Oliver Cheatham - Get Down Saturday Night

Dexter Wansel - Life on Mars

THE MITORIAN BELGIUM BEER FEST !

ACT 1

First let me set the scene.

The brave ensemble is huddled against a wooden bar located in the underbelly of the Taverna known as " The Mitre". The Mitre has long been a place of interest to the natives of these cold lands and is located within a sacred grove once graced by the ancient Druids.

Marcus Equiox and his brave cohorts are talking in various local tongues and impressing the victualler with their prowess with the drinking horn. Equiox turns to Flavious Loaf and whispers in his ear. Next to these golden brothers of Britain are Agricola Doylus, Patricious Cannius and their slave Brunos Negros.

Stavros, the boisterous Grecian from the isle of Cyprus was debating petty matters with his plebeian friends. Across the uneven floor many heathen scoundrels were joyfully drinking from their pigskin bladders and anticipating the chariot journey to the white cliffs.

Returning to our heroes, Marcus Equiox, Flavious Loaf, Agricola Doylus and Patricious Cannius huddled together and hatched their plan for the journey to Dubris where their oared slave galley awaited for the short trip to Ostend in Belgique. They were then joined my Biggus Maccus whose helmet size was legendary throughout the province.

The slave Brunos Negros, who had previously been a free man, had arranged the 3-day trip to the Belgique hinterland and onward to the lowlands. Alas for Brunos, his love of the British mead had resulted in unruly behaviour at his place of employment and his subsequent enslavement. His loss of a testicle while appearing at the local games had further devalued his status and the boys had picked him up for just 5 Cistercians.

Brunos had arranged for the chariot to arrive at the Taverna in good time for the journey to the coast, but alas, due to the copious drinking, and indeed taking on of additional ballast in the form of Baxterion the Fair. The chariot did not leave until late in to the moonlit night.

The journey along the Watling Road across the High Weald, the land of the tribe of Canti, was supplemented by copious amounts of the fermented grape and malted barley, together with the slow burning weed and gum imported from Lebanon, provided by our Druid friends. Once the appropriate trance like state had been achieved there was much revelry as our brave boys mingled with the other travellers introduced by Brunos.

A further contingent consisting of the younger sibling of Marcus Equiox, Garious fat walletious , and Baxterion the elder, together with their comrades, were themselves working up to a state of enlightenment.

Soon the silver waters of the frothing channel were reached and the chariot broke through the inadequate barrier and approached the nearest galley. However the slaves began their slow pull of the oars, in rhythm with the steady beat of the drum, and the chariot was forced to brake sharply throwing the drunken ensemble to their feet.
A quick discussion with the frontier guards ensued and we were advised that a fresh galley would embark shortly but to a different destination. The new destination was in fact Calais in Gaul and would mean a tedious journey by chariot the other side of the channel prior to reaching our destination near Bruges. However the crossing went satisfactory and the outskirts of Brussels were reached without further skirmishes. Our encampment was of the Standard Franco/Belgique design with plenty of scope for thuggery and revelry.

All moved through the encampment with leaden feet, and within the hour, bodies were strewn amongst the hay, with their fetid stool deposited in the quilted sacks provide by their handmaidens.

As they slept there heads were filled with dreams of Bruges and soon those dreams would be fulfilled.

ACT 2


As the stinking fetid air wafted from the encampment a tall Irish vagabond by the name of "Aidenious the Arse" entered the compound after travelling separately in a coracle so as to evade the authorities. Having sustained himself by drinking copious amounts of the Irish flatulence inducing mead "Guinessinios " Aidenious was now fighting fit and ready to enslave as many maidens as he could seize.
Baxtorian the Fair, having counted the gold coins that his fellow revellers had thrown at him the previous evening, was seeking the nearest market place so that he could purchase a new pair of "Levi" leg strapping’s. He was of course treading carefully as he did not wish his cohorts to know that there hard earned Cistercians were being squandered by the young back flipping Barbarian. Fat Walletius was still asleep having imbibed to much mead and was suffering from migrainiartias as usual.
Slowly the bile began to rise within the sticky throats of the brave band of Mitorians with the thought of the day to come flowing through their aching brains. Brunos Negros scratched his only bolock and turned to Canius suggesting that the time for throwing copious amounts of "Southonious Comfortius" down there throats had come. Slowly they raised there aching limbs and slumbered towards the Taverna located next to there encampment.

