The Journeyman. My predecesors and originator of this blog

Where to begin?

The question should be why begin at all. This is written partially because I want a means to reflect upon how my radically changing circumstances evolve on an almost hourly basis since my acquaintance with the individual I have come to refer to as The Journeyman Began; partially to try to educate the greater community to the wonders and horrors that pass them by each and every day along every step they tread; But mostly as evidence in any criminal (or insanity) case brought against me in the future★

I am not a professional writer, and I'm sure on this fact you'll soon agree - but I will record the events that occur in the order they happened with as much of the established background events in how I believe they happened, if you know better then please correct and educate me.

Finding the beginning has proved nigh on impossible. As my experiences increase I realise I should have seen all of this happening around me a long long ago. So I'll start with my introduction to my employer and fill in the rest if circumstance ( life and/or liberty) allow.

The Spontaneous Conflagration Concept.

It was Summer. I know not which month, or more importantly which year, it occurred but I was working in a factory that was a grey box against a grey sky doing something to chicken carcasses that has put me off meat☆ for life.

The daily piped in radio station kept playing old records that weren't current even in my youth and a local news feature about a mysterious spate of exploding, spontaneously combusting sea foul. I was bored, bored of standing in line looking at an endless belt flowing past on an endless loop taking things from one end of a room to the other to have bits hacked off or stuffed in or coloured to look more appealing. It reminded me of life, constantly flowing with events happening and things being taken away and always fluffed up to look more appetising than before.

The buzzer went, signifying the only break of the day and as I trudged away from my station (to be instantly replaced by another automaton dressed identically) I heard on the tinny radio in the staff room that an unknown substance had washed up on a beach endangering sea birds and marine animals and volunteers were urgently required to help with the clean up.

I would like to say it was my humanity and not the utter boredom that drove me to pick up my bag and walk out the door to go to that beach; although it probably had more to do with the tone of voice of the environmentalist who pleaded for help, and it was near to where the sea gulls were popping with explosive force and I wanted to see it first hand!

★And I am constantly expecting one or the other throughout every second of my employ.

☆and some sexual acts☆☆

☆☆some but not all ;)

The beach was new to me. I rarely ventured far from my local bar or take away and the fresh air was not as fresh as TV had led me to believe. What it was, was sporadically covered in a topaz gel along the stone and shingle beach and floating upon the waves stretching as far as my eyes could see. Birds lay in distress, some calling but most laying barely moving. People in plastic aprons and wellies moved amongst them picking them up and rushing off or bagging up and leaving on a trolley. Noticeably there were two bespectacled men in bobble hats and trench coats walking in fixed straight lines between the others, often bumping into girls carrying flapping sea birds or men with clip boards and moving on as if it never happened. they held at arms length (as if it could turn around and bite them) a wooden frame with two bend wire rods at the end and wires leading to a small screen under a black cloth.

There was an old rusted railing running the length of the promenade separating the walled walkway where elderly couples slowly walked arm in arm in the early afternoon sunshine and the stone and shingle stretch of land that passed as the local beach to these parts. Resting with his fore arms on the top rail, dressed in an unseasonal long and what appeared to be at first a black coat; but as I drew closer and it moved in the wind it had a purple/turquoise sheen like that of a kingfisher, sunglasses with lens of something like steamed onyx and a wide brimmed black panama, was a man that seemed to have no worry or care in the world and calmly taking in the scene of almost chaos playing out in front of him.

He seemed to notice me looking and beckoned me over.

"See there" he said sweeping his hand across the field of vision to indicate the people milling around like ants. "Everyone of these good people are here to help these poor creatures caught up in something not of their doing."

He stayed looking at the aid effort on the beach, never once looking up to see if I was listening or understanding his words.

"Over there, that man in the green shirt." He said more of an instruction. "He runs the Worlton Village animal rescue shelter and Her over there." My eyes were drawn to a long haired lady (she was obviously a lady amongst the others) in designer wellies. "She is the founder of the Worlton wildlife protection agency. Fierce rivals and determined to do more good than the other. Sad really as they were once married and working together; until a young student vet came between them. Now they spend their days trying to outdo each other and get more news coverage for their own agendas."`

I was not expecting a potted history on two strangers, nor was I out to gather gossip. I was about to bring this to the strangers attention when with a flick of his hand in my general direction he cut me off.

