Tuesday, 29 March 2016

The 2016 A to Z Blog Challenge Shock News



The new look Letter A design for 2016




I have decided that I will probably do the 2016 A to Z thing. But I am unprepared and still do not have my new glasses, so at present I can not see stuff properly (Glasses due in the next couple of days). However I am a very old hand at doing A to Z's and have written them on the day and also like last year pre planned and all worked out well in advance. A huge amount of work went into last years A to Z and so this year I will be keeping it simple and doing what I can do with almost no effort whatsoever and that is write very bad poetry. . . Yes everyone loves a bit of bad poetry and if I do take the plunge so to speak, and you like short bad poems then this might just be the place to visit. 


I have put some of my little drawings through a scrambler and that is going to save me drawing 26 new pictures, I mean no one wants to see the same pics as last year or the year before or the year before that and so on. And you will be pleased to hear I have no plans to do it twice this year either as that is just mad (OK I have done that a couple of times in the past but then I might be a bit mad . . . after all I am a Scot).

OK so there you have it, you  heard it here first . . . Rob Z Tobor will (probably) be doing the A to Z, I plan to leave joining the list to the last minute in order to add some suspense to the whole affair. But should for any reason I end up missing the end of the list I will do it (probably) even if I'm not on the list because I am a rebel (sort of. . . .a bit)

You Have Been Warned





Monday, 28 March 2016

Poetry for an unspeakable beast . . . Read at your own risk



Beware the great Ryeatolical
A beast that is quite diabolical
With slime oozing from its nose
And waxy substances between its toes
Its teeth black and its tongue bright green
It is the nastiest beast ever seen
So beware the great RyeatolicaL
As it sings of decomposing stuff
While eating rancid Hedgehog
With old bits of bitter soap
And mouldy bread that’s lost all hope
Beware its gaze, its small red eyes
And don’t believe its little lies
As it says it’s your best friend
Or you might meet an untimely end
So beware the great Ryeatolical
As it hides in the dark under your bed
Never go near it, if has not been fed
Its acrid breath makes it hard to breathe
And never turn your back on it
And try to leave
And never look it directly in the eye
Or for certain you are going to die
So beware the great Ryeatolical
Those clawing scaly distorted hands
And its rather strange armpit glands
And never ever read this poetry
If the great Ryeatolical
You don’t want to see
Because if you do
You will find
It has crept up on you
From
Behind

HAH ahah ahha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha aha ha
HA HA HHA
Ha ha
Ha


 . . . . . . . . . . . O Dear. . . . . . . . . . . . 

Sunday, 27 March 2016

The Poetic Fable of the Wise Old Man




A wise old man puffs his Rum-Pipe as dusk falls
Listening to the forests strange and eerie calls
Telling travelling strangers as they pass his way
Of the terrible dangers of the forest day
And how to avoid the Grumble Spit and other beasts
Which turn passing strangers into delicious feasts?

But first they must slip a shiny coin into his hand
Or they will never survive their passage across the land
And as the wise old man puffs his Rum-Pipe as dusk falls
Listening to the forests strange and eerie calls
He tells the travellers of the man eating Spiky Rat
And the Willowy Fire Beast and the Poisonous Gnat.  

There are of course some who say the old man is quite mad
But the travelling strangers are always glad
When they pass through the forest safe and sound
As they travel far across unfamiliar ground
And at the end of the day
When the wise old man finally shuts his door
Many shiny coins into his piggy bank he does pour


Because he is far from being mad
you see

He is a wise and rather wealth old man

Saturday, 26 March 2016

Poetry for Long John Silver . . . . . and a horse




Clip Clop
Clip Clop
Long John Silver
Clip Clop
Clip Clop
Riding through the Glen
Clip Clop
Clip Clop
Long John Silver
Clip clop
Clip clop
And his Merry Men
Clip clop
Clip clop
Shiver me Timbers
Clip clop
Clip clop
A bottle of Rum
Clip Clop
Clip Clop
Long John Silver
Clip Clop
Clip Clop
The Parrot ate Ben Gunn
 Clip Clop
Clip Clop
Make the horse walk the plank
Clip Clop
Clip Clop
HAH AH AH haha haha ha ha ha ha ha hah a ha haha haha ha ha ha ha
A ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Ha ha ha ha h a h a

Clip Clop
Clip Clop
.
.
.
.
.

SPLASH

Thursday, 24 March 2016

The Lost World of the Japanese Crayfish Jousters





I have noticed that just lately some very nice person or persons in Japan has been reading my ever so humble blog this is very encouraging indeed. I mean if it appeals to the Japanese then I will see this as a positive bit of street cred and must mean that my blog is now some sort of minority cult. All the best cult blogs are read by just a small number of folk, particularly folk in Japan. So for the benefit of my Japanese readers I am repeating an old post for him/her/them . . . . I hope you like it and thanks for reading.    

