The year is 1421. Sam, a recently retired gentleman, and his wife Olivia enjoy the morning sunshine:
Wife, set me a task! Set me a task before I explode with boredom.
Now, you know – your ‘task’ days are over. You have retired from your work and must sit to rest for several weeks and bide your time while the good Lord decides his plan for your eternity.
I shall go mad! Set me a task! There must be crockery to be cleaned?
There is no crockery to be cleaned – it is all done. Furthermore, you do not possess the skills required for crockery cleaning.
Harrumph! I shall be visited by the good Lord sooner than expected if I am to moulder in this chair with an empty head. I sorely need diversion!
You have displayed plentiful capacity for arranging diversion throughout your long life, my dear; perhaps you have exhausted the likelihood?
I shall ponder. Something will occur to me in good time if I press the point.
…
Damn and blast! There is nothing in my head!
My dear, your pondering consumed a total of but five seconds. Perhaps you should persist a little longer before confirmation of vacancy.
Harrumph! I need to be on my feet, woman. You should remind me. I think better on my feet when pacing with my hands clasped behind my back, thusly.
Yes dear, an admirable demonstration.
I should oil my boots; the creaking disturbs my thought.
There, I have a task – to oil my boots! Then I shall continue my pacing and pondering. Where is my boot oil?
I believe you last used it in the privy, my dear. Though I confess I do not conceive of its requirement or benefit therein.
Damn! This is unbearable! Intolerable! I shall visit the hen-house and collect eggs!
You collected them ten minutes ago; it is unlikely that there will be more, my dear.
Very well, I shall take this length of rope and will find something to flog on the heath. I have great energy to disperse.
…
I may be some time.
Dearest, it occurs to me that you would search in vain for something to flog on the heath with your length of rope. This could lead to further vexation and will certainly waste time. Perhaps it would be prudent to take something in a pocket to mitigate the eventuality?
Wife, you are a woman above all others. A splendid notion! I shall remove the feathers from this dusting stick and will place them in my hip pocket and must be gone to the heath with all haste!
Very well, my dear. The feathers can (humph) be replaced, but on the heath they will surely be dispersed by the first flogging and your adventure will be over before it has begun. Perhaps a container should be considered?
An empty gin bottle?!
I believe there would be an early demise, my dear, and your adventure, again, will be over.
Yes, indeed.
…
I have it! A lavender bag! I shall stuff the feathers within the bag and draw the string tight with a sound and secure knot. All will be well.
If you say so, my dear.
oO0Oo
The task is complete, I shall return in due course – ready for a well-earned supper. Good day, wife.
oO0Oo
Now, this is a likely spot. I shall place the lavender bag on this tussock whereupon I shall flog it beyond its endurance.
Good heavens, it takes flight! Come back here! I have never encountered such insolence!
Each flail of the rope has the damnable bag dancing in the air. Do the feathers live? They would better serve should they travel further; I should at the very least get a damn good walk for my troubles.
I have a notion that a stiffer rope would carry the bag further, but there is no supply of rope on the heath, damn it! I shall wrap the rope around this stout stick and will repeat the flogging process holding the rope to the stick.
Well, I’m blessed, the bag travels several feet! But, due to my efforts the rope has released from the hand position and is collected at the further end of the stick. I refuse to address this matter immediately; I wish to see the bag fly once more.
I will develop a flog that terminates in the general direction I wish the bag to follow.
My good Lord! What fun! The distance covered is remarkable! I shall continue using this nature of flog and will repeat the stroke.
Oh! My word! Such a thing is beyond all expectations! I strain to see the landing place, it is so distant.
My steps bring me to the correct spot, I am certain – but the bag is nowhere to be found. I search with all diligence, but can only discover a rabbit hole. Could a rabbit have mistaken the bag for a tasty morsel and retrieved it into its burrow?
Vexation does not begin to describe this event. I had hoped my flog would entertain me until supper. Now I must return home and report my misfortune. I shall retain my stick and rope flogger and will strongly consider replacing the lavender bag stuffed with feathers with something more suited to the task. It seems conceivable that my misfortune would not be repeated should I venture to repeat today’s event.
oO0Oo
Wife, I return earlier than forecast to report the loss of my lavender bag. The events leading to the loss were remarkable enough but to lose the bag down a rabbit hole is the most damnable bad luck. It cannot be imagined that such a catastrophe could occur if there were even a fervent desire to flog a bag into a rabbit hole; I venture the deed would be impossible.
Quite so, husband. My mind’s eye finds it quite impossible to form a picture of any sort.
Pray, enlighten me.
Very well, I shall try. Although events are fresh in my memory, developments happened apace, I can tell you! A most extraordinary day! I began by flogging the lavender bag as it lay on a grass tussock. My aim was imperfect during the early stages, but I soon discovered an improved technique that, although effective, still did little more than disturb the bag. I then decided to ‘swipe’ at the bag rather than flog it.
What made me choose this course of action – I do wonder, but it gave movement that I was certainly not expecting. The bag rose into the air and travelled some short distance. Again, my technique improved and the bag achieved greater distance until the fateful swipe that led to the bag’s disappearance.
What an alarming story. It is my hope that you were not witnessed during this time; onlookers would surely have considered you quite mad!
On the contrary, my visage would have assured onlookers that I was performing a task that, for the most part, gave a degree of pleasure unobtainable by any other means on the heath! Furthermore, I intend to return with a new bag and will repeat the adventure with my new form of flogging – hoping to achieve greater distances and, of course, to avoid rabbit holes.
