Irs – Goddess of Tax Returns

February 20, 2022February 20, 2022 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Drawn in the red-on-black style of Ancient Greek pottery. The goddess Irs is wearing a pleated robe and carries a tally stick. In the other hand she carries a sack of coins, which is leaking into the mouth of a fat cat. Irs has wings shaped like a portcullis and she bears a resemblance to Queen Elizabeth II. — Irs © H.Hudson-Lee 2022

Irs was not born from a union of between Gods, Elementals or even Mortals, but of political expediency. She originated during the Old Kingdom Period of Ancient Egypt. In order to fund the building of royal tombs, the Pharaoh established her sect and appointed priests to raise revenue from his subjects. They were under immense pressure to complete this task for their king, for without a generous income, H.M. got arsey. This was a massive undertaking. So, these priests recruited a team of collectors who would gather the payments on their behalf, each keeping a small percentage of the revenue raised as payment. These collectors were overwhelmed with the magnitude of the task of visiting every household in Egypt, and so themselves recruited teams of underlings who pocketed an even smaller percentage. Thus both taxation and the literal pyramid scheme were invented simultaneously.

The concept of taxation gradually spread around the world, and the worship of Irs alongside it. She was readily adopted by the nascent democracy of Athens to help them fund their military campaigns and elegant public buildings. Eventually, the world’s population grew to the point where it was not possible to individually judge what every person should pay. This led to a seismic theological shift in the faith of Irs. Their religious philosophy became one of self assessment and honest judgement of one’s own worth. This goddess doesn’t judge you. You judge yourself, and then she decides whether you did it right. This is why, when they die, her followers are buried with their accounts, receipts and bank statements from the last five years, and an anxiety attack. Hopefully, all will be in order, and their soul will be allowed to fly west to the Isle of Tax Haven. Some scholars of mythology believe that the legends of the Isle of Tax Haven grew out of early seafarer’s tales of Isle of Man.

When a young person is inducted into the sect of Irs they undergo a ritual similar to baptism. Only, instead of using a font, they use a VAT. Many years of study lie ahead for the neophyte. First they must become familiar with the Book of Acts and the Tax Codex. These are anthologies of the scriptures which outline the rules for calculating what each citizen should pay, but they are written in an arcane language, comprehensible only to the cognoscenti. The Book of Acts has chapters with mysterious titles like, “The Income Tax Act 2007”. These students must also master the skill of tax-calculus, a branch of mathematics so fiendishly difficult that it is reported to have reduced students of Kabbalah, theoretical physicists and Carol Vordeman to tears. Tax Calculus is used to derive the assets under the mattress. Finally, they must develop a perfect perpendicular posture by going around with a pile of ledgers precariously perched on top of their polls. Being able to balance the books is the most important skill of all. Eventually Irs’s worthy acolytes graduate to become Chartered Priests. A few of the more esoteric types will join “Outland” sub-sect, who mainly concern themselves with excising ancient customs and enjoy the privilege of being religious duty free when they travel abroad. The most gifted students go on to be appointed to the highest echelon of her cult, the Inspectors. Those who fail their final exams are considered to be a write-off.

The temples of Irs are known as “Treasuries”. They are recognisable by their portcullis entrances with the Crown of Irs carved into the stonework above (known as The Government Gateway). The floors inside were originally tiled with black and white flagstones in a chequer pattern, but this has now fallen out of fashion, so they are now ex-chequers. The temple cats of Irs are renowned for being phenomenally fat felines. Heckin’ chonks. Absolute units. They live by skimming off as much cream as they can from the temple’s milk supply before getting caught. Each temple is presided over by a high priest or “Chancellor”. Irs has two major and four minor “quarter” festivals each year. Their most important festival occurs on January 31st, the sacred day of Self Assessment. It is traditional for Irsians to send one another greetings cards with the message, “Many Happy Returns”. On April 5th they celebrate their New Years festival by closing their books.

Some folks mistakenly think that they can win the favour of the goddess by paying their taxes with a smile. They are incorrect. Taxes must be paid with cash. The adversary of Irs is a demon who gets people out of paying their full taxes in return for a piece of their soul. Lou Pole and his wealthy followers, “The Evaders” are to be feared and thwarted at every turn. They are the origin of the old Irsian saying, “It is easier to pass a camel through the eye of a needle, than it is to get a rich man to pay his taxes.” He is aways depicted in sacred art snatching school dinners from hungry children and medicine from the sick. Irsians believe that Lou Pole can be banished by loudly singing the, “Audit Domine”.