"Each one of these people are here to help out of the goodness of their hearts, or that's what they tell themselves in their minds and in their hearts. But each one is doing more ill by getting in the way of the other group, or taking birds to be cleaned that are already being helped; stealing contaminated birds from each other in fact and no one knows where or what the ultimate goal is. Two Generals fighting over a few yards of turf."

I could see it now, the actual events unfolding before me were two groups, each resenting the other for being there and getting in the way of their humanitarianism, small fights were breaking out over who got to clean the birds on what area of beach. cleaning stations were being knocked over; cleaning solutions poured away to allow an alternate solution to be used in its place. The only things not fighting were the poor creatures locked within a hardening topaz shell.

"Who are they?" I enquired of this stranger who seemed to see exactly what was going on. "They don't see to be part of all this, just getting in the way."

"Them." He said with a sneer. "Are Hunters. Not the bold and brave type who pit their brain and brawn against an equal adversary....although..." He said looking up then straight down. His face came up again with a wicked smile across this blood red lips. " If they did find what they were looking for I wouldn't bet a penny against a million on their chances. No, they are that breed of people who see conspiracies and mysterious forces behind every corner, just out of sight and who's words are lost on the breeze."

I rested my arms on the railings, in a mirror to the watcher. I felt like I was looking at the world through new eyes. Had the waves of the sea been that detailed in my youth on rare day trips with my parents? I could see the flecks and spittle that left each crest as it crashed through the surface of the water only to become buoyant again and form the next developing rise.

Looking up to pose another question I was shocked to see I was alone. I felt alone in every fibre of my being, I ached for the presence of another person, yearned for their touch, a word spoken from a human mouth or look from any ones eye. This is a feeling I have learnt to manage over the adventurers of the last year. I have learnt to cope, but never can I forget the absence of entirety or the void chill.

As I stood there, still and alone, for a time longer than the heart beat of a mountain; I became aware of a long metal rod with a rubber ball attached to the end, trailing wires back to a complicated box that beeped and clicked with static feedback, terminating in a pair of gloved hands coming right at me. It came far closer than I felt comfortable with. Although over my current employ I have had far worse come a lot closer; but at the time I felt alarmed by the proximity of such an alien device being brought towards my person.

" A definite pip on the scale" came a Southern accented drawl from the device holder. "A 3.2 at least. Sure sign of demonic infestation here" The tone suggested this was worse than finding a bunion plaster in a vat of fresh foot pressed wine.

I felt put back and unsure how to take this, I had a rod pushed up my nose and from a soft Southerner I was being addressed as if i was covered in fleas. The other, in a grey great coat (in style but from the cloth and cut obviously a much cheaper garment) who I shall call pony from the badly knitted Ferrari logo on his bobble hat; came at me with a smaller handheld device that looked like a cross between a Geiger counter and a tape cassette recorder.

I regained my composure and rounded on Pony and Dole (it was the banana inserted into his top shirt pocket like a pen that gave me this idea for a name- and to this day I still do not know what their given names were); and let loose with a verbal discourse that I cannot possibly record within this format! After I felt good, like I had a balloon inflating within my body and the act of confronting these individuals with all the foul language and temper I could muster, then suddenly with the last profanity leaving my lips, the balloon had burst and I came back down to earth and as an Englishman, apologised profusely for my words.

Either I am not an intimidating figure, or these two were used to being affronted in this manner (and the more I have got to know them the latter option seems more likely).

I spoke with the pair, the exact conversation was full of words and phrases that at that time and still do have very little meaning to me. After assuring me I was human (something you would need scientific equipment to detect after a shift in the chicken guts room of the factory.....or to call it its proper name, the tinned hot dog sausage plant), they questioned me on everything from demonic possession (sounds like when my ex girlfriend kicked me out our flat) and my knowledge on aliens walking amongst us. I did gleam some facts from them, the real reason I was here, somewhere there was genuine fires, that the fire service were being called out to, being started by spontaneous combustion. It was fascinating. I thought it would turn out to be kids during school holidays causing merriment; but the theory in play was the Devil (or one of the other little devils) had got out and is now running around generating evil enough to explode sea gulls around the town. I did not know of any plan, no matter how twisted and demonic that would spread war or death in our world through the use of random bird bombs. (although pestilence and disease I can believe).

