The Sunday Ishmael: 11/01/2026: The Grey War

 The algorithm must have been hallucinating if it thought I was a likely purchaser of a £400-£600 handbag. But, there you go, everywhere I went on Youtube I was stalked by this advert for the Coach Tabby bag. Have you seen it? The story goes: skinny white woman, looking miserable, stares at her phone, when a nasty little girl bounds in, steals her handbag and runs away. Hotly pursued by Elle Fanning, playing skinny white woman, the feral child climbs up a big tree and chucks the bag into the air.

I got so fed up by this relentless pursuit by a handbag advert that I looked it up to discover what the hell it was attempting to say. Was it extolling the merits of theft as a career choice? Or the benefits of climbing trees as outdoor exercise? Or extolling the rejection of consumerisme totalitairienne by chucking away overpriced bits of tat now that the world is going to hell in a handcart?  

But, no. The Coach campaign release explained itself thusly: the whole campaign is about:  Authenticity. Fearlessness. Rediscovering childhood courage.  Letting go of self‑doubt.

Really? Really.

Coach describes it as tapping into “the courage we all once had, before the world told us to play small”.

For fuck's sake: this advert wants me to believe that a handbag is a spiritual awakening. As Lady Bracknell would respond, in tones of frosty hauteur, “To lose one handbag, Miss Fanning, may be regarded as a misfortune; to throw it into a tree looks like carelessness.”

It has been tough, here, in the far north. Oh yes, we've had the seasonal delights of the Christmas and New Year's Day Ba' games

 (the Uppies won this year), the Stromness Log Pull, when the men of the town form themselves into two teams, attach ropes to what looks like a felled telegraph pole, and pull, the Log swinging perilously between them to the imminent danger of the cheering crowd,

  

(The Northenders won), and, of course, the Illuminated Tractor Run

(nobody won. It wasn't a race. It was just for looking at.) And don't forget the MidWinter Solstice at Maeshowe, with the Frog-Balancing Vikings.
But all that joyful hedonism was followed by a cold snap, with snow, ice and high seas. The ferries were cancelled. Tesco ran out of bananas. I discovered that my beautiful, luxurious beast of a Mercedes-Benz is absolutely crap in the snow. It has an annoying trick of announcing an error message and shutting off power to the

wheels. "Skidding," it says. "Skidding. That's it. I'm not going any further. I shall stay just where I am." The first time it did it I was rescued by two women, who ran back and forth to a nearby Grit bin with handfuls of grit to scatter under the Beast's wheels. The second time it graciously accepted the libation of 1.5 kg of cooking salt and consented to move out of the middle of the road, where it had come to a sulky stop, blocking the carriage way. Good thing there weren't any ICE agents around.  I've not been out since.

Here's a money-saving tip for glossy monthly-magazine lovers. You know the sort of thing: Period Living, Homes and Gardens, Yorkshire Life. At a fiver a copy, that's 60 quid a year. Don't throw them away. Place them in a pile upside down in a corner of your ensuite. On January 1st, turn the pile over and start again. You'll have forgotten the content, and can be delighted by the seasonally-appropriate photographs, carefully curated and exquisite home decor from Reader's Lives and astonishingly-wonderful recipes. I brined the turkey this Christmas, guided by Country Living. Brining has been a thing this year.

The January editions, which are usually written in August, hit the retailers around early December and have little homilies about This Time of Year - reflecting on the year past, valuing friends and family, catching up on old colleagues and acquaintances. So it was when I met a former colleague, now retired, up the town. We leant on the Ba' board designed to protect the premises behind us from Christmas jollity. 

He started. "You remember old Thorfinn?"

Me: Oh yes. Thorf. Such a sweet chap. What's he doing these days?

He: Dead. Very sudden. 

My turn: Do you know what happened to Lilli Whyt-Arse?

He: Of the extensive and influential Whyt-Arse family. Most women wouldn't have survived that mooning scandal, and granted, she had to leave Orkney, but she did very well south. Why?

Me: Sacked.

He: Really?

Me: Well, the press release said that she had ceded her contract after mutual agreement, but we know what that means.

He: Young Erlend, now, he's retired.

Me: Ill health?

He: Bad Back, Bad shoulders, Heart, Hips.

Me: Always was a hypochondriac.

He: I saw someone in the supermarket who knew me.

Me: Who?

He: I've forgotten his name. But he knew me. We chatted about 20 minutes.

Me: Where did you know him from?

He: I dinna ken. But he knew me alright.

Me: Whatever happened to Wee Fat Alistair?

He: It was said he had retired voluntarily because he didn't care for the rarefied air.

Me: But?

He: Well, I met his wife at a do, the noo, and she said that after a lifetime struggling up the greasy pole, he'd been pushed aff it.

Me: That sounds a bit incriminating. And unwifely.

Together: Sacked.