Whilst the existence of many deities is open for debate. Irs is one we can be certain of. For there are but two inevitable things in life. Death and Taxes. Unless you’re Queen Elizabeth II, who does not pay tax and, so far, appears to be immortal.

A huge thank you to @ladysixa for suggesting Irs, for being a loyal supporter of Idol Scribblings and for being one of the loveliest humans on Twitter. I am sorry it took so long, but I had to do your excellent concept justice.

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Inspirouette – Goddess of Budding Ballerinas

January 23, 2022 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The goddess Inspirouette is wearing a classic long ballet tutu and a garland of flowers in her hair. She is posed en pointe in the center of the turntable of a 1960s Fidelity suitcase record player. She is waving a red ribbon above her head. — Inspirouette © H.Hudson-Lee 2022

If you want to enjoy the magic and artistry of Royal Ballet tomorrow, you’d better show your support for the children of Mrs Postlethwaite’s School of Dance today. One way to do this is to give praise and offerings to Inspirouette, the goddess of budding ballerinas and ballerinos. She is the goddess of the grace-roots of dance. If, during your tender years, you ever dreamed of twirling in a diaphanous costume before an enraptured audience as the divine music holds you all in it’s spell, then Inspirouette has touched your soul at some point. In some traditions she is considered to be one of the nine muses of childhood creativity, along with her sisters, Glitterpenelope, Colouringin, Recordercide, Dressup, Chromadachtyla, Mudpiemeni, Crayolamural and Diyhaircut.

The high priest or priestess of Inspirouette is elected by a ballotté, and the winning candidate is celebrated with a rousing cheer of, “Hip-hip- bourreé!” The incumbent high priest(ess) gets the privilege of driving around in the official sacred car, which is a rather snazzy coupé. Leading the faith is a role that demands great stamina and aplomb. Therefor the post is not held for life. At some point the incumbent will retire and join the council of senior advisors, known as the “Grand Pas”, who are all in the golden age of life.

The vast majority of Inspirouette’s temples pop up once a week in village halls, community centres and all-purpose sports halls. The barre is the back of a chair, you have to be careful not to crash into the folded ping-pong table, and the changing room is a toilet. This may all be far cry from the glamour of Covent Garden, but they still have a fantastic turnout. Her neophytes dress in a strict uniform of leotards, tights, ribboned slippers and a wrap-around cardigan in cold weather (you don’t want to catch the dreaded dancer’s malady, the Baryshni cough). Legwarmers are strictly forbidden as there is no scientific evidence that they work (and, “you’re not one of the cast of Fame”).

A kindly priestess presides over each pop-up temple and teaches her young charges how to move in the faith and the steps to heaven. They are the only known teachers who demand that their pupils give them an Attitude. These priestesses are all members of the regulatory, “International Dance Temple Association”. Once a year, the association will send out a member of the Ballet Police (a Cop Pelia) to oversee the neophyte dancers taking their grades and delibes-erate over their marks. A ceremonial brass bell is rung before each exam to appeal to the goddess to guide the steps of the young dancer. It must work to some extent as, in the end, almost everyone graduates with a 2:2. Whilst most attend their temple purely for the love of dance, occasionally one of the neophytes may show exceptional skill, ambition and dedication and wish to pursue the religious life. Then their priestess must counsel them about the difficult road ahead. That there may be more bar work than barre work, and they may often cry, “Oh debt!” before they get to dance Odette (and even after).

Inspirouette has a handful of dedicated temples around the world, located in the major cultural centres. They usually have grand facades and slightly crumbling interiors. Each temple has a sacred spring in the temple garden known as the Margot Fountain. (The water of the fountain is never imbibed, they get their drinking water from the Saddler’s Wells). The fountain feeds into the temple lake where the sacred swans glide. These swans are kept as a symbolic reminder of the fact that, though they may look gentle and graceful, a Ballet dancer has the requisite strength to break your arm. Easily. Due to the presence of the swans, cats are not allowed in Inspirouette’s temples. It’s strictly ne pas de chats. Inside the temple you will find a series of spacious studios, each with a sprung polished-wood floor, walls of gilt framed mirrors, a piano and a faint whiff of rosin and feet.