Pony and Dole were Psychic Detectives, here to investigate the "happenings", uncover the source and disclose it to the public against the obvious Government hush-up. At that time they had gathered photographic evidence of birds exploding on roof tops around the public lavatories, further proof from expert witnesses which states the presence of an evil presence just before the spontaneous combustion events and a shaky phone video of a horned figure running away just after the fact.

I was intrigued, I wasn't sold on their theory but there was enough to bring out a local radio reporter to cover the story and from all the possibilities I wanted to know the truth; I had nothing to go back for, work was a distant and repressed memory, so sticking around to get to the bottom of things seemed like a good idea at the time (and if all else failed I might just get to see flaming bird guts splatter across the streets).

Pony and Dole were not entirely happy with a tag along, especially as I couldn't further their pursuit of evil with exact information; but they were content for me to follow as I lent an ear to their theory and idealisms.

They informed me that in this world there was a constant stream of evil being directed at humanity from devils and demons that played with our lives and tempted us all with treats and pleasures ( I think they were more upset that they were never the objects of any demonic tempting). These demons took all they could and gave nothing but illusion and broken promises, but on the hinge of total Earthly destruction, balancing the rod of evil influences on the fulcrum of anarchy and chaos were the golden ones, they who shine, them that strum a harp like Hendricks fingers his guitar. Those who shine, by the accounts of Pony, were the ones who found lost pets, reunited separated lovers and found that misplaced lottery ticket leaving it somewhere now easy to find. Again, Pony and Dole had yet to meet any of these characters, but they lived in hope of tracking one down somewhere near the a source of evil so they may set it right. It was a simple conclusion to make, follow the bad things which were highly publicised in all media outlets in the hope of finding good. Good deeds are never mentioned in any great depth and are usually made up or exaggerated in papers to fill a gap or make a joke.

A scream and a flow of people over by a cleaning station caused an instant cessation to our conversation as Dole chucked the chunky gadget to me and told me to watch the readings as we ran to follow the commotion. There was fire breaking out through the roof of a beach hut, eye witnesses swore they saw a seagull atop the hut which started to fizzle and then was engulfed in flame. To the distress of Pony, there was no sightings of a horned figure with goat legs dancing around moments before the fire. But you can't have everything, and the box I had in my hands was not only giving me quite sharp electric shocks but was also displaying a number that made my companions as happy as a puppy in an open larder.

It was hard to gather concrete information. I felt that I needed more than hearsay and gossip and I can honestly say I was excited like never before to be confronted with this enigma and the blood flowed through me with a pace I could measure with every fibre in my being. The erection was almost showing too.

What did I know?

1. There was a strange contaminant on the beach.
2. Animals were being covered in it and weren't happy about it.
3. Fires were starting in and around sighting of "fizzing" birds.
4. Ecological help was at hand but was there also supernatural interference?

"So?" Came a familiar voice in my ear. "You worked it out yet?"

I turned and saw Xanthic standing, hands in his pockets with his long coat sides flared back behind him exposing a red lining that looked more expensive than my entire wardrobe. Xanthic, as I described earlier is indescribable. I am not sure when I learnt his name, its like I always knew it.

"No" was all I could reply. Not being in anyway intelligent or experienced in the ways of detection or combining information.

"I could tell you if that is what your heart desires." He said looking deep into my eyes through those damned smoked glasses.

"No" I said back before breaking the stare and looking down. "I want to see this out for myself."

A big blue haired devil walked nonchalantly up to Xanthic and handed him a flat rectangular box. On the cover was a picture of a similar (but fatter) blue devil with the legend Devilishly Hot Pizza surrounding the head like a halo. This must have been some kind of publicity stunt, to deliver take away dress like this; I wondered how he rode the scooter with that head on, he obviously wasn't wearing a helmet unless it was under the suits head.