ACT 3

As each of the weary Mitorians rose from their slumber, a stale smell wafted about their presence. The floor was scattered with their sweat and other bodily fluids, and the straw was now a stinking matted tangle of shit, piss, blood spittle and puke.

As they each entered the great hall so as to enable there leader to call muster, the meek locals fell about the place, ensuring that they were not struck by the heaving mass of evil barbarian testosterone, which was stumbling across the courtyard.
As they neared the assembly point, a huge Germanic edifice fell across the floor, landing at the feet of Brunos Negros. As he looked up, fear leached on to the faces of the surrounding hoard. Whispers soon passed amongst the assembled local Heathens as it was acknowledged that a true monster was amongst them.

Slowly, the huge head and shoulders strained upwards, and the bloated knees stretched to full extension as he stood to his full height of six foot eight.

Biggus Maccus Husenhousen had arisen!!!.

The Task Master soon called out to the assembled Mitorian rabble and immediately they started to board the Wooden Cart that had been acquisitioned from the local villagers. Soon they were on there way to the next destination, Brugeticus, where the local chieftain, “Iam Shittinmyseficus” had promised to arrange a Bacchanalian feast and a drinking competition, whereby the winner of the booze up would win the dubious favour of mixing with the local maidens.

Soon the carriage was at its destination, and the blooded and swollen Mitorians dismounted from the carriage and entered the drinking hut.
It did not take long until various members of this truly heroic band of revellers, their minds enlightened by the slow burning weed, and in particular Flavious Loaf, Baxtorian The Elder and Stavros the Boisterous Grecian realised that the fare on offer was crapodotious !.

One by one they left the Hut to search out preferential drinking and eating houses, their noses twitching as they searched for the fermented grape and malted barley beloved by the Mitorians . Soon a great wail came from the end of the square, and a huge commotion was seen to be emanating from a small Wooden cart of Frankish origin, that had been parked outside a stinking hovel of a beer tavern.

At first it was assumed that Baxtorian The Fair was up to his old trick of tweaking the nipple of an unsuspecting cohort, but this was not the case, as Baxtorian The Fair was in deep discussion with Garious Fat Walletious trying to arrange a further cash advance so that he may purchase a further pair if Levi’s. However, this was to no avail as Fattus Walletus was suffering from another migraine, and could not understand what was being discussed.

As the ravaged hoard moved closer it soon became apparent that the Huge Headed, Maccus Housenhousen, had been taking advantage of the local hospitality and Mead, and was in danger of crushing the splintering cart under the huge weight of his head and strutting torso.

The four eyed barbarian known as Martinious goonmember the curl, was first on the scene, and thrust his lithe body in to the cart to save the local who was in grave danger of being crushed. The brave band of Mitorians were soon on the scene and it soon became apparent that the great heaving head of the Housenhousen was writhing in agony as he tried to retrieve the rest of his withered body from the remains of the cart. He eventual emerged with the cry that his back was broken and that he needed a piss !!.

The rabble soon deserted the simpering beast, otherwise known as the Huge Headed Housenhousen, and moved back to the designated drinking hut, there Drinking Horns glistening in the light of the burning carts , set alight by Brunos Negros so that he could melt the Gum imported from Lebanon and enjoy a smoke with his Druid cohorts .
By now the other members of the team who had no gone to the other end of the square, were eye balling the local men looking for a game of “come and get your fooking head kicked in” and foaming at the bit.

Leading this faction was the great and tested warrior known as Aidenious the Arse.

After arriving the previous evening in his Coracle, the Celtic warrior had been honing his fighting skills by thrusting his fists in to the skulls of each Chelsonian or Hotsperian native he came across.


Soon the Belgium hoard was a bloody mess, and Aidenoius moved back to the Hostelry to splash his blooded fists with Meade. Slowly the rabble began to collect their thoughts and moved in unison towards the awaiting transport. The chariot was overflowing with bodily fluids and smelt like a skunk on heat. The gay driver made his way across the heathen hinterland and was soon disembarking the Mitorians at their encampment. The grape and Meade were again quickly being mixed with the local firewater and soon a number of the large bellied, red faced imbibers were plotting to steel a huge flagon of Brandonias that was locked in a glass plinth by the watering hole. Slowly the lock was picked by our brave band of Britons, and the large flagon was spirited from the area. It was not long before all were in a state of uncontrolled bliss, with the spittoons slowly filling with bloody phlegm and pus from their suppurating wounds. One by one the contingent retired to there straw bedding. passing shit and piss where they lay.