He: Then there's Ross Islander. Was my boss at one time. You remember him? Always interfering.

Me: Go on.

He: Dead.

Dead, Sacked, Retired, Forgotten, Sacked, Died

Me: Look, if anyone asks you whatever happened to mrs ishmael, just tell them I'm fine. Just fine. 

The Grey War. 

That's what they are calling it now. Not War War. Not Cold War. I've been banging on about this since you've known me - the High North - that's where the frightening action is. It's all a question of perspective. For those accustomed to the Mercator projection, especially maps centred on Britain,

Russia and America both seem comfortingly far away. This is a trick of the map maker's art, how they manage to render the features of a globe onto a flat sheet of paper. For those who are familiar with this depiction, than President Trump's ambitions regarding Greenland, and, indeed, Canada, seem like the ravings of a megalomaniac psychopath. Check out your globe - there used to be one in every educated person's home - or this: 

As Lord Mandelson informed the nation today on the Laura Kuenssberg Show, Trump is not going to invade Greenland. That is Trumpian hyperbole and exaggeration. He is drawing NATO's attention to the real and present danger we are in - he is expecting NATO nations to step up their defence spending, increase the size of their armed forces and stop expecting America to do all the heavy lifting. Greenland is strategically important in the Grey War against Russia and China, in that part of the globe where these nations are practically touching each other.

Look at it this way -

Makes perfect sense, if we can only shake out of our heads the idea that Britain is significant, important or the king-pin in an empire. And if NATO and Denmark refuse to take arms against this sea of troubles, then Trump will exercise his strength, diplomacy and deal making to secure his borders. 

The U.K. or Little Satan, as the Iranian theocracy dubbed us,  has strategic importance. It seems we helped with the seizure of the Venezuelan-linked oil tanker, the Marinera, on Wednesday, as it travelled northwards through waters between Iceland and Scotland, following a chase by the US Coast Guard. RAF surveillance aircraft and a Royal Navy Support ship, the RFA Tideforce, took part in the operation.  US aircraft used Wick John O'Groats Airport during the apprehension of the Marinera. At least three US Air Force planes took off from RAF Mildenhall and landed at Wick John O'Groats Airport, which is owned by the Scottish Government. Wick airport, by the way, is a tiny little place, with one runway.

Would someone tell our Prime Minister that he really must stop pissing about like this -

(look at the boys, holding hands and grinning like monkeys), and grow up? We never should have involved ourselves in the border dispute between Russia and Ukraine - the public were spun and spun into supporting the Dwarf Zelensky, because, I suspect, Boris Johnson fancied following in Thatcher's footsteps and having his own war to secure his place in the history books. We are stuck with that appalling decision, stuck with having alienated Putin, and it is, as they say, what it is. But Starmer should be rowing back and certainly not promising to send our armed forces into Ukraine. Is he wanting to kill me? A coalition of France and Britain - who, pray, is that going to inconvenience? Just sheer provocation waved in the face of one of the most powerful men on the planet. He really needs to cosy up to the other powerful man, apologise and say: "Sorry, Mr President, sir, it was a mild French infatuation I caught. I'm over it now. And I'm sorry I recognised Palestine. That was all Emmanuel's fault, too. I was mistaken. Turns out his wife isn't a man."

And as for saying he is going to send troops into Greenland to thwart Trump - can someone section the man?

.............................

There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps 

please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.

Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr

Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.

With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.

Oh yes, Jury Trials. I remember them.

A New Year's Day Viking Adventure.

 Scene: “The Mad One, the Side Chamber, and the Rune‑Writing Competition”

Inside Maeshowe. The storm is raging. One of the men - Einar - has just had a full panic attack. He’s now lying in the side cell, wrapped in someone’s cloak, muttering.

SVEIN (troop leader) :  Right. Einar’s in the side chamber. No one poke him. No one talk to him. And for the love of Christ, no one mention the Mound.

HAKON: He put himself in there, Svein. He said the chamber “called to him.”

ASLEIF: Aye. And then he tried to baptise it.

ÞORFINN: He baptised me first.

ASLEIF: Aye. And then he tried to baptise it.

ÞORFINN: He baptised me first. With snow. Right down my neck.

SVEIN: He’s not dangerous. He’s just…(gestures vaguely)…Einar.

HAKON: Einar’s always been strange. Remember when he tried to fight the goose?

ASLEIF:  The goose won.

ÞORFINN: The goose always wins.

SVEIN: Enough. We’re stuck here until the storm lifts. We need to keep warm, keep calm, and keep Einar from climbing the walls again.

HAKON: So… entertainment?

ASLEIF: We could pray.

HAKON: We tried praying. You kept forgetting the words. Þorfinn fell asleep. Svein shouted at God. And Einar started speaking in tongues.

ÞORFINN: Loudly.

HAKON: Very loudly.

SVEIN: Right. New plan. Rune‑writing competition. Winner gets the last of the dried fish.

