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The Epic Tale of Eric Thane Part 1
About the author: This poem is the work of the semi-great poet Dralimanakos (ca. 470BC). Although famous for his bad rhyme and lack of grandeur, Dralimanakos was known throughout the land as “someone who really tried quite hard”. This poem, his greatest work, has been faithfully translated from the original Greek by a dedicated team of bored historians.
Come hither, one and all, and hear a tale of heroes and adventure. Hear ye, dear listeners, the tale of unlikely hero of old, Eric Thane!
Part 1, in which Eric listens to a bard and leaves home in search of a great prize.
We meet our hero
Meet our hero, learn his name
Gunther’s brother, Eric Thane
Gunther, he was proud and strong
But Eric? Everything was wrong
Short of stature, rumpled hair
Some would say, “It isn’t fair!”
But nothing ever got him down
Always smiling, ne’er a frown
He never shirked, he did his bit
He worked the fields, he shovelled shit.
Eric makes a decision
Then one day while watching sheep
(It was a fairly boring week)
A famous bard he came to stay
By telling stories, paid his way
He sang of kings and armies vast
He told of famous battles past.
One such tale had all ears open
Of a diamond, long since stolen
Eric heard with widened eyes
The story of this fabled prize
No man knew where now it was
Just that it lay to the north
Eric heard the jewel held magic
To hear it’s lost is surely tragic!
So Eric made a plan that day
That come the morn’, he’s on his way
Towards the north, that jewel to seek
Even if it took all week!
Eric’s first fight
And so next day he sallied forth
Heading up towards the north
Light of step and glad of heart
Armour, sword, he looked the part.
He wandered far across the land
Grass and forest, hills and sand
Some weeks on he reached Great Wood
The tales about it weren’t good
But Eric’s heart was brave and stout
No such tales would keep him out!
Some way in he found a hive
Honey sweet would help him thrive!
He took his sword and cut it down
But then his smile turned to a frown
The bees they swarmed all o’er the place
Stinging him on hands and face.
While braving fending off a bee
Missed his step, did stumble he
Arm outstretched to save him harm
Fell on his sword and cut his arm.
Finally he left the wood
It hadn’t really gone so good
Throbbing arm, no food, no honey
He realised he’d need some money
So from the wood he headed down
Towards a quiet little town.
In Part 2, we’ll join Eric as he continues his adventures and meets the dreaded Siren of the Marsh!
Still here!
Yes, I’m still here.
It has been pointed out to me that I haven’t actually posted anything for a while, and indeed I haven’t. So this is something in the nature of a holding post.
I’ve actually been working on an “Epic Poem”. Well, in my head it was going to be an “Epic Poem”. It was going to be a serious poem, full of epic adventure. There was going to be an awesome hero performing deeds of great importance. I saw myself as an aspiring modern-day Homer.
However, when I started writing, it didn’t quite work out that way, despite my best intentions. It features a rather clumsy, idiotic chap by the name of Eric Thane who bumbles through the poem – things generally turn out well by accident rather than design. And it’s in no way going to be “Epic”, either in content or length. Although some of the best poems don’t rhyme, and I think they’re great, I don’t seem to be able to write like that. So it’s taking me ages to get it right, and despite my best efforts it’s turning out rather cheesy. Ho hum.
I’ve managed to write some poems which, though they won’t win any prizes, have made me proud of the achievement. However, telling an actual story using words which rhyme and lines which scan is a lot harder than it looks.
So, part one of my Epic Poem coming soon, though it’s likely to be more Pam Ayres than Homer.
2093
The year is 2093
Tommy’s never seen a tree
He knows they’re tall and brown and green
But not a sight he’s ever seen.
People say it’s such a pity
All the world’s become a city
Trees and grass and bubbling brooks
Can only now be found in books.
No horses, cows or dogs or cats
All the food is grown in vats
People crammed in tiny spaces
Life’s a drudge, no happy faces.
The older ones think “Such a shame”
Wondering just who’s to blame
No more trilling sparrow’s song
Nature’s time has long since gone.
Life, the Universe and the Nature of Time
The answer to the Ultimate Question. And my age.
Forty-two. According to the late great Douglas Adams in his amazing “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”, this is the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything.
It’s also my age, as from today (Happy Birthday to me)! As my age is now the answer to the Ultimate Question, I’m expecting great things from the coming year. Everything’s going to fall into place, oh yes.
The nature of time
So that got me thinking about time. It’s an established scientific fact that time moves more slowly when you’re waiting for something to happen, as evidenced by Clive Giggletrousers’ “boiling kettle experiment” of 1975 (no link available).
Half an hour later, still not boiled!
Widely televised, the kettle failed to boil during the eight hour show, due, it has been proposed, to the sheer number of people watching. Further anecdotal evidence has been reported in the case of terminally lazy Mirabelle Jiff of Milton Keynes, UK, who, according to witnesses, waited for something to happen to her for so long she lived to the grand old age of 723 (unsubstantiated).
However, little has been reported regarding an increased rate of the passing of time. Recently, I discovered this phenomenon in my own life! It was the trial of Michael Jackson’s doctor which brought it home to me. The news reader mentioned “the death of Michael Jackson in June 2009”.
2009? 2009?
Blimey. I thought it was just a few months ago. So, with the aid of a calculator, I estimate that time for me is running at around six times “normal”. This is a bit worrying, to be honest. Even if I live until I’m eighty (is that even possible on a diet of pizza, ice cream and Marmite sandwiches?), I’ll be dead by fifty. Yoinks! Maybe if I speak nicely to my pension company, I can cash it in early.
So, please join me next year for my 70th birthday and I’ll let you know how I’m getting on.
When I grow up
Grad Ball 1992 - young and full of hope
“When I grow up, I want to be a train driver.”
That was my number one choice when I was little. Every year we went to Scotland on holiday to stay with my gran, and we went by train. The MotorRail to be exact. That’s the one where they put the car on a trailer at the back of the train. And I really wanted to drive that train.
Then, for a brief period, I wanted to be a football (soccer) player. Well, which little boy didn’t? Unfortunately, I had no talent. I sat on the sidelines, watched the game and helped with the half-time oranges.
“School days are the best days of your life”, they say. Who are “they”? People who never went to school, evidently. Because it’s bullshit. I hated school. University’s where it’s at. Now that was fun. Sometimes I wish I could go back and do it all over again. Meeting friends in the Students’ Union for a couple of pints, rushing around to friends in the middle of the night to get help on an assignment…
Well, now those days are gone – time to grow up.
When I as at school we did one of those tests which is supposed to tell you the kind of job you might be suited to. That was one of the most hilarious balls-ups of all time. I decided that it was more important to get on well with co-workers than the work environment, and working outside might be good. The result?
“Youth club leader” or “Pig farmer”.
Picture courtesy of Stephen McKay
Excuse me? Pig farmer? What in the names of the Gods of Olympus were they thinking? I mean, I’m all for pigs but after their conversion to bacon, thank you very much indeed.
There’s nothing wrong with pig farming, it’s just not for me. I’m more of the academic type. So these tests should be taken with a pinch of salt.
So I spent some time as a laser physicist and now I’m a website programmer. A job which didn’t even exist when I was at school. There was no web until well into my university life.
So, thank you for inventing the web, Sir Tim Berners-Lee. Without you, I’d be coming home every night smelling of pig poopies.
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