounced Thrussup) and has been living in and around Leith Hill since Neolithic times. He and a band of 40 brothers and sisters arrived in Britain in 4036 BCE with not much more than the multicoloured shells on their backs. They were quite a sight to behold, or so I’ve been told, emerging from the sea at various points around the Welsh and Cornish coasts. Like merpeople, but with less cultural baggage. At first, the inhabitants of Britain didn’t pay them no mind, as the island was sparsely populated and sharing was not a problem. There were a few ladies, of course, who wondered if the JJytgHQp’s shells could be repurposed into shelter, wind chimes, or clothing, but no one was rude enough to try to take the shells off the JJytgHQp’s back. Except, of course, Rapskalbana. Rapskalbana was the most daring lady of Britain, although she
I know it doesn’t look like it, but this is a dinosaur; I found it in Knole Park. It has deliberately camouflaged itself to look like a dead log, but if you stare at the wide, circular opening, you’ll come to see that it’s actually a giant mouth, beckoning you to enter. Dinosaurs are always hungry, even dead ones. This is a standard natural history fact, and it’s why there are armed security guards around the National History Museum at night. Just saying. Anyway, point is, this dinosaur, whom we shall call Deadloggosaurus, wants you to enter, but you’d be wise to hold off on that. For starters, at night, hoards of demonic creatures come scuttling out. Some of them carry a bag of rosehip powder which they spend the night pouring down human noses. Ever wake up with inexplicable allergies? Now you know why. Other things which come out of
Richard was an over-thinker, that’s why his boughs and branches were curled erratically and so close to his trunk: he couldn’t decide on the direction of growth. His stunted appendages, all cluttered and clustered around him, obscured his view. Thus, he only ever partially grasped the goings on of the woods, and in his half-knowledge there was a darkness: he always chose the most unhelpful and fearful point of view. It had been a long time since the people of the forest had tried to talk him down from whatever terrified drama he was riding on. They had exhausted their capacity for trying to make him see sense. Nowadays, they observed him from a distance, and resigned to accept him as chaotic and panic-ridden. There goes Richard, they’d say, talking up the devil from the deep. Richard was alone in his unhappy corner of the forest, and only the young and
These are The Three Teasels, they’re anxious for your song request. Individually they’re called Fiona, Bottombubs, and Nibs, but most people just refer to them in the collective. In the background is Frederico the Oak, who was once hit by some lightning and from whom The Three Teasels draw their power. The Tree Teasels absolutely love to sing. In particular, they like to perform love songs; they’re keen to understand human romance, since it’s mostly absent from the plant world. I say mostly, but of course you will expect me to whip out some exception from the knowledge of whoever the fuck it is that dictates these stories to me. (It’s sunflowers, just in case you were wondering; the exception I mean, not the dictator.) Anyway, what The Three Teasels love the most about love songs is the wide variety. They feel learning and truly feeling the array of love songs
This here tree is a special tree. It does not have a formal name, but the Society of the Ladies of Blackheath Common told me they call it the Droplet Tree. The Society has lore which dates back centuries, the most important being that only the most dedicated early risers have a chance of encountering the Droplet Tree, as the sun takes the droplets once it gets high enough over the horizon. After which, the Droplet Tree becomes indistinguishable from other trees; the magic is broken. According to the Society, when the early morning walker encounters the Tree, and should they take the time to pause and wonder, they will find a different scene reflected in each and every glassy bead suspended from its branches. Each walker’s set of scenes will cut across a particular emotion. So, for instance, when Betsy first encountered the Tree, her scenes were a scattering of