| Author: | Michael Linnett | ISBN: | 1230001630398 |
| Publisher: | Michael Linnett | Publication: | April 8, 2017 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Michael Linnett |
| ISBN: | 1230001630398 |
| Publisher: | Michael Linnett |
| Publication: | April 8, 2017 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
Wotan, Norse God, ruler of Valhalla, president of the Valkyries, languished at home in Asgard, one of the nine worlds, pondering over the nature of existence, when his wife Frigg messaged him.
“Another hippy on the line,” she said. “Had a few too many drugs, I suspect and thought he was dialling for a takeaway.”
“Put him through,” sighed Wotan. “Yes, Wotan here, what is it?” There was a pause on the line and a whispered conversation.
“It’s bloody Wotan,” someone whispered, “he isn't going to be very amused if we ask him for 3 vegetable Baltis and 6 Poppadoms, what shall I say?”
“Tell him you got the wrong number.”
“Are you an idiot? Do you think he won't be able to trace the call?”
“Well ask him about the nature of reality then.”
Wotan, Norse God, ruler of Valhalla, president of the Valkyries, languished at home in Asgard, one of the nine worlds, pondering over the nature of existence, when his wife Frigg messaged him.
“Another hippy on the line,” she said. “Had a few too many drugs, I suspect and thought he was dialling for a takeaway.”
“Put him through,” sighed Wotan. “Yes, Wotan here, what is it?” There was a pause on the line and a whispered conversation.
“It’s bloody Wotan,” someone whispered, “he isn't going to be very amused if we ask him for 3 vegetable Baltis and 6 Poppadoms, what shall I say?”
“Tell him you got the wrong number.”
“Are you an idiot? Do you think he won't be able to trace the call?”
“Well ask him about the nature of reality then.”
.....
.” Mr Lakshmi took one final sip of tepid water and unclipped his microphone. He turned to leave the pulpit and caught the eye of Wotan. “Very surprised to see you here my lord.” He said. “I gather you weren't able to locate your credentials or note of bidding to participate this afternoon.” Wotan nodded his assent. “We seem to be left with 2 of the most undesirable planets. The management will not be pleased. As you know storage costs are astronomical if you'll pardon the pun. Kryton requires a refrigeration unit.”
“Quite so.” Said Wotan.
“Is there anything you can do for us?” Lakshmi asked.
“Well,” said Wotan after a long pause, “they might suit my purpose. I'll pick them up next Wotansday.
“Wotansday, of course.” Said Mr Lakshmi. “Very good my lord. We'll have the atmosphere cleaned and all the lawns and hedges clipped for you.”
...
Bloody Xanthus! He thought. 4000 years, had elapsed. 4000 years of warriors and Valkyries! But nothing in the way of recruits. Not so much as an offering. He had been expecting a steady flow of devotees. Warriors who had been slain in glorious battle or perished on noble quests, but so far as he could make out nobody had turned up. Well it was high time to pay them a visit! What better place to take his child? He was going to make things a bit more interesting for them!
...
“Tonight my lovelies, I have a real treat.” She said. “I've made this in honour of our guests.” Morag grimaced as she recognised the food. One of the trays contained golden sizzling discs, which oozed a bubbling trickle of filling and exuded a savoury herby aroma. A second tray held long crispy fritters, from which trickled a dark sauce. Madame Beauchamps winked at Hamish, but Morag rolled her eyes.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Deep fried pizza followed by battered Mars bar, am I right?” The trays were passed around enthusiastically until everyone had at least two pizzas and four battered mars bars.
“Not bad,” said Ferdinand, “not bad at all!”
“I think,” Said the elder dwarf, “We shall have this every Tuesday, all those in favour, please raise your hands.” Everyone except Morag raised their hand.
Wotan, Norse God, ruler of Valhalla, president of the Valkyries, languished at home in Asgard, one of the nine worlds, pondering over the nature of existence, when his wife Frigg messaged him.
“Another hippy on the line,” she said. “Had a few too many drugs, I suspect and thought he was dialling for a takeaway.”
“Put him through,” sighed Wotan. “Yes, Wotan here, what is it?” There was a pause on the line and a whispered conversation.
“It’s bloody Wotan,” someone whispered, “he isn't going to be very amused if we ask him for 3 vegetable Baltis and 6 Poppadoms, what shall I say?”
“Tell him you got the wrong number.”
“Are you an idiot? Do you think he won't be able to trace the call?”
“Well ask him about the nature of reality then.”
Wotan, Norse God, ruler of Valhalla, president of the Valkyries, languished at home in Asgard, one of the nine worlds, pondering over the nature of existence, when his wife Frigg messaged him.
“Another hippy on the line,” she said. “Had a few too many drugs, I suspect and thought he was dialling for a takeaway.”
“Put him through,” sighed Wotan. “Yes, Wotan here, what is it?” There was a pause on the line and a whispered conversation.
“It’s bloody Wotan,” someone whispered, “he isn't going to be very amused if we ask him for 3 vegetable Baltis and 6 Poppadoms, what shall I say?”
“Tell him you got the wrong number.”
“Are you an idiot? Do you think he won't be able to trace the call?”
“Well ask him about the nature of reality then.”
.....
.” Mr Lakshmi took one final sip of tepid water and unclipped his microphone. He turned to leave the pulpit and caught the eye of Wotan. “Very surprised to see you here my lord.” He said. “I gather you weren't able to locate your credentials or note of bidding to participate this afternoon.” Wotan nodded his assent. “We seem to be left with 2 of the most undesirable planets. The management will not be pleased. As you know storage costs are astronomical if you'll pardon the pun. Kryton requires a refrigeration unit.”
“Quite so.” Said Wotan.
“Is there anything you can do for us?” Lakshmi asked.
“Well,” said Wotan after a long pause, “they might suit my purpose. I'll pick them up next Wotansday.
“Wotansday, of course.” Said Mr Lakshmi. “Very good my lord. We'll have the atmosphere cleaned and all the lawns and hedges clipped for you.”
...
Bloody Xanthus! He thought. 4000 years, had elapsed. 4000 years of warriors and Valkyries! But nothing in the way of recruits. Not so much as an offering. He had been expecting a steady flow of devotees. Warriors who had been slain in glorious battle or perished on noble quests, but so far as he could make out nobody had turned up. Well it was high time to pay them a visit! What better place to take his child? He was going to make things a bit more interesting for them!
...
“Tonight my lovelies, I have a real treat.” She said. “I've made this in honour of our guests.” Morag grimaced as she recognised the food. One of the trays contained golden sizzling discs, which oozed a bubbling trickle of filling and exuded a savoury herby aroma. A second tray held long crispy fritters, from which trickled a dark sauce. Madame Beauchamps winked at Hamish, but Morag rolled her eyes.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Deep fried pizza followed by battered Mars bar, am I right?” The trays were passed around enthusiastically until everyone had at least two pizzas and four battered mars bars.
“Not bad,” said Ferdinand, “not bad at all!”
“I think,” Said the elder dwarf, “We shall have this every Tuesday, all those in favour, please raise your hands.” Everyone except Morag raised their hand.