"Chicken pizza as ordered" it growled in a very convincing way, but very theatrical if you ask me.

Xanthic opened the box and with my sun weathered eyes and the shade of the box lid causing temporary localised blindness within the cardboard sleeve I thought I could see a steaming hot pizza covered in a chicken carcass and wiggling insects of maggot like descriptions. But when the lid was blown back by a salt scented gust of wind my eyes adjusted and the pizza looked better than any delicacy made by a triple Michelin Star chef.

A loud inrush of air followed by a temporary rain of avian innards brought my mind back to the job at hand and I followed a crowd who were making towards an area of grass alight.

"You're going the wrong way, if you want to know the truth anyway" I'm sure Xanthic hadn't spoken but I could hear the words ringing in my ears, enough to make me stop and turn. The crowd flowed around me as if I were a stone in a stream. I had the confusion, the chatter of a hundred questions and conspiracies, the noise and confusion; But in front I could see the sun pouring down so bright like a rain of liquid gold over the clean up operation on the beach. Then a black smut moved across the gold and my vision swam away like ripples on a clear pond in the first spits of rain. When I could refocus I saw Xanthic leaning against a post (there always seemed to be a post, pillar or wall to perch upon for him).

I wanted the light, craved the light upon the beach flowing from the sky and moved around Xanthic. I could see clearly now, so clear. Distance mattered nought, and with the music of chaos behind me as the fire was dealt with only for another sudden inrush of air then another and another followed by a range of pops, bangs and wet thuds. Before me laid the scene, there were two different groups, both cleaning birds as fast as various non-descript blurs of human activity could deliver them. Bird went from beach to hand to scrubbing bubbly wash to beach to another pair of hands to another wash station to the wing and then - WHOOOFFF -

I ran now, falling and stumbling when promenade fell into shingle and then sand but remaining on my feet though luck more than any physical control. I grabbed a bottle from the beach, a chemical symbol glared up at me in warning. Turning I sped across the distance to the other group and snatched from the table a similar gruesome plastic skull smiled at me before a pair of hands took the bottle away and a voice babbled at me. I turned and walked away with GCSE science trying to beat its memory through my cavernous recess that housed my brain.

"I beleive the monkey has it" came a glee filled tone at my shoulder.

"No." I replied, "I just..."

"I could fill in all the tiny details if you like. I love details, all those little facts and figures that mean a thousand different things in a hundred different ways." The words seemed to smile more than the speaker, if that was possible as Xanthic had a grin that spread across his face like abridge across a gorge.

" I don't need details, I just know its got something to do with the cleaning, the mixing of different cleaning agents and chemicals to clean off that muck; it must be having some kind of inflamitory effect thats set off by..."

"sparks, static or the heat of the good old sun. Neat don't you say, a very modern man made problem and all these people blaming the occult and superstition."

Xanthic made to walk away then paused and turned back to me. a hand dipped inside his waist coat (since when did he have one of those on?) and between long slender fingers he held a small card as white as his digits. He held it out to me and smilled again when I took it.

"Tuesday 10am" He said

I looked at the card and it simply said HMS Victory. I looked up and he was gone.

A google search soon told me what and where the Victory was berthed. I had a time and place; unfortunatly I was short one train fare.

But did I go? Did I make the strange meeting with a strange man over halfway across the Country?

Of course I did; and thats whay I am now a lot further away from home than mere distance accounts for and why after several adventures and a lot of skipped heatbeats I now lay here in a hospital wing waiting for a nurse to shave me in an area I never drempt of placing a sharpened metal blade near before. But that is another story and as the Doctor is walking around I had better hide my tablet and be a good paitent.

I have adventures to share; and stories to lay straight and I pray dear reader that I will educate and amuse but do not take this seriously for after all how can any of this be true?

Unfortunatly nothing more exisits on the original blog site, or if it does I cannot find it.  There are notebooks with scribbled activities and diary entries in but they make little sense but if there is interest I will copy them out word for word or do a little digging and try and fill in some missing details.