We were out in the Undergrowths of Bridgwater, Somerset with more or less the entire Loki family (eldest Loki boy tongue stuffing with 14 year old girls in County Town) when we came across a small tribe with the usual shrunken head leanings. Tribe seemed friendly at first, offering miniature Victorian Fire Engines for comfort etc etc but then turned cheeks and howled away into the taller reeds, hiding and going, making odd throat noises and jowl fills. No time at all to photograph the little fellahs themselves but did manage one shrunken head, one specially preserved in cider vinegar and brown paper towels from the Mole Valley Farm Shop.
When we got home... this:
which more or less summed the day up.
2 comments:
As long as he's not hanging around with Kurt.....
heh..Kurt, i'd forgotten about him.... for those who don't know (ie everyone else) .. Kurt was an early unfortunate friend of the elder Loki child... the kinda kid that Burroughs would have described as a 'sheep killing dog' ...me and the ever-gorgeous Mrs Loki managed to fend him off with some minor Enochian magick and a dose of reverse cartnip but he's still kicking around the village, setting fire to cars and old ladies
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