Surely the way to avoid rabbit holes is to move to a part of the heath that has no rabbits.
Wife! You do understand the nature of rabbit multiplication? It is impossible to avoid the blighters!
Then you must carry sufficient lavender bags to make the trip worthwhile should the worst happen. I shall construct two for you this very evening.
oO0Oo
Goodbye, wife. I shall return for supper at the usual time.
oO0Oo
Wife, I return earlier than forecast to report the loss of both lavender bags.
I am confounded by infernal rabbit holes! I could see one of my bags some way down a hole but could not reach it by any method I could devise, so my day is curtailed yet again.
Husband, your distress is unbearable to witness. May I make a suggestion?
Indeed.
Perhaps if you were to change the venue – a move to the beach, say? There are no rabbit holes there…
What astonishing insight you have, wife. I confess I am grateful for the suggestion. Although, I do anticipate the occurrence of a new vexation – the water will dampen the lavender bag and will certainly affect its performance…
Then we must take the new circumstances as we find them and discover a way to seal out the damp. Why don’t we use a leather bag?
Again, wife. You astound me.
Perhaps we could avoid feathers and use a stone within? Stone will be unaffected by water.
No! Absolutely not!
Oh!Oh! My dear, you startle me with your outburst. Why is your reaction to a simple suggestion so violent?
The romance of the feathers is germane to the entire undertaking! That the bag takes flight and contains feathers is somehow magical. I do not want to lose that feature.
Very well. I shall sew a small bag of leather. Please visit the hen-house and collect loose feathers. The chickens stopped laying for two days when you last helped yourself to their attached finery. I shall make but one new bag for your beach flogging as it will be impossible to lose it there.
oO0Oo
Husband! Where have you been? Supper is ruined; you should have been home long ago!
Alas, the day began badly, wife. There was an improvement once I developed a technique that dislodged the bag from sand by flogging alone. I used a piece of driftwood to fashion a suitable device – I have retained it, it is invaluable. I now have two devices to carry; perhaps you could make a larger bag to contain them. And room for sandwiches too. The days may be long…
From that point, I continued flogging down the beach, mesmerised whilst watching your leather feather bag fly into the distance and land – rolling as far as it was able before resting stationary – ready to take flight again and yet again. I confess I did not realise how far I had walked. Then, of course I had to return – hence the late hour. I could not resist making the return journey in the fashion of the outward journey. Each swipe and witnessed flight gave me joy beyond words.
I will make you a bag for your devices, but I do not believe staying out until dark is wise. You must contain your adventurous spirit and return home in time for supper, as God intended.
I shall wife. I apologise.
Perversely, it seems the lack of rabbit holes has taken away an aspect of the proceedings that naturally curtailed the event. The holes would not have been quite so problematic had the bag been recoverable. In circumstances where I could recover the bag I simply continued flogging from a new area of level ground.
Then dig shallow holes on the beach and use them as markers for your progress. Turn and flog back to a former hole in order to contain your distance. Your enthusiasm is then your only variable parameter.
Again, you astonish me.
I will re sew the bag to make it as round as I am able. You will then better appreciate the rolling you speak of.
I am aghast.
Take with you a billiards cue and knock the ball the last few inches into the hole.
Ah, now I see through your taunting. You are vexed because I spoiled supper and you mock me with ridiculous notions. A billiards cue, indeed. Tsk.
oO0Oo
Goodbye, wife. I shall return at supper. I have a round feather leather bag – a ball I suppose. I have my devices and a new bag to contain them. I have half a dozen plant pots to bury in the sand in order that the ball may be caught and retrieved. I think that is all I require.
Goodbye husband. Do enjoy your flog. Don’t forget your billiards cue.
Tsk.
oO0Oo
Wife! Wake up.
What is it husband? There is no light; it is very early or very late!
I cannot sleep. I have lain awake this entire night with thoughts of flogging. I am bewitched. The scenes of the day continue to play before my eyes whether they are open or closed. I cannot rid myself of the images and yet, at the same time, I do not want to. I just want to sleep and continue flogging in my dreams.
Perhaps it would help if you were to explain what is in your head? It may help dissipate your imaginings; then we may both sleep soundly.
I am before a multitude. I have never in my life seen so many people. There is a great roar as I tap my leather feather into a hole with the side of my foot. I have done this on the beach as I had foolishly not taken my billiards cue as you had suggested. I own that you have a point; somehow, leaving the ball out of the hole seemed wrong – a task incomplete.
So, to continue – I am carried aloft by people I do not know. Some of them are trying to make me wear a jacket of green fabric – I do not possess its like. This imagery is as a dream but I am surely awake as we are conversing, are we not?
Wife!
Yes, my dear.
We are conversing, are we not?!
Yes, dear. Sorry. I drifted off. I know not why…
Wife, what do you make of this flogging business?
You need a special device to put the feather leather ball into the hole.
Poppycock, woman! I need the vision explained so that I may sleep!
And do not call this new pastime ‘Flogging’. A new name based on flog would be acceptable.
New pastime?
Yes.
A name based on flog?
Yes.
Like Gofl?
Well, I was thinking ‘Golf’.
Tsk.
I believe I shall now sleep. Unremarkably, the incoherent ramblings of a dozing woman empty my head completely and with pleasing soporific effect to boot.
I now sleep.
Tsk.
Tsk.
Dedicated to Sam and Olivia on their wedding 27 August 2021
©Hector H Taylor 2021
Hogwash Stories + 