ACT 4

Soon it was morning, and as the Cock crowed, Aidenois and the hulking huge headed monster, rose from there slumber and killed the cock for breakfast. Thoughts now moved to the day’s activities, which included a planned trip to another venue, across the local border situated in a low lying area where a Dam blocked the river Amster.
This was a land known to be inhabited by a local tribe of Amazonians who went by the name of the " South Mullaccaonians", and were known to lurk in dark alleys waiting to attack the unsuspecting target and, after no time at all, rob them of their hard earned Guilders.
Other locals were rumoured to sit in wait of their targets, apparently showing no fear, as they did not bother to hide themselves, but sat in full view to all comers, as they sat in their hovels beside the stinking channels that ran through the settlement.
All had been warned of these foes, and Mitorians were in full battle mode as they slowly wheeled in to the encampment, stretching there muscular bodies as they awaiting the coming events.
The stinking channels that doubled as canals had mist floating above the calm waters as the ensemble entered a local Taverna that was displaying local Chariot Racing by way a stream of runners bringing messages updating the action.
One by one, the Mitorians slipped out of the door,disappearing in to the maze of twisting alley's that radiated from the Taverna. All were on guard, as the Orange suited Mullaccaonians were known to haunt these dangerous pathways. Those left in the Taverna, Marcus Equios, Flavious Meatonious and the ex slave Brunos, together with a few others, were drinking from there large bulbous horns, uncomfortable at the thought that there brave Mitorian buddies may not return with all their faculties in place. A guard was posted at the door, and soon Mitorians began to return, breathing heavily and out of breath.

Baxterion The Elder entered the room and collapsed on to a seat gasping for breath. His hands were tightly clutching his balls as he rolled across the floor writhing in agony. His money belt was slashed and empty. As he rolled in to a tight ball he muttered the words "those thieving Mulluconnions" whilst shutting his eyes. He soon mustered enough energy to refill his Horn and he was soon imbibing the sweet honey laced mead, so as to replace the energy and salts lost in his recent strenuous exertions. Suddenly the door thrust open and Fattius Walletious entered the room, quickly followed by the younger Baxterion, his flaxen main flowing behind him as he back flipped across the room. Fattious opened his mouth to talk and ..............

The tired and aching band of revellers soon realised that there day was nearing an end, and that the transport would soon be taking them back to the festering hovel they were sleeping in. Heads and bodies were light from the fumes emanating from the many burning leaves and Resin supplied by the Lebanese and Moroccan vagabonds who had shared the dingy ale house in the land of the Dam.
The Mulloconions had done there worst, and the Mitorians were tired and broke. The Credit Crunch had "come early" for many of the younger Mitorians as there enthusiasm took over and their money, and other, "pouches were wrung dry" by the crafty Mulloconions in their orange apparel who brought danger at every "twist and turn" in the "tight back passages" and "slippery front alleys" of the locals.

Many only escaped by "slipping out early" but even they were enticed back by the crafty manouverings, and slight of hand of the slovenly writhing, but strangly dark, Orange ones. With the exception of those who chose to say and imbibe without confronting the locals, all were now ready to return to the relevant safety of there temporary base.

Many new and "brief" friends were wished well, and indeed a few tried to travel with the Mitorians, but all were truly ruthless as the new friendships were cast aside by the brave joint Anglo Saxon / Celtic ensemble.

Soon all were back at base and the vino and Meade were soon taking there toll on those who continued to drink from there flaccid horns. Soon it was morning and all about the Mitorians groaned amongst the puke, shit, piss, phlegm and blood. Soon they were all assembled and ready to join there transport back to the foaming channel and onwards to the fabled Mitre.

As each boarded the dilapidated horse drawn omnibus they checked there belongings and soon it became apparent to Marcos Equis that he had about his person the huge flagon of Brandy stolen from the premises the other day, when two unsuspecting foreigners were nicked by the local Garda for allegedly stealing it, after we gave there room number to them ! . The flagon was soon open, and we soon realised that we would have to drink it before customs as we would be nicked for owning the prize winning bottle. It held as much liquid as the huge headed monster Biggus Maccus's belly, but we still managed to finish it by the time we reached the slave galley that would take us home.
Soon we were back in blighty and the Mitre welcomed the brave Mitorians with a mighty roar and declared that a further trip was to be organised as soon as the weary bodies recovered there full potential to plunder
and wassail. - But that is another story to be told at a later date!!!!!!!!!