The Tottenham Prophecy - Part Two
guest blog by Chris King / @NorthernWrites
In Part Two of the Tottenham Prophecy, Nostradamus reports that all is not well in the valley of the sun god. That his villagers can expect a hard winter ahead – and that “broken windows cut through the dreams of the crusaders.”
Come dark winter. Come hail and rain – send down your worst and watch the sun god toil. For in the twelfth month there will be nowhere to hide; no kings with gifts (that’s Ledley out for another month at least) – nor babies to offer salvation (our boys out on loan are sent back from their clubs due to attitude and performance issues).
A tricky lunar cycle lay ahead. Should battles be fought so long and hard during the Janus period? (That’s the roman god, not the wrong time of month to try it on with an Eastenders’ star). Proclamation from the village elders in relation to a break in battles at this time is long overdue. The sun god does struggle to focus on so many battles – confusing his Is, Vs and Xs and demands as to the number of battles he expects his knights to win.
Two birds will be slaughtered and offered up in humble sacrifice to the baby Jenas (nope, seriously, that’s not a quillo – kinda like a typo from the 16th Century). The baby Jenas shall feast first on canary and then swan. The scribes will condemn the latter – casting it as barbaric and linking it to the death of the Queen of Hearts.
Before those events shall come to pass, the important return of one, once loved, will dominate the thoughts of the village folk. The silver merchant will ride in through castle gates upon an eight wheeled cart. He will be greeted by the infirm who seek official seals on parchment and to heckle opposing knights. The silver merchant, resplendent in tunics despised, will seek council with the proud cock’s knights. Swords will be touched (we hope this means handshakes – otherwise, that’s not something we want to see in public), helmets tipped– before battle commences. A crushing blow cascades down upon the silver merchant “from a fearsome beast” (another, well timed, Tom Huddlestone tackle) leaving him but a passenger as his fellow knights are put to the sword. Brief resistance is put forward by a Spanish mercenary, though his best efforts hit the next village some two miles away.
The first month of the year of our lord, Sir Bill Nicholson, two thousand and twelve, is but scant relief from the battles of the previous year. Demands from the villagers for extra reinforcements fall upon deaf ears - as the dictator chooses to spend this lunar cycle watching distant targets move, but further away. Pursuit of knights in the land of the moors, Goths, Romans and girls who are boys who like boys to be girls who do boys like they’re girls comes to nothing. With interest in battles across the channel still in the thoughts of the dictator, he seeks only good knights who can fight in all battles; not ones restricted by Europa’s elders. He looks to the low lands and finds a knight who has thus far slaughtered 38 pig’s bladders in 25 battles. He joins our trusty knights, but is not once sent on to the field of the battle by the sun god.
The village elders responsible for the progress of the crusades do call the sun god to their temple and ask questions. They seek knowledge on his use of youth, battle formations, relationship with scribes and his current taxation status with that of the Sheriff of the village. The sun god does beam. The scribes do once more dress him in the purple of a king. The villagers start to look elsewhere for their salvation.
The second month sees battle with resurgent birds, barbarians with no shirts – even in the depth of winter – and weakened artillery. No Xs, not even an I from this bleak month leaves the elders to proclaim that the sun god is not the deity best suited to lead the crusades. The sun god turns to the scribes. Cries curses upon the elders. The scribes join in with curse and hex upon those elders. The elders laugh and appoint a regal knight from the Burgundian Netherlands. The village folk are up in arms at such traitorous activity and set scribes to secretly read both letters and proclamations of the elders without removal of official seal. The sun god is so distracted by the underhanded way in which the purple tunics have been torn from his lithe, naked body that he fails to stop his knights crashing to defeat on the battlefields of Europa – leaving only the battle for fourth highest tower left of this fighting season.
The third month of the year sees dictator rage at the sun god in the market square, as the women folk prepare to clean week old clothing. The dictator questions the loyalty of the sun god to his knights and village folk. The valiant knight tries to intervene with soothing words, but falls from his steed and is rushed straight back to sorcerers. The weakened tower is daubed with words of remembrance of the good times it has seen both in this village and others – but the sun god does proclaim that his mistress be a better tower in size and finishing ability. In the absence of focus, Son of Daw tries to defend the battle lines, but does inexplicably hack down a returning knight just as he is set to fire canon for the army of the northern wet lands. Village elder Howard Webb instantly points to a painted spot in the market place – from where a troll like creature does fire canon straight and true. Another battle lost – another confession to the scribes as to the limitations the sun god has been placed under without support from the dictator.
Not even a fight on the plains overseen by the silver merchant can bring fire back in to the bellies of the proud cock. The dictator’s thoughts turn to other deities, as he witnesses yet another battle lost. The scribes no longer pen the words of the sun god, so instead he turns to the town criers, especially he who holds the keys or is “gray” in colour, and laments his fortune in this battle season. They remind the villagers of the mistakes of the elders – though few listen. Memories of their earlier proclamation – of women and love – still anger some in the village.
But then, when all looks lost – sap does rise, flowers do bloom and a hero from the Burgundian Netherlands and Jermain of the Jews give hope to the villagers around them. Spring is in the air – as is evensong of the villagers - for all want to be in their number, when the knights go marching in to battle.
In part three, the dictator and the sun god do clear the air in the village square – the ass-men do get one last chance to become knights bold and true, and a final battle with the stuffed pigs of Egyptian rule does give hope to all.
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