Category Archives: Stuart France and Sue Vincent

Dear Wen: Wednesbury…

Dear Wen I suppose ultimately ‘Odin’s Steed’ is the eight-spoked wheel of the year, which he rides like the wind and which could almost be yet another parallel with the ‘Christ-Spirit’ that blows where it listeth… Repton and Breedon would … Continue reading

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Sea Mist…

* …Even allowing for the earliness of the hour, there were far fewer students than he expected. By long habit his steps found a familiar corridor and the worn stone rang underfoot. It would not harm to hazard it. How … Continue reading

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Dear Don: Devil’s Drop…

Dear Don, Sorry about the inbox…I don’t think it should be too bad this time. I didn’t think it would be a great idea to completely fill it while you’ve been unwell. Hope you are back on your feet and … Continue reading

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But ‘n’ Ben…

Gauche… Gangly… Currently scrofulous… Bark Jaw-Dark contemplated the pork pie he had recently fished from the depths of the jacket pocket of his un-pressed suit and placed it whole in his mouth. “Hey, Jordache!” “Jaw-Dark,” spluttered Bark through the pork … Continue reading

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Psychology…

* Little Grub was dreaming… In her dream she was a butterfly, flitting and fluttering about happily… * * Continue reading at France & Vincent

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Kraas…

* Dark night, utterly dark. Probably just as well. If his friends could see him and knew where he was going… Not that he knew where he was going himself, just who he was meeting and that was bad enough! … Continue reading

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The Yoke of all Craft…

*** …The torchbearers hurriedly re-lit the torches of Dun Culhwch. “Why, a veritable master of all the crafts we have here, it would seem,” said Big Chief Hawthorn, “but let a seat be brought for this man who has asked … Continue reading

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Sleeping Giant…

  …After watching the, again, somewhat recalcitrant sun-up, we decide to head back for breakfast via the cluster of, albeit haphazardly, positioned stones which we have come to call ‘the recumbents’. This is something of a risk, as we do … Continue reading

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Little Acorns…

* … A paper flyer blowing in the wind clings to my ankle. I stoop and peel it from my trouser leg, unfurl it and read… ‘…LITTLE ACORNS…’ A Puppet-Play Figured in Three Acts FEATURING THE REDOUBTABLE MR PUNCH THE … Continue reading

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Rune-Stone…

* From the edge of the mountain ridge he came, trailing sunrise behind him. * Stone unscorched by sun. Stone unscored by sword. Discovered by no man, as the waning moon runs… Disturbed by none. * Continue reading at France … Continue reading

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