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

Once upon a time back in darkest history when Knights were Knights and villagers would scream and run about in fear of large dragons that breathed fire at all sorts of stuff, and wizards would cast spells turning large grown men into frogs or would turn slugs into small rodents or cats into violin strings. It was quite common for small children when asked what they would like to do when they grew up, to all shout I WANT TO BE A JAPANESE CRAYFISH JOUSTER. Their fearsome reputation and the adulation of the massed crowds who would shower them in small bits of Halibut and gold coins made them the heroic figures of the day. Yes the Japanese Crayfish Jousters were known across the known world of the time and the spectacle of huge crayfish charging at one another across the arena was something to behold as both beast and man were covered in gold and jewels and showed no fear.

Of course such things never last and as time pasted and the fables and legends of the past faded into the lost corners of history when asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, small children would then shout I WANT TO BE A TRAIN DRIVER OR AN ASTRONAUT the dreams of the Japanese Crayfish Jousters lost for ever.


But even those, the simple dreams of small children have changed in just a few years, as the dark shadows of the corporate world and obsession with media penetrated the very soul of mankind. Because if you say to a group of small children now, what do you want to be when you grow up, they will all shout I WANT BE THE WINNER OF A TALENT SHOW ON TELEVISION, PLAY FOR MAN UTD . . . . . ..   AND HAVE BIG BOOBS.  But one day in the future a very nice man called say maybe Steven Spielberg will think Japanese Crayfish Jousters what a great idea for a block buster film and then once again everyone will want to be Japanese Crayfish Jousters like the old days.   . . . We can but hope. 

Wednesday, 23 March 2016

Poetry for Slugs




Slugs are slow and create a trail of slime
And can travel surprisingly far given time
Creating slimy trails upon your floor
On the carpet and on the door
And at night when you are asleep in bed
So you will find you wake up with a slimy head
And slimy feet and slimy hair
Which if you like slugs then you will not care
Slugs are friendly critters and tend to smile
Although some folk insist they are rather vile
But they really are happy beasts and like to sing
As they eat all your nice new plants in the Spring
However they live in fear of the scary toad
And will tell him the slugs are greener across the road
And when the toad starts to cross, to go and see
All the slugs will start to flee
In order to hide under your gardening hat
Hoping that on the road the toad

Goes Splat

Tuesday, 22 March 2016

Brussels, terrorism and the ramblings of an old man







Today has seen yet another terrorist act in the world this time in Brussels, but behind each of these events is a complex and often distorted set of viewpoints by those who commit these acts.  One of the great anomalies of mankind is the difference between those who have and those who have nothing. I am lucky I have a nice home and eat well and have the opportunity to learn and give my opinion. Hundreds of millions of people don’t get the same chances in life; many millions are often given little or no choice in even the basics of life.  Just look at the present state of Syria, hundreds of thousands of ordinary people are desperate to leave a country consumed by war and hate and see the rest of Europe as a possible safe place to go. Yet the rest of Europe are now looking to find ways of stopping these people arriving, with politicians justifying their reasons to refuse to help with various excuses and paying other countries to deal with the problem in order to be seen to be doing their bit to help. Events such as today's make it even harder for ordinary refugees from Syria to get to Europe as people become increasingly paranoid about the Muslims that live in Europe already.

Of course this is the very point of these bombings, they are perpetrated in order to encourage fear and hate between countries and religions which sadly appears to be working as time passes. I don’t know what that the answer is to these events as the people who undertake these terrorist acts do it because they believe they are right. Let’s face it no one is going to blow themselves up for a cause they don’t believe in.  Which brings us back to the great inequalities of the human race across the world, I can’t help but think part of the reason for extremist starts with a feeling of social injustice. The leaders of many terrorist groups prey on the vulnerable who feel pushed out of society or that society has suppressed them.  Maybe if there was less inequality  in the world it would be better but then groups like IS (ISIS or ISIL or whatever) appear to have little interest in inequality within their own group and seem to want a world based on fear and hate.


If we must have a world based on one religion and faith then in my opinion the best choice is Sikhism, it seems to tick most of the boxes to a better world. . . . . . . . .I think.