ASLEIF: That’s not a prize. That’s a punishment.

HAKON:  I’ll take it. I’ve eaten worse. Remember the stew in Kirkwall?

SVEIN: Fine. Winner gets…(looks around)…my spare gloves. Now carve something. Anything. But no boasting about height. Ketil ruined that for everyone.

ÞORFINN: (steps up to the wall) Right. I’ll start.

“Þorfinn carved these runes.

He is the best of men.”

HAKON: You can’t write that! That’s cheating! You can’t declare yourself the best of men!

ÞORFINN: Arnfinn did.

ASLEIF: Arnfinn also once tried to marry a barrel.

HAKON: And the barrel turned him down.

SVEIN: Focus. Hakon, your turn.

HAKON: (steps up, carves)

“Hakon carved these runes.

Better than Þorfinn, whose hand shakes like a drunk monk.”

ÞORFINN: My hand does not shake!

ASLEIF: It’s shaking now.

SVEIN: Asleif, you’re up.

ASLEIF: (carves carefully)

“Asleif carved these runes.

He is neither tall nor handsome,

but at least he’s honest.”

SVEIN: Right. My turn. (carves with authority)

“Svein carved these runes.

He is the styrimaðr.

And if anyone argues with him again,

he’ll throw them in the side chamber with Einar.”

[A muffled voice from the side cell:]

EINAR:  The chamber is holy! It speaks the truth of the earth!

 Scene: “The Side Chamber of Shame”

[Inside Maeshowe. The storm is howling. Two men — Einar and Halli — have gone fully, theatrically mad. They’ve been tied with spare rope and tucked into the side cell. The others are trying to ignore them.]

EINAR: (shouting from the side chamber) Svein! Svein! The mound says you have the leadership skills of a wet sock!

SVEIN: Ignore him.

HALLI: And it says Hakon smells like a drowned seal!

HAKON: That’s just rude.

ÞORFINN: They’re getting louder. Can we stuff snow in the doorway?

SVEIN: No. We are Christians. We do not suffocate our comrades with snow.

EINAR: Christ is watching you, Svein! And He says your prayers are boring!

ASLEIF: He’s not wrong.

SVEIN: Asleif, do not encourage the mad ones.

HALLI: We’re not mad! We’re enlightened! The mound has spoken to us!

HAKON: Aye, well, the mound can keep you. We’re busy.

ÞORFINN: Right. Rune‑writing competition, round two. Winner gets Svein’s last piece of dried fish.

ASLEIF: Right, I’m carving.

“Asleif carved these runes.

He is patient.

He has endured much.

Mostly Svein.”

SVEIN

That’s slander.

Scene: “Ambassadors of the Hogboon”

[Inside Maeshowe. Einar and Halli are tied up in the side chamber, wrapped in cloaks, looking like two disgruntled turnips. The others are trying to carve runes and ignore them.]

EINAR: Hear us, mortals! We speak for the Hogboon!

HALLI: Aye! The Hogboon has chosen us as his ambassadors! We are his mouthpieces! His heralds! His… what’s the word, Einar?

EINAR: His spokes‑spirits.

ASLEIF: What does the Hogboon want?

EINAR: He wants…(pauses dramatically)…better food.

HALLI: And warmer blankets. Silence! The Hogboon has more prophecies!

SVEIN: Oh good.

HALLI: Prophecy the First:

“Hakon will carve runes so crooked that future generations will think he was drunk.”

EINAR: Prophecy the Second:

“Asleif will fall in love with a woman who can out‑wrestle him.”

HALLI: Prophecy the Third:

“Þorfinn will spend so long perfecting his runes that the storm will end, the snow will melt, and he’ll still be here carving.”

ÞORFINN: Art takes time.

EINAR: Prophecy the Fourth:

“Svein will try to lead this group with dignity—”

HALLI: —but will fail.

SVEIN: I hate both of you.

EINAR: Prophecy the Fifth:

“The Hogboon says the Earl will blame Svein for everything.”

SVEIN: That one’s not prophecy. That’s tradition.

The storm breaks. The men emerge from the mound, dragging the two "who went insane". They struggle through the snow to Firth, to find the Earl Rognvald has finished his Christmas feasting and set sail.

Scene: “The Earl Maddadsson Meets the Hogboon Ambassadors”

[Harald Maddadsson's camp at Stromness. Fires crackle. Men sharpen weapons. Into this scene of martial dignity trudges Svein’s miserable party, snow‑encrusted, exhausted, and accompanied by two loudly muttering bundles of rope.]

EARL HARALD: (voice like a cold axe)You’re late. Rognvald is gone. His ships sailed hours before you reached Firth. Explain yourselves.(looking them over) By Christ’s mercy… what happened to you?

SVEIN: Storm, my lord.

HAKON: And madness.

EARL HARALD: And what, in God’s name, are those?