One unusual tradition that the worshippers of Inspirouette observe is “Giselle Day”. It is a kind of cross between a Day of the Dead and Rag Week. Great dancers of the past are remembered and honoured, and the students will enjoy a rare feast of Pavlovas and Isodora Duncan Donuts. Once darkness falls, they dress as balletic ghosts and go around the town raising money for charity. It turns out that giving people the Willies can be quite an effective fundraising technique (and no one was better at this hustle than Darcy Bustle). The night usually ends with the dancers craving chips and stopping by a greasy fish dive on their way home.

Inspirouette has inspired many ground-breaking experimental ballets. You may remember the all-male production of Swan Lake. Less well remembered were the cockney ballet-buffa, “Chassé et Dave” (with the infamous Dance of the Rabbits), or the Christmas Ballet, danced entirely by builders, plumbers and electricians, “The Buttcracker”.

Inspirouette is dedicated to my wonderful Mum who celebrated a milestone Birthday this week. She is a passionate lover of Ballet, and spent many years helping young dancers (including me) take their first steps in a local village hall, accompanied by music from her trusty Fidelity HF31 portable record player. A very Happy Birthday to you Mum!

Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Hooteninny – God of “Business Meetings”

December 12, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

A man with a slight resemblance to Steven Doyle is wearing a Santa jacket and a paper party crown on his head. He is carrying a tray of cheese and a bottle of wine called "Chateau Lie-Feat". On his back there is a sack of trophies and medals. Someone has pinned a donkey's tail on his behind. — Hooteninny © H.Hudson-Lee 2021

Hooteninny is the God of “Business Meetings”, and never have a pair of quotation marks been so heavily weighted. In fact, his followers make the “air quotes” hand sign when they say his name, in much the same way as a Catholic would genuflect.

Hooteninny is the son of Hujanus the “Do As I Say Not As I Do” demon and Incontigate the Goddess of Embarrassing Leaks. He started out, sometime in the 1980s, as a minor deity of liquid “business lunches” and even more fluid “executive team-building weekends”. In the 1990s he branched out into watching over “fact-finding trips” and “corporate gifts”. If the activity in question breaks a few rules, then that just makes it a greater expression of devotion to the god, and more fun. It was during the 2020 pandemic that he finally came into his own as a major deity when the ranks of his cult were swelled by a flock of political aides who just wanna have fun. Hooteninny’s is an easy religion to follow, as you don’t need to overly concern yourself with following the rules and, usually, it is others who make the sacrifices.

The sacred winter festival of Hooteninny is also known as, “The No-Masque of the Blue Death”. It is held clandestinely somewhere in a central government building. The threshold must be guarded by a phalanx of the Metropolitan Police’s finest, who have absolutely no idea what is taking place inside, or who is in there. Despite being in charge of door security. How these brave officers manage to discharge their duties despite being deaf, blind and greener than a Brussel sprout, I don’t know.

To set the right mood for the ritual, the priesthood will festoon themselves with tinsel and put on a playlist of their sacred “Hip-hopcracy” music. You may know some of the more famous tracks, such as, “Simply Having a Meeting with Cheese and Wine”, “Fairy-Tale of New Pork Pies” and “Christmas Time (Let’s be a Bell End)”. They put out a good buffet spread, with the savoury dainties artfully displayed on paper Steven Doylies. The ambiance is further helped along by draping festive decorations elegantly over the CCTV cameras. If a few grieving covid-bereaved relatives and traumatised NHS workers can be seen sobbing in the snow outside the window, so much the better. It really adds to that Dickensian theme.

To warm up the congregation and break the ice, the senior priesthood will lead them in a series of games. Sorry. “Essential training exercises”. These exercises include old favourites such as Musical Cabinet Reshuffle, Pin the Blame on the Immigrant and Sajid Says. All this generates an atmosphere of, “Whilst the cat’s away, the mice play.” Which somehow persists even after the cat shows up to lead the quiz. The quiz questions are pitched at quite a low level. Such as, “What is three hundred thousand, and thirty-four, nine hundred and seventy-four thousand plus one?” (You must remember that the majority of Hooteninny’s followers have the unfortunate educational disadvantage of having attended Public School). If the “cat” had a bit more wit, he might have slipped in a question like, “For 20 bonus points – Name five MPs planning a leadership challenge in the New Year.” Which would have made planning the “quick-fire” round much simpler.

