General Chat

My lady Pamela As a minstrel I may admit to being ever so slightly camp, but I fear it is a sore calumny on my macho friends here. Scarlet Willy - if that's the way it is perhaps you would be better wearing the tights.

There are no names here young Willie. You are as you shall be sized. Joy My table is greatly honoured to receive one such as you. I pray our allegiance shall be joined more than before..... Your servant Robin

gosh ,Robin...a Lady? I have to say I havent been referred to as one of them before.Your gallantry has been noted. Pam H.

My Lady Pamela. There is no role play here. The men before you do not wear tights. Each and every man is true to Richard who, as you no doubt know, is a man above any other. You are welcome to share my shelter for the night. You will be in the protection of a gentleman. L

Gosh, you people are very creative,this beats trawling through the pages of that genuki site,trying to work out what this genealogy business is all about.Is this what Ive got to look forward to,going mad and role playing camp legendary figures in tights ! Pam H.

Small Scarlet Willie, I know you not. But you are welcome at my table. My trusty friend Alan will be your mentor. He is true, trust him with your...........life. Stay close my friend L

Allan A'Dale draws his trusty knife and, quick as a flash, has the young deer skinned, gutted, joined, skewered and roasting over the open fire. The aroma of roasting meat wafts through the evening air. A dangerous time, this, for such a savoury smell may attract the unwanted attentions of the evil Sheriff's spies, who linger in the forest, disguised as harmless travellers seeking a night's repose.

Coming right right up cousin Marjorie. Just name your wish!!! L

Robin Can I have a pint of what ever you're on please? M.

Indulge my friends!! regress they not. You are welcome at my table. I need true spirit such of thee. I have concerns abroad, you may have seen. Methinks dark happenings may soon see light of day. I beg of you please keep rapture happy and gay. I may be delayed, I may have a date with fate!! L

Robin - my friend, I am your man (?) through thick and thin. I kneel to you my liege lord. Banish these dark shadows of the night and admit me to your band of followers. Let me join with you in righting wrongs, restoring peace and tranquillity, and eating of the king's venison and drinking his wine. Where is that darned moose? Do you have amongst your troop the wizard Mrs Merlin. She has a way with a cauldron that is not surpassed in all the many lands which I have visited during my travels.

Ah Robin! Forgive me, I did not recognise you in your 13c incarnation - mine stays much the same despite the slings and arrows of misfortune (such as losing my Green thread, I am actually FURIOUS, it was a genuine request for genuine help - which I got - and wanted a bit more -its gone!!! Meanwhile there are two requests for look-ups still there.....) I bring news to you via my crystal ball - uneasy and spectral happenings on the Tips Board - the Phantom Nudger is at large again ~~(scuse me while I larf, tee hee, no its not me!). I will, however, partake of your feast, kind Robin - any tips burgers on offer? M.

Allan You must stay with me my friend. The night sky do cast many shadows. But brave men step out of the shadows, they set aside aside their recessions, and once again they face the world as true crusaders. Spread the word!!!!! Loxley

Cousin Marjorie We find ourselves together once more. But a long way from our natural sanctimony. I trust your genealogical aspirations have treated you well. Mine.... still leave much to be desired. Loxley

Allan quaffs his potion and turns to Mrs Merlin for a further draught, but she is gone. The whole glade is bathed in a gentle pink glow, like a spring sunrise (which is quite a surprise considering it is late evening in June). Allan is amazed – he gazes around openmouthed and a butterfly flies in – slightly furry and a rather strange taste but all good protein. The pink glow fades and once again Allan is all alone in the woodland clearing. Even the monk and the witch have disappeared. This place is beginning to freak Allan out. He is not sure how long his fragile state of mind will survive the isolation. And yet, around him on the ground, are signs that once upon a time, not so very long ago, there were mice on the mouse organ (whoops, sorry, wrong story), a party had been held here. Battered remains of party hats and empty beer cans litter the greensward - quite amazing really when you consider that beer cans will not be invented for another 700 years. Allan is quite certain that the outlaw band must have camped here the previous night. He hopes that they will return once darkness falls. In the meantime, he must just keep waiting and hoping…………..