[He points at Einar and Halli, who stand proudly — as proudly as two tied‑up men can — with snow in their hair and pagan wildness in their eyes.]

EINAR: We are the Ambassadors of the Ancient  Hogboon!

HALLI: Chosen spokes‑spirits of the mound!

EARL HARALD: …of the what?

EINAR: Ignore us at your peril, Earl Harald! The Hogboon sees all!

HALLI: He knows your secrets!

EARL HARALD: My what?

EINAR: Secrets! Your secrets!

HALLI: All of them!

EARL HARALD (eyes narrowing): Svein. Untie them.

SVEIN: With respect, my lord… no.

HAKON: Absolutely not.

ASLEIF: They bit me.

ÞORFINN: They baptised me.

ASLEIF: For everyone’s safety. We tied them up for safety. They started issuing prophecies.

EARL HARALD: Prophecies?

EINAR: Aye! Hear the words of the Hogboon!

HALLI: Prophecy the First:

“The Earl will be very disappointed!”

EARL HARALD: I am.

EINAR: Prophecy fulfilled!

HALLI: Prophecy the Second:

“The Earl will blame Svein!”

EARL HARALD: I do.

SVEIN: My lord, with respect....

EINAR:  Prophecy the Third:

“The Earl’s respect is conditional!”

EARL HARALD: It is.

HALLI: Prophecy the Fourth:

“The Earl’s temper is rising!”

EARL HARALD: It is.

EINAR: Prophecy the Fifth:

“He will shout within three heartbeats!”

EARL HARALD: I WILL NOT -  (pauses, realising)  …shout.

HALLI: Prophecy fulfilled!

EINAR: The Hogboon says the Earl fears the truth!

HALLI: Aye! He trembles before the ancient spirit!

EARL HARALD: I do not tremble.

EINAR: Oh, yes, you do!

EARL HARALD: Oh no, I do not! Svein. Take them away. Now. Before I hang the lot of you.

EINAR: The Hogboon says the Earl is overreacting!

HALLI: Aye! He needs a nap!

EARL HARALD: GET. THEM. OUT.

[Svein and the others drag the ambassadors away, still shouting prophecies. Maddadsson rubs his temples like a man reconsidering every life choice.]

Scene: “Human Resources arrives in Maddadsson’s Camp”

[Hamnavoe. Maddadsson’s hall. The Earl is still simmering with rage. Svein’s men stand miserable and snow‑crusted. Einar and Halli — the Hogboon Ambassadors — are tied together and muttering prophecies. Suddenly…]

A small, neat figure steps into the hall.

H.R. REPRESENTATIVE (H.R.): Good afternoon, everyone. I’m here from Human Resources.

SVEIN: From… what?

H.R.: Human Resources. We handle personnel issues, conflict resolution, and inappropriate workplace behaviour.

HAKON: We’re Vikings.

H.R.: Exactly. We’ve had complaints.

EARL HARALD MADDADSSON: (eyes narrowing) From whom?

EINAR: It was us! We complained! The Hogboon demanded justice!

HALLI: Aye! We filed a grievance!

H.R.: Yes, thank you, Ambassadors. Your complaint has been noted.

“Unfair treatment of spiritually enlightened employees.”

“Tying prophets together without consent.”

“Failure to provide adequate toilet facilities.”

“And hostile work environment caused by leadership incompetence.”

H.R.: Now, Earl Harald, as per section 4 of the Workplace Conduct Charter, we need to hold a mediation session.

EARL HARALD: A what?

H.R.: A mediation. Between management - that’s you - and the employees — that’s them.

EARL HARALD: I am not mediating with two tied‑up lunatics who think a mound spirit is their supervisor.

H.R.: Very well. In that case, we will proceed by way of the Ancient Norse Art of Frog Balancing, or Frosk‑jafnværi. The objective is to

balance your frog on your hand, nose, shoulder, or knee longer than anyone else, without:

• dropping the frog

• angering the frog

• being bitten by the frog.

The last person still balancing their frog is declared: Frosk‑Meistari

(Frog‑Master) and decides if the Grievance is upheld or rejected.

EARL HARALD: I refuse.

H.R.: Your refusal has been noted.

Please hold your frog.

ÞORFINN: My frog has gone!

EINAR: The Hogboon says your frog has ascended!

HALLI:  Aye! He has achieved enlightenment!

H.R.(briskly): Please retrieve your frog, Þorfinn. We cannot proceed until all frogs are present.

H.R.:Now, Earl Harald, I will place your frog gently on your shoulder.

EARL HARALD: You will do no such—

[H.R. places the frog on the Earl’s shoulder.]

EARL HARALD: Fine. It’s on my shoulder. Are you satisfied?

H.R.: Very. Now achieve inner stillness. Breathe—

[The frog leaps. Inward. Straight into the inner stillness inside the Earl’s collar.]

EARL HARALD: What was that??