The proceedings end with a presentation of awards to the worthiest worshippers. Each follower hopes to be recognised as this year’s, “Spin King” or “Best Pressed” or perhaps win the “Best Dead Cat Distraction” prize. Some of the awards are more tongue-in-cheek, such as “PM’s Pet”, “Cabinet Clown” or “Most Likely to Mysteriously Avoid Jail”. If you see someone stratton’ around Westminster wearing a small bronze lapel pin in the shape of the door to Number 10, you’ll know they were a winner.

Now, the first rule of Hooteninny’s Cult is that you don’t make jokes about Hooteninny Cult, on film, at a mock press conference. Should the general public find out about one of these rituals having taken place it looks very, very bad. The attendees have to decide whether to admit to being at a prohibited gathering, or to boozing on the job. Either way, not a good look. In this instance, the two priests who officiated the rite must sacrifice themselves by falling on their own swords. One must do this immediately when the story first breaks, and other has to wait until the official inquiry report is released.

If you are considering following the way of Hooteninny as a good example of how to live your life… …please, please choose a better example.

Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Yarn Owl

November 28, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The Yarn Owl is a creature of the knit.

You can purchase the Yarn Owl and all the other Second Bestiary animals on high quality garments and gifts through my Redbubble Shop.

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Helen Harlotry – Goddess of Regency Romance

June 6, 2021June 6, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a modern woman, in possession of her own fortune, must be in want of a bit of good old-fashioned passion. Helen Harlotry is the goddess of all those who have an irrational longing to experience the lifestyle and passion of the Regency Era. A condition known to psychologists as “Austalgia”. She is a famed divine beauty, known for her pert opinions and fine eyes. She is a virginal goddess, as yet unwed. One prospective celestial consort declared that she was, “tolerable I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” Helen Halrotry is the eldest of the sixty-nine sister goddesses of romantic fiction. (You may have heard of her slightly more mainstream sister, the erotic and racy Melisande Boon – The Goddess of the Ripped Bodice.)

Most people expect the temple of Helen Harlotry to be located in one of the renowned Regency towns, such as Bath, Buxton or Brighton. In fact, it is happily situated in a park in Mansfield. This hallowed hall has a graceful neoclassical white stone façade adorned with a cornucopia of columns, built in the style of the architect John Nash. Atop the roof sits a small cupola which houses the temple bell. When rung, this bell goes, “Bingley-bingley-bingley.” The temple has two doors. Above one it says, “Entrance”, above the other it says, “Other way Mr Collins.” Once you are inside, you will find over a hundred elegantly furnished sitting rooms where worshippers can partake of the holy afternoon-tea ritual or receive gentleman callers whilst suitably chaperoned. Past these salons, at the heart of the temple, is a capacious, chandeliered ball room. Helen Harlotrians like to hold big balls. If you also tour the arbours and bowers of the grounds, you may be lucky enough to spot their 224-year-old pet tortoise, Mary Shelley. No one is sure whether this sacred ancient beast really is that old, or if they just keep reanimating her.

Whilst within the temple, followers of Helen Harlotry must adhere to strict rules of dress and etiquette to ensure an authentic early 19th century ambiance is preserved. Ladies must wear elegant empire line robes and carry a parasol, dance card and fan at all times. Gentlemen must adhere to a minimum side-burn length and meet a mandatory breech-tightness requirement. There is a secret, heretical sub-sect known as the Bridgertonians who like to bend or even outright defy these laws. For example, by sneaking classical arrangements of modern pop songs into the Temple String Quartet’s repertoire. They are lead by the mischievous Lady Danbury, who considers this to be riotously funny. Devotees of Helen Harlotry take great pride in their authenticity and many nurse a violent prejudice against the Bridgertonians. In return the Bridgertonians consider the orthodox members of the faith to be rather “High in the instep.” To avoid persecution from these less light-hearted folks*, Bridgertonians identify one another by secret signs and symbols. Such as the covert wearing of synthetic fabrics or hiding bee motifs in their costume designs. You may wonder why these iconoclasts run the risk of being scorned and ostracised. Apparently, it is all worth it just to watch Regé-Jean Page slowly lick a spoon.

Should you wish to join the cult of Helen Harlotry, you must either be a single man in possession of a good fortune and in want of a wife, or an impoverished yet accomplished maiden with little but her charms to recommend her. Gentlemen who are prepared to give consequence to ladies who are slighted by other men are particularly welcome. The initiation ritual for gentlemen involves stripping off down to their shirtsleeves and going for a dip in the lake, whilst the female members of the sect stroll along the lake shore and loudly exclaim, “Mr Darcy!” when he emerges. The initiation rite is different for female neophytes. They must go for a walk, get thoroughly soaked in an unexpected thunderstorm, and almost die of the apparently inevitable fever.