Re-enter hot, cross, redfaced witch. She stomps towards the Monk, waving her arms and broomstick. He cannot see her. She has run from Tips As It Once Was because an attempt to add to a previous, extremely innocuous, genealogical posting, requesting further help in locating the Gormless Greens, vanished in a puff of odiferous smoke at the very second she pressed 'UPDATE'. She hurtled inelegantly through the smoke-ridden ether, midnight blue velvet cloak all askew and bloomers showing for all the universe to see, only to find herself encapsulated in a bubble of GR ice - she can see you, she can hear you but you cannot hear her. She fumbles in the pockets of her capacious but crumpled cloak and finds - oh, great mercy be praised - some dried turnip surprise.

My Friends!!! You join with me in a cause that is just. I need colleagues such as you who are strong, single minded and who remember the days of glory past. You have much to offer. Many fine people in this area do also. If only they would release their natural caution. Let us enjoy our time together. I have wine and ale that I shall share freely with you. But most of all............... I value your words of experience!!! Indulge me! Robin

Suddenly amongst a puff of pink smoke and fluffy butterflies - A magician (of the female variety) appears. She waves her wand at Poor Allan and before his very eyes appears a Large Punch Bowl. Inside this punchbowl of fresh rainwater, she adds a few snails, eye of bat, toe of worm and fresh fruit (to make the potion more appetising) He dips his pewter mug into the brew and drinks thirstily. The trees around are blowing in the breeze, and it appears as if they are whispering something that sounds like:- (Go back Go back, to whence you came from - You are not welcome here) They could very well be mistaken though, and so, sit, quietly, straining their ears.

A fierce gust of wind blows suddenly across the forest glade, rustling the leaves and startling the pink-eyed moose which is grazing at one side. The moose retreats into the trees as a cloaked figure clutching a lute is blown in over the tree-tops and deposited down with a thump in the middle of the clearing. Allan A’Dale stands up, shakily, and hobbles over to a fallen tree to rest his ankle, which was twisted during his unceremonious landing. “Well”, he thinks to himself, “What a waste of time that was. That witch promised I would be taken back to the land of Tips As It Once Was, but when I got there, it was the wrong country completely. Oh yes, on the surface it appeared to be the land of Tips, but when I investigated there had obviously been a change of government and all my old friends have either fled the country or been banished or, perish the thought, executed without trial. I fear it is not for me. There was no-one there I knew, and then the spell wore off and I found myself being blown back here without so much as a warning. And all the restaurants and bars had been closed down. I’m starving.” Allan looks around to see if there is anything edible nearby. The moose retreats further into the forest. A patch of mushrooms are growing close by, but Allan eyes them suspiciously for fear that they are magic mushrooms and he may lose control and find himself in even more trouble. Sighing, Allan reaches into his pouch and pulls out a couple of rather dried up anchovies, which he chews on thoughtfully. Suddenly, at the far side of the clearing, Allan notices the witch who had given him such fair and false promises earlier. She is in deep and ernest conversation with a rather stout monk. The monk does not strike Allan as someone who would venture far without copious amounts of sustenance for his journey and Allan hobbles over towards them, using his lute as a crutch. Without warning, he finds his way barred by some invisible force field. He calls out to them, but the witch and the monk cannot hear him (or maybe they just choose to ignore him). Allan beats with his fist against the invisible wall. What manner of place is this? Where is Robin of Loxley? Where are the rest of the outlaws? Perhaps they will return at nightfall. Keeping a watchful eye on the witch and the monk, Allan returns to his log and rests his ankle again. He settles down for a long wait. From deep within the darkest recesses of the forest, a thousand pairs of eyes watch Allan.

Enter a rather portly gentleman in a brown cassock and carrying a stout staff. G'Day Good Witch he said - I am looking for my band of brothers who were forced from our friendly forest by the evil Sheriff. We have been split up and apart from a few brief sightings there has been sign of the others. You don't have a drop of mead and a morsel of food for a weary traveller do you? - he asked in a forlorn manner.