SVEIN: My lord…The frog is…inside your armour.

ÞORFINN: I can see its little foot.

EARL HARALD (dully, but now resigned): No.

EINAR: The Hogboon says the frog has chosen you!

HALLI:  Aye! You are the Vessel of Amphibian Wisdom!

EARL HARALD: I am the what??

H.R.: This is a wonderful opportunity for growth. The frog is seeking warmth. And leadership.

EARL HARALD:  It is seeking death.

[Inside the armour, the frog begins to move. Slowly. Purposefully. Downward.]

EARL HARALD: It is heading south.

SVEIN: My lord, remain calm.

EARL HARALD: I am not calm.

ÞORFINN: It’s very determined. It has a mission.

EINAR: The Hogboon says the frog is delivering a prophecy! A prophecy of the lower regions!

EARL HARALD:  Svein. Get. It. Out. NOW.

[The frog reaches the Earl’s lower abdomen. The armour begins to rattle. The Earl begins to twitch.]

ASLEIF: It’s exploring.

ÞORFINN: It’s thriving.

EARL HARALD: SVEIN. SVEIN

SVEIN: My lord, I’m trying—

EARL HARALD: TRY HARDER.

EINAR:  The Hogboon says the frog is blessing your organs!

HALLI: Aye! It is aligning your chakras!

EARL HARALD: I HAVE NO CHAKRAS.

H.R.: Everyone has chakras.

EARL HARALD:  I WILL BURN THIS HALL DOWN.

[The frog reaches the Earl’s mighty organ. The Earl begins to hop involuntarily.]

HAKON: He’s doing the frog‑dance.

ASLEIF: It’s beautiful.

ÞORFINN: It’s spiritual. It means the Hogboon's Ambassadors have lost their grievance.

SVEIN: And the Earl has a new Grievance.

EARL HARALD: I AM GOING TO KILL EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM.

H.R.: I’ll mark that as “expressing frustration.”

 Proclamation of the Earl: The Frog Ban of Orkney

[Hamnavoe. Maddadsson’s hall. The Earl stands, cloak askew, eyes wild, frog slime still glistening on his jerkin. The men are silent. The Hogboon ambassadors are humming. H.R. is taking notes.]

EARL HARALD MADDADSSON:

Hear me, all ye gathered. Let it be known:

From this day forth, by the authority of the Earl of Orkney,

all frogs are hereby banned.

No frog shall leap.

No frog shall balance.

No frog shall enter armour, jerkin, boot, or latrine.

Any frog found within the bounds of Orkney shall be:

• expelled

• exiled

• or, if necessary, politely escorted into the sea

This ban is absolute.

There shall be no exceptions.

Not for mindfulness.

Not for Hogboons.

Not for H.R.

SVEIN: My lord, what about toads?

EARL HARALD: Toads are on probation.

HAKON: What about frog‑shaped carvings?

EARL HARALD: Burn them.

ASLEIF: What about frogs in damp dreams?

EARL HARALD: Wake up and apologise.

ÞORFINN: What about frogs in soup?

EARL HARALD: Eat quickly and deny everything.

EINAR (Hogboon Ambassador):  The Hogboon says this is spiritual oppression!

HALLI: Aye! He demands a referendum!

H.R.: I’ll schedule a grievance hearing.

EARL HARALD: There will be no hearing. There will be no frogs.

EINAR: The Hogboon says the frogs are eternal! These are their ancient lands!

EARL HARALD: Svein. Build a frog‑proof fence.

SVEIN: Around all of Orkney?

EARL HARALD: Yes.

HAKON: That’s a lot of fence.

ASLEIF: The frogs can jump.

ÞORFINN: Some can fly.

EARL HARALD: Then we build it higher. And make them pay for it.

H.R.: I’ll need to file a Frog Impact Assessment.

EARL HARALD: I will file you.

Gunnyrr the Moist, a former stand-up comedian in the frog ponds of the West, has been elected to lead his people against the oppressor. His resistance movement is supported by much unrelated wildlife in far-distant regions, so of course the Earl’s frog‑ban triggers the creation of a new, terrifyingly bureaucratic amphibian‑focused enforcement agency:

 FICE - Frog Immigration & Customs Enforcement

(“Protecting Orkney from Unauthorised Amphibians Since This Morning”)

[Hamnavoe. Maddadsson’s hall. The Earl has just banned all frogs from Orkney. H.R. clears her throat with ominous enthusiasm.]

H.R.: In order to support the Earl’s new policy, I am pleased to announce the formation of a new department: FICE — Frog Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

EARL HARALD: I did not approve this.

H.R.: Your approval was implied.

EARL HARALD: It was not.

H.R.: Your refusal has been noted. FICE will:

• patrol all ponds, bogs, and suspicious puddles. Inspect boots, helmets, and armour gaps

• monitor all amphibian movement across parish lines

• conduct random “ribbit checks”

• and ensure full compliance with the Earl’s Frog Prohibition Act

SVEIN: What’s a ribbit check?

