Tag Archives: Mogwash

Part 7 of the Epic Collaboration – A Revelation of Sorts

Continued from HERE

“With this epic collaboration you are spoiling us,” whispered Aidan Turner into my ear.
We had left the throng of the Mogwash Manor ballroom and had retired to the balcony for some privacy as I was feeling a little peculiar after eating far too many Ferrero Rocher chocolates. I squinted at Aidan, and then in a fit of bravado I whipped away the flannel that was covering a suspiciously saggy pair of greying Y fronts.
“You’re not Aidan Turner!” I screamed, “You are Mago, the German archeologist from a post I wrote on April 15th 2015 that obviously EVERYONE remembers!”
Mago’s shoulders slumped in shame, and he slid the black nylon wig from his head.
“‘ee made me do it,” said Mago, “‘ee made me pretend.”
“Who?”
“That Device person, ‘ee is witch.”
“I thought you were German, not Spanish? Never mind, we will work on that later…. but why, Why??? Why would he do that????? WHY?????” I said, becoming somewhat hysterical.
“‘ee is after the Bottle of Greed! ‘Ee think Aidan could seduce you into revealing its location; ‘ee say ‘ee would share profits with me.”
I smiled my special enigmatic smile, kept for such occasions.
“This is all getting very silly,” I muttered.
“Bit like British Government,” chuckled Mago.
I glared at him and continued, “do you have my left wellington boot?”
“Mais oui, it is ‘ere,” replied Mago, relieving a passing butler of one muddy boot and handing it to me.
“Thank you, that’s the Cinderella thread of this epic tale sewn up then.”
“What ‘appens next?”
“Well that depends on you, do you want to stay in a narrative where you are forced to fly around half naked on an ancient octopus sucker bathmat? Or, would you like to be in a narrative where you wear warm clothes and have the status of historian/professor/archeologist?”
I felt my stomach grumble and regretted my overindulgence with the Ferrero Rocher – I had terrible indigestion. My chest tightened and my Bettina gown felt as though it was shrinking, whilst Mago appeared to be getting larger and larger.

“Damn that witch!” I squeaked.

“Vair did she go? She ‘as vanished! I want nice narrative, with the clothes! I want to dig up carparks! Wo ist she????” Despaired Mago, almost getting the gist of a German accent.

It appeared that I had neglected to tie up the Alice in Wonderland thread in a timely fashion, and this neglect would cost me dear….

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To be continued over the Cusp….
Although there may be an interlude around the Garden Event and Halloween.

A Realm Beyond Comprehension and a Shortish List

Iawoke realising that I had failed. Not only had I failed in my mission to become an internationally acclaimed artist with medals and an OBE, but I had also failed in my attempt to achieve world peace.

‘There is still time.’ Whispered a distant voice from a realm beyond comprehension.
‘You’re optimistic,’ I replied, strangely unperturbed by this new aural phenomenon, ‘my deadline is 21st November 2045, I only have 23 years and a bit and then the crowds will descend on Mogwash village hall expecting some kind of spectacle/experience/miracle/wonderment/world peace/artistic extravaganza [delete as applicable].’

The distant voice offered no further advice so I heaved myself out of bed and decided that today would be the day that I would start to get things done. I had to be positive, I had been dribbling stupor for long enough, and maybe the distant voice had a point – there was time – so I washed, dressed, ate a bowl of gruel, and hauled myself up to my garret at the bottom of the garden.

My garret was much as I left it, though a bit more dusty. On my desk was a list [please see exhibit A]

After removing a pile of books from my chair, I sat, and tried to gaze out the window – I couldn’t, it was far too grubby so I added ‘clean window’ to the list.
It appeared that I had my work cut out, or at least written down. But there was something I’d forgotten – something very important, and I swear I could hear the words: Did I win yet? being typed on a keyboard. My reverie was interrupted when I felt a cool presence brush against my left elbow, and from the sound of glass bottles rattling in a cardboard crate. This was all rather startling, but even more so because of the Blackbird  standing on the bottles with its wings outstretched in a cormorant pose, as if perched on a groyne. There was only one thing I could do in the face of such terrorism, I passed out, hitting my head on my desk as I slowly slumped to the floor.

To be continued over the cusp.

How to write a blog post….

I had lost my memory. AGAIN. Appalling. I had forgotten that I was an artistic genius of unparalleled proportions; that I was from a tiny village called Mogwash; and that my most recent artworks were made from vintage ephemera and ripped up books – but worst of all, I’d forgotten that I was the highly intelligent, yet modest author, of the much loved Wonky Words blog.

Months had gone by without me writing so much as a note to the bin men [I often do as I like to explain things]. The notion of writing a blog post felt heavy on my shoulders, and, I’d forgotten how. One voice in my head said: Just slap up some photos. Another said: Rehash a post from 1957. Voice 46 said: You’ll be fine, start typing and something will turn up. Voice 209 started having a row with voice 19 and I couldn’t make sense of what they were saying at all – perhaps something about putting things on chairs? Trampolines?? No idea.

Thankfully, it appeared that during October/November I had completed a couple of collages, and several photographs of these were languishing in my photo file….

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I’d also been busy turning my studio into a fairy grotto…

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…and observing hedgehogs interacting with fawns….

…and making demons for a Halloween gardening event.

I had obviously been very busy indeed. But something was nagging at me, I had forgotten something important. My knee twitched, and then I remembered….

*To be continued.

*I will set an alarm to remind me.

Mapped!!!