The worshippers of Helen Harlotry are keen on ball games. That is, games played at balls. The most popular of these is known as “Lady Catherine’s Condescension”. The game is played to music. Players must take a turn around the room and use persuasion to dash the wood into the nether field. It is improper for ladies to partner the same gentleman for more than two turns (unless they have “an understanding”). If, during the game, virtue is lost by a female player, it is irretrievable. By contrast, gentleman players are allowed one opportunity to restore their reputation and continue play. Players who commit multiple fouls (known as indiscretions) are exposed as the worst of libertines and sent off (usually to fight Napoleon). The game ends when everyone is married.

No one is precisely sure why this period of history evokes such passion and nostalgia. Maybe it is because it is one of the few eras when high fashion looks not only stylish, but also wearable and vaguely comfortable. However, not even the most devout followers of Helen Harlotry want to live full-time in Regency mode. The general consensus is that, whilst era is nice to visit in spirit, you wouldn’t want to live there. Even if you were minted. After all, no matter how much money you have, you can’t buy penicillin if it hasn’t been discovered yet. Once their religious devotions are complete, they are happy to be able to return to their 21st century rights and freedoms, but with a refreshed appreciation of their modern privilege and a prayer for their sisters around the world who are yet to achieve emancipation.

*Helen Harlotrians are not totally humourless. They have a version of the Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman joke which begins, “Jane Austen, Maria Edgeworth and Susan Edmonstone Ferrier walked into the Pump Room at Bath…”

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Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Ginnow

May 30, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The Ginnow is a fish out of tonic. This martini-tiny fish can be found living in the vermouths of rivers. People often confuse the Ginnow with the Cocktail Stickleback.

(Note: I am having a little trouble getting this image to work for the RedBubble merchandise. I can’t seem to get the transparency of the glass to look right when it is put on other colour backgrounds. I will keep working on it and will let you know when they become available.)

To suggest a single letter mutation creature for the Second Bestiary click here.

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Wogana La La La Olé – Deity of Song Contests

May 22, 2021 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Wogana La La La Olé © H. Hudson-Lee 2021

Wogana La la la Olé is the only deity who knows what hellish future lies ahead. They’ve seen the rehearsals.

Wogana is the latest addition to the Irish pantheon of gods. They rode into the Otherworld during the second half of the twentieth century on their celestial steed, a lovely horse. The primary aim of the faith of Wogana is to bring peace to the world by making music, not war. It is to the constant amazement of the sceptics out there that Woganaism has been considerably more successful in this aim than the League of Nations ever was*. However, this may all unravel if Cyprus ever award Turkey douze points.

The international nature of this sect may be the reason why Wogananians are, on average, better at geography than US citizens. On hearing that their flight has a lay-over in Moldova, many Americans will wonder, “Where’s that?”. Whereas a follower of Wogana will think, “Hey Mamma!”. Due to the huge range of languages spoken by the acolytes of Wogana, it has become necessary to devise a universal sacred language to enable the community to understand one another. For example, Eurovispiranto for, “Good morning! How are you today?” is, “Boom-bang-a-bang! Hippety-pump-pump ay-ay-ay?”

The great festival of Wogana takes place annually in mid-May and lasts for a week. It is held in a different country each year and is televised to enable followers across the globe to participate. Small groups (up to six) of the faithful will often gather in private homes to celebrate together. However, only the most devout will watch the entire week’s coverage of the festival. Most will only tune in for the climactic final rite on the Saturday night. As with many faiths, alcoholic libation pays a key role in the proceedings. At the start of the final night ritual the High Priest will ceremonially crack open a bottle of Baileys and consume the whole lot over the course of the evening. Except for the first glass, which is placed before the statue of Wogana so that the deity can be there in spirit. The high priest will then lead the congregation in the first prayer of the evening, which begins, “Oh Lordi…”.