H.R.: You listen for ribbits.

HAKON:  What if it’s a man clearing his throat?

H.R.: Then you detain him until you’re sure they are not a trans-specied  enemy frog.

EARL HARALD: No detaining men for throat‑clearing.

H.R.: Your refusal has been noted.

[Later that day. A bog near Stromness.

SVEIN: (holding a net) I can’t believe we’re doing this.

HAKON: I found one! Wait- No. It’s a rock.

ÞORFINN:  I found one! Wait- No. It’s Gunnyrr the Moist.

GUNNYRR THE MOIST (frog croaks defiantly)

ASLEIF: He’s the symbol of the resistance.

ÞORFINN: He’s very wet. And he's not wearing a suit.

The Earl is not pleased.

EARL HARALD:  Svein. Explain this.

SVEIN: My lord…The frogs are organised.

EARL HARALD: Organised.

SVEIN: Yes. They have…structure. And morale. They've been sending squadrons to England for training.

EARL HARALD: I declared a special military operation against frogs. I banned frogs.

H.R.: And FICE is enforcing that ban.

EARL HARALD: Then why are there more frogs??

H.R.: Your ban has created a power vacuum. Other nations are sending their frogs.

EARL HARALD: Don't they want them either? I shall lead the brave warriors of FICE in their next raid.

H.R. (cheerfully) Remember: this is a non‑violent operation. We are here to escort unauthorised frogs off the premises.

EARL HARALD:  I want them gone. All of them. From the river to the sea. Into the sea. Preferably today.

EINAR (Hogboon Ambassador) Can we negotiate a peace deal? The Hogboon says this is a terrible idea!

HALLI: Aye! He says the frogs are ready!

EARL HARALD:  Ready for what?

EINAR: War.

The Raid Begins

SVEIN: On my signal…Three…Two…One—

[He steps forward. Immediately sinks knee‑deep into mud.] …help.

HAKON: (laughing) He’s stuck!

[Hakon steps forward to help. Immediately sinks deeper.] Oh no. Oh no no no.

ASLEIF:  You fools- (steps forward) oh. Oh that’s cold.

ÞORFINN: I’ll get you out-  (steps forward) nope. Nope. I live here now.

EARL HARALD: You are all incompetent.

H.R. : This is a learning opportunity.

EARL HARALD: This is a swamp.

The Frogs Counterattack - The pond surface ripples. A dozen frogs appear. Then two dozen. Then… many.

HAKON: They’re gathering.

ASLEIF: They’re watching.

ÞORFINN: They’re judging.

EINAR: The Hogboon says they learned a manouvre from a film time-slip called The Birds by Alfred Haycock.

HALLI: Aye! The Sacred Leap!

EARL HARALD: What is the Sacred Leap?

EINAR:This.

The frogs leap. All at once. In every direction. Mostly onto the Vikings.

SVEIN: There’s one on my face!

HAKON: There’s one in my hair!

ASLEIF: There’s one down my back!

ÞORFINN: There’s one in my mouth- (ptoo!)- nope, got it.

EARL HARALD: If a frog enters my armour again, I will burn this entire parish.

H.R.:  Please remain calm. This is normal frog behaviour.

EARL HARALD: Oh no, it isn't.

H.R.: Oh yes, it is.

A frog lands on Svein’s helmet. He flails. He slips. He falls backwards into the pond with a splash that drenches everyone.

SVEIN:  BLRRGH- It’s in my nose!

HAKON: (laughing so hard he falls over) He’s drowning in frog water!

ASLEIF: Help him!

ÞORFINN: I can’t! I’m stuck in the mud like a tragic neep!

EARL HARALD: This is the worst day of my life.

H.R. :I’ll note that under “emotional feedback.”

The Arrival of Gunnyrr the Moist

The pond goes silent.The frogs part. And out onto a mossy stone hops… GUNNYRR THE MOIST.

He is glistening, majestic,  smug and unsuited.

EINAR: The Hogboon says Gunnyrr the Moist comes to negotiate!

HALLI: Aye! He brings terms!

EARL HARALD: I will not negotiate with a frog. He's not even wearing a suit. Bloody Disrespect.

GUNNYRR: croaks with authority

H.R.: He says you must withdraw all FICE forces immediately.

EARL HARALD: Absolutely not.

GUNNYRR: croaks again, louder

H.R.: He also demands the right to hop freely across Orkney.

EARL HARALD: Never. I claim these historic frog-free lands.

GUNNYRR: croaks a third time, with unmistakable menace

EINAR: The Hogboon says that was a threat.

HALLI:  Aye! A declaration of amphibian war!

EARL HARALD: Svein. I'm the major power here. Get me out of this swamp.

SVEIN: I can’t, my lord. I’m still stuck.

