Number Seven Boat Trips Bristol | Touching base with Blackbeard, this Easter
It be a month since my last interference. I start this diatribe in a similar manner to a confession, because have just been through Holy week, not because I actually wish to confess to anything. Do not think me insincere when I say that I love Holy week. It’s true. I’m still waiting for my own resurrection. Though mine would be more appropriately celebrated with cannon fodder, than eggs. So, this is April, and what have we done? We have entered into the spirit of summer by doing what most Brits do; stripping ourselves to the minimum amount of clothing it is considered decent enough to get away with. In some cases, it goes beyond decency. Twas ever thus! The streets in the morning are less filled with the throng of commuters and more the mounting debris of the wastage incurred from the night before. What a time to be a wandering spirit. Is holiday time a period for reflection, or for forward strategical planning? Perhaps it is for neither, or nothing other than enjoying it for what it is; a holiday. All I have is reflection, being dead as I am. By reflection, I mean ‘consideration’ and not that I can see myself in any mirrors. It doesn’t bother me, though. I do not sweat, I do not burn in the sun and I will never be the April fool. So, here’s to that, and here’s looking at you, Bristol.
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The Words & Musings of Black Beard*, channelled to us through the Mystic Cosmica *probably

And so, as the winds gather force and the nights grow longer and longer still; as we inch closer and closer to the day we have been told to look forward to for the last six weeks, our thoughts should not stray to feelings of foreboding and petty misdemeanours, but rejoice in the choral song offered to us by the poor misguided souls that have taken to carol singing on Prince Street Bridge.

Of course I am not referring to the music itself. Heavens above! The last couple of nights, there they have been; all gaily clad in Santa hats and expressions of forced imbecility. Heaven knows that if God had wanted us to maim, he would surely not have made it quite so easy for us. It must be some kind of a trick, I thought to myself when my senses were first enraged by the spectacle. Perhaps it is something put here to test me.

The lord works in mysterious ways, they say; and this is most certainly that. I’m sure he will know better than anyone that I’m still trying to figure out this latest conundrum. He may even derive some pleasure from watching me as I ponder it.

I’ll tell you where I stand with it now; when the light fades tonight and the voices strike up in unison to the song of a silent night (and you’re really wishing it were) my only advise would be to take it as a blessed relief that you are not yet one of the people joining in with this lunacy. This is why we must rejoice. Rejoice in the knowledge that it has not yet come to that for you and yours, and we will defer further judgement on the assailants until we can gain a greater understanding of to which depths the madness festers.

Take that happy thought to bed with you and remember it on Christmas morning. No amount of candy cane can possibly beat that. You’re welcome.

Merry Christmas from me,

The Mystic Cosmica (channelling the words and musings of Black Beard).*