Following the opening prayers, a representative from each Wogananian country will take turns to make an offering of a song to Wogana. An uninitiated person watching the proceedings might conclude that there is considerable confusion over what will please this deity. Some offer catchy hooks and pyrotechnics, some bring hoards of metal shredding Vikings or teams of moshing babushkas, whilst others present a wailing lady with a man wearing a horse’s head, sat on a stepladder. The correct answer, of course, is that what pleases Wogana above all things is diversity, spectacle and a lot of glitter. The more utterly bonkers the better. These representatives give their all performing to please Wogana and their followers (or at the very least elicit a sardonic witticism from the High Priest). They also compete for the honour of hosting the following year’s festival. Whilst winning isn’t everything, and it truly is the taking part that counts, every performer at the rite lives in dread of displeasing Wogana and having their souls fed to the demon “Nulpoints”. Singers who suspect this fate may be in store for them often turn Blue and quickly Scooch out of there. Wogana being counted amongst the gods of Eire may be the reason why Ireland has seen such success in the contest over the years. They have hosted the great festival so many times that they Michael Flatley refuse to host it again any time soon.

The current high priest of Wogana is one Mr Norton (affectionately known as “Pray ’em Norton”). Whilst he is renowned as a preacher of great wit and wisdom in his own right, he will also very occasionally act as an oracle of Wogana, channeling the wry Bon Mot of the deity themselves.

It may also interest you to know that Wogananians measure their historical periods a little differently to the rest of us. For example the years from 2010 to 2015, remembered for their iridescent foil fashions and youthful exuberance, are known as “The Jedwardian Era” (it was the best of times, it was the Wurst of times). This era takes its name from the mythical twin sons of Wogana. Edstor and Jollox.

May all the followers of Wogana La La La Olé have a wonderful time celebrating tonight. Let Wogana’s love shine a light in every corner of your dreams.

*Sadly nothing is perfect. Israel seems to have missed that mission statement memo.

Thank you for reading. If you have enjoyed this deity, please feel free to share it with your friends. New deities are published weekly. You can get alerted to new deities via Facebook through the Idol Scribbling Page or on Twitter by following @IdolScribblings . Catch up on the Pantheon so far here.

If you have a suggestion for a deity, you can suggest it by clicking this link. Alternatively, get in touch over on Facebook or Twitter. All due credit will be given.

Wine Marten

September 20, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

With thanks to @ElectricBowman for suggesting the Wine Marten.

Thanks to RedBubble you can purchase a fantastic range of clothing and gifts with this artwork on HERE.

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King Brawn

June 14, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

The most muscular of the aquatic crustaceans. Often seen kicking sand in the faces of shrimps.

The King Brawn was suggested by @AHappyHiveling of Twitter. You can contribute your idea for a single letter mutation beast here.

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Sue Doku – Goddess of Boring Journeys

August 11, 2019October 15, 2020 ~ Hannah ~ Leave a comment

Some say it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive. That the journey is the reward. Followers of Sue Doku see the journey as a trial to be ameliorated with amusements and snacks. She is said to have originated during the long sea voyages of ancient history, but her appearance has changed and developed as much as our transportation habits have over the millennia. Sue Doku’s divine consort is Traffique D’Lay – God of Roadworks and Adverse Weather. Her best friend is the water nymph Sheewee. Her sacred animal is a spaniel who likes to ride along with its head out of the window and its tongue and ears flapping in the slipstream.

Her temples are housed in motorway rest stops (which is why they are called Motorway Services) and airports. (Attempts to also move into bus and rail stations were abandoned after they were vigorously resisted by the church of Cancelle, the Goddess of Public Transport). If you have travelled, you will almost certainly have unwittingly visited one. The outer compounds of the temples house exciting and convenient dining and shopping opportunities. The restaurants are exclusively staffed by chefs of short stature. The proceeds of these businesses fund the church. This is why their prices tend to be somewhere between “HOW MUCH!?” and “Quick! Get the defibrillator!” The “public service” work of this faith seems to be limited to providing free public conveniences.

Amongst the unique products you can purchase at a Temple of Sue Doku are the Consecrated Chewable Toothbrushes, perfect if you have the triple curse of halitosis, hunger and heresy. They are available in vending machines in the toilets, so you can hide your shame as you make your discrete purchase. Some temples sell Black Toblerones (considered to be the food of the Gods). They are doubly rare, as the Airport Temples are the only places where one can buy these delicious plane chocolates. One can also purchase CDs of Sue Doku’s sacred music, such as the famous compilation “Now That’s What I Call Songs That Will Get On Your Nerves”. This includes the ever popular “As I Wonder Through the Valley of the Shadows of Death, I Wonder Whether We Are Nearly There Yet?”, the uplifting sing-along track “Halt This Conveyance. I Need a Wee Wee”, the haunting “Ego Sentio Vomitum Satiata”, and the breakaway hit “Don’t Let Jesus Take the Wheel, He Lived in the 1^st Century CE, Never Passed His Test and I’m Not Sure Whether the Fluid in His Sports Bottle is Still Water”.