EARL HARALD: Then drown me.

And that, ishmaelites, is why there are no frogs in Orkney. Or Vikings.

Really, mrs ishmael?

No.

Happy New Year.

The Sunday Ishmael: a Christmas Story about some Christians.

For most of December, Orkney has squatted under a porridge-like bank of impenetrable cloud, like a wet toad. Not a cold toad - it has been unseasonably warm. 

Not for us the cold, crisp December mornings of Yorkshire or Northumberland, waking to a frosty world of white under a high blue sky. Nope - rain in abundance, lots of mud, that sort of thing.

This has been most frustrating for the solstice-hunters who flock to Orkney to see the magic of Maeshowe. No sun = no magic.

I have to admit that although I have lived here for more than a quarter century, I had never seen the moment that the tomb was designed for. I tried a couple of times, then got bored, so gave up the attempt. So when the sun came out yesterday, with bright blue skies, only a week past the solstice, I took my visitors across to the Neolithic landscape of West Mainland.

LIDAR (light detection and ranging) imaging has revealed the existence of many unexcavated Neolithic villages, farms and tombs beneath the surface of what is described as a ritual landscape.  The stuff we know about is pretty stupendous, including the Ness of Brodgar, revealed in 2003, when a home owner was having his garden dug over and a stone of clearly archaeological significance was unearthed - well, one thing led to another, and by 2024,  40 structures had been uncovered, indicating it was a significant settlement during the Neolithic period. The Ness features large stone buildings, decorated and painted stone slabs, and evidence of a stone wall measuring 6 meters thick. It is thought that it was used for ceremonial purposes, possibly functioning as a temple. (Or Cathedral, as the popular press insisted).

The Heart of Neolithic Orkney World Heritage Site covers approximately 2.5 hectares, and includes the Stones of Stenness - a stone circle older than Stonehenge; the Ring of Brodgar, which is a vast ceremonial stone circle,  Barnhouse Village, a Neolithic settlement near Stenness; Maeshowe, which is a chambered tomb; Skara Brae - a domestic village on the coast; and the Ness of Brodgar.

Maeshowe is one of the most sophisticated Neolithic structures in Europe. It is still in almost perfect condition - apart from the top of the dome, destroyed when the Victorian archaeologists adopted a gung-ho approach to breaking into the tomb, then replaced the roof, probably using the original stones. That part of the tomb's roof is painted white, to distinguish it from the ancient tomb. 

It’s not just a tomb — it’s a masterpiece of engineering, astronomy, and ritual imagination. The passage-way entry is long, low and narrow and aligned to the setting sun at the solstice.

 For a few weeks around the solstice, sunlight passing between a cleft in the hills of Hoy glows down the passage to illuminate the far wall of the tomb, which is in darkness the remainder of the year. The solstice alignment suggests ceremonies marking death and rebirth, the return of the sun and the turning of the year. 5,000 years ago, when it was built, a  communal effort involving the excavation of massive stones from Firth and dragging said stones from the quarry across country on sledges lubricated by seaweed, Orkney's climate was much better than it is now, with more of a chance of that winter sunlight hitting in the right spot. And it still works today. Five thousand years later. 

The guide took us into the tomb, where we stood uneasily, but grateful not to be stooping, and turned the lights off, the better for us to observe the magic of the returning light. For quite a while it was just a gentle glow, softly lighting the passage and across the floor, then around 3.00pm, there was a sudden, spear-shaped lozenge of brilliant light on the back wall, which quickly grew and widened. Five thousand bloody years and this celestial clock is still working. It wasn't in the centre of the back wall, it was off to the left, but that was because I was observing it 7 days after the solstice. How on earth could those people do that? It is thought that the ritual specialists, the astronomers and the building engineers lived in nearby Barnhouse Village, as an elite community, handy for devising and perpetrating this amazing thing. It was built in Old Red Sandstone, which splits naturally into flat slabs, allowing the builders to create straight walls, build the corbelled roof and long, stable passage. And it is all still there. The corbelled roof  makes you feel you are standing inside a vast stone beehive. It is thought that there was a ceremonial forecourt, a paved area, with standing stones and a gathering space outside the entrance where people assembled for rituals, especially at midwinter. Involving bones and ancestor worship. Bodies were usually de-fleshed outside, with the assistance of scavenger birds, then the skulls and long bones were brought inside. DNA analysis of bones found in similar tombs has demonstrated familial connection - not everyone got buried in these tombs - just the elites. Most people were disposed of at sea.

All of this is scene setting for my Christmas story about Christian folks.