After being inundated with requests, from places far and wide, and even from Uranus, I have finally made the definitive map of Mogwash. I have spent the past week studying cartography so that I can bring you a map that rivals the Tabula Rogeriana; a map so map like that it can’t possibly be called anything other than a map. Using the finest materials available to me, and working on it for at least 5 minutes a day [Tuesday AND Wednesday] I am now delighted, nay overjoyed, happy beyond ecstatic, to bring you Mogwash the Map. It is rendered in white ink, with the occasional dash of coloured pencil, on the back of a manila envelope. I know, the craftsmanship is exquisite!

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My rationale for rendering it on the back of an envelope is so that you can take it anywhere and it’ll never look out of place. For example it looks cute propped up on the mantelpiece; it looks appropriate casually placed on a chair; and it is ideally suitable for resting in a wicker waste paper basket.

Here is Mogwash on my mantelpiece:-

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And here is a close-up:-

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Anyhow, I am sure that you are bored with my pontificatings and are desperate to re-read about all the places listed on the map so I have thoughtfully provided links so that you don’t have to go scrambling up my annuls trying to find the relevant posts. It’s okay, you can thank me later!!

  1. The bizarre woodland adventure.
  2. Mogs Mill
  3. Mogwash Manor
  4. The Mogwash Arms
  5. No.3, Mogwash Mansions
  6. Scout hut and carpark
  7. The bus shelter
  8. The Grade II listed telephone box
  9. Village Green
  10. Viridian Venus
  11. Rose Cottage
  12. The Onion Gallery
  13. Sebastian’s House
  14. Scarlet’s Attic

Now isn’t it good to know where everything happened? I’m sure you are thrilled.

Meanwhile, I have more news from the mantelpiece [my goodness, it has been an action packed week].

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I finished my bottle of whisky! I opened it at Christmas, it had been languishing in my drinks cupboard for some time and I was too skint to buy a big bottle of Bells, so I opened the Macallan instead. I put a dash of it in my milk at bedtime, or use it to liven up a glass of coca-cola. It tastes really, really nice! Anyhow, yesterday I thought I might replace it so hunted it down on the internet HERE. Oops.

Mapping Mogwash!!!

For the month of July a few of us have challenged ourselves to make a map. Dinah has already started, so I thought it only polite that I join in. Of course I am going to make a map of my fictional village, Mogwash, how could I not? But where to start?

Because Mogwash was created by my own fair hand I decided to take a photograph of my palm. After cropping the picture, and adding a few filters to make the lines darker [yay, that worked well, why did I bother?] I had this image:-

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In the palm of my hand

So I simply printed it off and traced over the lines…. and yay, I have something that could be mistaken for a map!

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First sketch of Mogwash!!!

Yep, I went a bit wrong in places, my eyesight is wonky, like this blog, but it is the first preliminary sketch and it will change an awful lot through a process of decisions. The next thing I do have to decide is how big I want it to be, and what type of surface to use.

I wonder where the scout hut is where Mago the archaeologist dug up the carpark? Where is the Onion Gallery? WHERE IS THE PUB??? Where does Moonchild Etherington-Smythe live? Where is Mrs Fitzpatrick’s hand built alpine rockery? All should be revealed over the coming weeks! I kind of think I’ve got a lot of reading to do, and a hunch that I’ll still be tinkering with this map cum December…

Another Invitation of Sorts [Tales From Luddley-cum-Mogwash, Part 44]

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Bottled Temptation

Moonchild Etherington-Smythe, owner of the Viridian Venus gallery, gathers the post from the doormat as she breezes into her colourful domain causing the tassels on her sequined scarf to fly in her wake. She is no longer just a small time gallery owner; thanks to her huge online profile [13 million followers on Instagram and 50,000 Likes on her Facebook page] she is now also responsible for running a network of crafty workshops across the UK, and Malta. Workshops include: Whittling Abstract Spoons [spoons without handles and vice versa]; How To Express The Sound Of A Vacuum Cleaner Through The Medium Of Paint [ever popular]; How To Write Like A Two Year Old [inky fun, no previous experience necessary, only £60 per head]; AND, Generic Retailing [how to sell new-found skills online within five minutes of learning them]. Moonchild is proud of her artistic success. She is proud to be such a creative inspiration for so many people and, she is proud to be at the apex of the crafting pyramid.

Moonchild flicks through her mail before taking off her velvet coat and flinging it on the counter. A grey envelope draws her attention, she turns it over and caresses her name and address with her stubby ring stuffed fingers. The address feels raised, as if embossed.

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A Peculiar E

Moonchild is familiar with the craft of calligraphy, she smiles and nods approvingly as her eyes settle on a distinctive, wonky ‘g’, and the curvy, very peculiar ‘E’. Someone after my own heart, she thinks. She pauses and decides against tearing the envelope with her fingernails, instead she takes a pair of mini pinking shears from beneath the counter and carefully cuts a shark tooth row across the top of the envelope. She tries to guess the nature of the invitation, because surely this has to be an invitation?
Within the envelope there are two pieces of brown cardboard taped together to protect the inner content. Moonchild snorts and expertly makes short shrift of the tape, she tosses the cardboard into the bin and places a black and white photograph of a bottle on top of her velvet coat.
What sort of game is this? She wonders. She turns the photograph over to reveal a scribbled time, date, and address: 8pm, 21st November 2045, Mogwash Village Hall, Mogwash. As a squally wind causes the gallery door to swing open, a memory recollects, and Moonchild is chilled to the bone.

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A Bad Memory?