The last notable products I will mention, which can be purchased from Sue Doku’s temples, are her sacred texts. If you wish to search for the word, this is where you would do well to look. These texts are always in paperback form, and come with a free pencil and the chance to win an Italian family holiday in Depressa. They contain collections of philosophical conundrums to stimulate a person’s spiritual side, and help maintain cognitive function during times when one fears one’s brain might atrophy from sheer ennui.

In the inner sanctum where “Services” are held, the seating provided for the congregation is in the form of 81 box pews in a 9×9 formation, subdivided into 9 squares of 9 boxes with narrow aisles running between them. Exactly 405 worshippers must attend each service. Before the service can start, they must seat themselves so that in each sub square of 9 box pews, one box contains one worshipper, another contains two, another contains three, and so on up to the last box which seats 9. Not only that, but they believe that if, in the full grid of the seating, any line contains more than one box with the same number of people in it, the world will end. In the early days of the faith, it would take hours of shuffling and seat switching before a service could commence. Nowadays, a few of the priesthood will already be seated when the congregation start to arrive, to give them some clues. This reduces the time taken to seat the congregation to roughly the duration of the average coffee break. Once they are seated, the officiating priest will don holy orange lifejacket and oxygen mask, point out the emergency exits here, here and here, and demonstrate how to use the ceremonial emergency whistle. During the service, each congregation member will be given a complimentary boiled sweet. Although in more health conscious modern times, these Barley Sugars are being replaced with Barely Sugars. Each service traditionally ends with dancing, when the priest finally belts up, and the worshippers take their partners by the hand for the “Inertia Reel”.

It is not all work for the Priesthood. They also practice an unusual and unique martial art for discipline, entertainment and sport. This is a form of wrestling where the winner is the one who makes their opponent hit themselves the most times. The wrestling ring is modelled on the back seat of a family car. The most infamous bouts in the history have always been fought between siblings. Perhaps the most notoriously bloody of these was the 1987 “Pagga in the Peugeot”, which was fought between 9 year old twins just outside Newport Pagnell. It began with the singing of the national anthem, and ended with a trip to A&E and suspension of pocket money.

If you wish to be initiated into the priesthood of Sue Doku, you will first be thoroughly interviewed to ensure your suitability. First they will demand to know whether you identify as an animal, vegetable or mineral. Then you will be asked a series of 20 probing questions, to which you can only answer yes or no. If the interviewing priest can correctly divine your true nature from this process, then you are accepted into the clergy. You may find the church leadership to be quite argumentative and confrontational, they are always having cross words. The current head of Sue Doku’s church is The Very Tedious Ian Spye. He is chauffer driven around the country to perform his duties in a yellow car. Have fun looking out for his distinctive vehicle when you are on the roads yourself. If you see him, be sure to shout out “Yellow Car!”

You will never hear a priest of Sue Doku on BBC Radio’s “Thought for the Day”. This is because they get their own slot for a couple of minutes, twice an hour. This broadcast does its best to warn Sue Dokuites of potential perils in the day’s journey ahead of them. The church also evangelises through inspirational religious slogans, like “Melior quam foris interius”, printed on those complimentary aeroplane sick bags you find in your seat pocket.

I will leave you with a few lines from one of Sue Doku’s well known prayers for air travellers.

“May the runway fall away beneath you,
May the wind always be at your back,
May the person in the seat next to you be pleasant,
And may you be upgraded to first class,
May your pilot be sober,
And may your baggage arrive at your destination,
May the volcanic ash clouds not ground your flight,
And may security not pull you aside for a full cavity search,
And until we meet again,
May the Goddess hold you in the palm of her hand,
And not squeeze too tight during air turbulence.”

(Author’s note: If you zoom in on the picture, both the Sudoku puzzle and the word search are proper puzzles. Have fun.)

Thank you to Adam Broadhurst for suggesting Sue Doku. He has just come back from a holiday in the Scottish Isles, so I can’t think where he got the idea from.

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