By the 12th century, Orkney's climate had become much more severe. The entry passage to Maeshowe was blocked by rubble, but the mound still stood proud in the landscape, as it still does today. Orkney was Norwegian, as it was to remain until 1472. Harald Maddadsson and Earl Rognvald Kali Kolsson were in a period of violent rivalry. Harald had recently tried to seize more control of Orkney, whereas Rognvald’s supporters were scattered across Orkney Mainland. Winter raids were not unusual — in fact, they were often advantageous because enemies were indoors, feasting, and off guard. Vikings, you know. Still Vikings, and pagan at heart, despite Norway having succumbed to Christianity in the 9th century.  Trade, plundering raids, and travel brought the Vikings into close contacts with Christian communities, but their conversion only started after powerful chieftains decided to receive baptism during their stay in England or Normandy. Haakon the Good was the first king to make efforts to convert the whole country, but the rebellious pagan chieftains violently resisted. Olaf Tryggvason started the destruction of pagan cult sites in the late 10th century, and Olaf Haraldsson achieved the official adaption of Christianity in the 1020s. The Vikings took to Christianity like a duck to water, as it gave them a theological justification and purpose for mass killing and looting. The Viking Crusade was led by King Sigurd 1 from 1107 to 1111. He sailed from Norway in the autumn of 1107 with 60 ships and 5,000 men, wintered in England,

did a lot of pillaging and looting across Europe and the Med, and finally reached Constantinople in 1110. 

The men who went with Earl Harald on his Orkney Christmas raid in 1153 were undoubtedly Christian - a Crusader cross has been carved into the ancient stonework of Maeshowe.

Here's what the Orkneyinga Saga tells us: 

“Earl Harald set out for Orkney at Christmas with four ships and a hundred men.
He lay for two days off Graemsay, then put in at Hamnavoe on Mainland.
On the thirteenth day of Christmas they travelled on foot over to Firth.
During a snowstorm they took shelter in Orkahaugr (Maeshowe), and there two of them went insane, which slowed them down badly, so that by the time they reached Firth it was night-time."

Other sources, and the archaeological and graffiti evidence in Maeshowe give us more detail. Earl Harald stayed with his ships and most of his men in Stromness (Hamnavoe). He sent a raiding party overland to Firth, where his rival, Earl Rognvald, was holding a Christmas feast. The intention was to eliminate his rival. Fortunately for Earl Rognvald, the raiding party was held up by snow and by the time they eventually reached Firth, their quarry had finished his feast and left.

It is the role of Maeshowe in this Christmas tale of murderous Christian Vikings that is absolutely intriguing. There they were in a blizzard on a flat plain, surrounded by lochs. In this featureless, snowy landscape, they saw an entirely unnatural, snow covered mound. They recognised it as a burial mound. There was no other shelter. There was no entry passage to be seen. They climbed to the top of the mound and dug through the covering snow, turf and soil, then prised up the capstone and dropped several feet into the pitch dark. When they got their lanterns lit, the flickering light revealed shadowy side chambers, a passage way blocked halfway down, and they found themselves standing in a central chamber of cold, echoing stone. These Christian Vikings retained their pagan belief structures - they knew that these ancient burial chambers were guarded by a hogboon - a mound dweller, which was surely affronted by the tomb having been violated. Two of the raiding party "went insane" - was it the hogboon, the dark, the strange acoustics, the side chambers harbouring god knows what? The relentless storm, the howling of the wind? This delayed the party - did the rest of them have to restrain the insane? Did they have to be manhandled back through the hole in the roof? Then frogmarched to Firth? And back to Stromness?

Meanwhile, the other chaps amused themselves by carving graffiti onto the ancient walls. There are four separate handwriting styles at work. The Viking graffiti consist of 30 runic inscriptions and on a corner pillar three engraved figures; a dragon or a lion, a walrus and a knotted serpent.

Some of the inscriptions talk of treasure. Examples include; 'It is long ago that a great treasure was hidden here'; 'Happy is he who might find the great treasure'; 'Hakon alone bore the great treasure out of the mound' - which is probably a joke at Hakon's expense. Other inscriptions show names of the men, boastful tales of their exploits and jokes. 'Ingigerth is the most beautiful of all women'. This was carved alongside a rough drawing of a slavering dog. Other examples include a rune-writing competition:

'Ofram the son of Sigurd carved these runes'

'Haermund Hardaxe carved these runes'

'Tholfir Kolbeinsson carved these runes high up' ( that is - I'm tall)

'Arnfithr Matr carved these runes with this axe owned by Gauk Trandilsson in the South land'.

Basically; banter, showing off and misogyny - twelfth century soldiers bored and disturbed by the creepy tomb and its guardian, their insane comrades and keeping up their spirits as best they could. There's a Netflix series in this, isn't there?

Although the archaeological dig at the Ness of Brodgar was officially closed in 2024 and covered over, there will be a small, time-limited excavation of an unusual feature at the Ness in 2026, led by the Time Team. The nature of the feature has been kept secret, to build expectation for the Time Team's Big Reveal. Keep it quiet, then - but apparently, it is a round feature.

Hope you are having yourselves a Merry Little Christmas.