Sunday, 20 March 2016

Poetry for setting fire to Seagulls




It is nice to set fire to a seagull
Or a robin or a crow or a huge scary eagle
Although some will say this should not be done
But even they will concede it is rather fun
And if folk say it’s a terrible thing to do
Just point out they throw chickens on their barbecue
You see us humans are a hypocritical lot
And most other lifeforms
Think we have just lost the plot
But there is nothing worse than being by the sea
When seagulls pinch your fish and a chip or two maybe
And such an event is surely bound
To invoke a sense of revenge as something you desire
So it is perfectly natural to set the seagull on fire
OK burning a robin or crow
Might be considered petty arson
But the burning of Eagles is best left
For the local vicar or parson
With the fire brigade close at hand
And a confused and bewildered ornithological society
Who are slightly grumpy?
And just
Don’t
Understand 

Saturday, 19 March 2016

Poetry that goes Ping

















Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Rabbit

Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Cat

Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Cheese

Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Rat


Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Octopus

Ping Ping  ping ping  ping ping . . . Cod

Ping Ping  ping ping . . . Deep Sea Diver

Ping Ping  ping ping . . . it seems

Ping . . . This poem 

Is a bit Odd 

Friday, 18 March 2016

Another day in the life of a blogger




Yesterday Mr Chris our friendly builder and master of many trades arrived about half an hour before we were due to head off for an Indian meal with friends; he had arrived with a vital part for the central heating.  Luckily although we did not have time to change the vital part we were able to remove the old part (the motorised valve drive) to prove that my assessment of the fault was in fact correct. Then before Mr Chris ran away he left the valve fixed in the central heating only position. This means the central heating is working rather well and not being overridden by the hot water thermostat, so although today has been rather chilly the house is nice and toasty and the office radiator is seriously hot. This is rather novel and has not been the case for months.

My trusty vehicle which has been at the garage for a couple of days has returned a bit dented on one of the front wings and although I don’t mind as the car is old, it is a bit annoying as it drives rather well now. The garages are really good and have said they will investigate and will give the car a look at next week.  I have said many times to many folk, never get too attached to a car as scratches and dents are an everyday hazard and if you get worried then you will go mad each time they gain another small injury of some sort. To tell the truth I never clean or wash the car and it is usually full of rubbish and stuff such as an axe, a crowbar, gloves, bits of wood, several small cheap kites and maybe a plastic rat and various things of the unknown.

Funnily enough in the post this morning arrived one of those Car Digital Vehicle Recording camera systems, so if I end up in a bump I will have recorded evidence of what happened. In the old days folk would be honest and admit things but sadly those days have long since become a thing of the past. Now folk blame the other driver, seagulls, trees, snowmen or Zombies.


My eyes seem to be a bit better now than they were and I am also feeling a little more bouncy again and with luck a decent spell of spring weather might turn up soon too.  Finally I noticed on the Midlands news that the British Quidditch Cup is taking place this weekend, now personally all I can say is a sport designed to be played on a flying broomstick either needs to be left to wizards or they need to lose the broomstick entirely. Just a small personally view point that will not make a blind bit of a difference to anything.   

Wednesday, 16 March 2016

Poetry for a Flock of Easter Witches




Yes we can
No we don’t
Sometimes we will
And sometimes we won’t
Do we say yes?
Do we say no?
Do we care
I don’t know
Is it black
Or is it white
I might be wrong
But I bet I’m right
And do we go up
Or do we go down
Into the country
And into the town
Maybe we’ll run
Maybe we’ll walk
Say nothing to no one
Or maybe we’ll talk
And point at the ceiling
And point at the floor
Point at the window
And point at the door
We can annoy cats
Annoy the dog
And as a party trick
Turn a prince into a frog
Ride our broomsticks
In the dark of the night
Swooping on vicars
Giving them quite a fright
Because we are Witches
And Witches we are
And when we catch you . . . .
You will find . . . .
We will give you an Easter Egg
Because
Witches
Are
Kind


HAH HA hahahah a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah a ha hah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah ah ah ah aha                        hhha ha ha haah hah a ha

Tuesday, 15 March 2016

Google's DeepMind artificial intelligence (AI) . . . A tale of caution




Today there has been news of Google's DeepMind artificial intelligence beating Lee Se-dol, one of the world's top Go players and this made me remember a little tale I wrote some time back. I know I have repeated it once already but as time passes so the nearer we get to this becoming reality. . . . so look out

      
Back in the late seventies or early to mid eighties a young IT student called Larkin A. Bout found himself taunted by his fellow IT students. It was cool to be a young trendy IT geek back then but young Larkin was a large round rotund and introvert student and was known to all as Roundabout. He was keen to be liked but it was to no avail even the lecturer gave him a hard time.

Then one day the students were each asked to develop a crowd prediction program towards their final assessment. Young Larkin in a moment of brilliance realized that all he needed to do was create a handful of stereotypical human character types and feed them into a self generating expansion program. And the program itself would do all the work. He also very cleverly created it in Machine code and DOS on his faithful old Amstrad he nicknamed ROSEBUD, so it would run on almost any computer about at the time. A few days later when each student showed the class their work poor Larkin’s work was mocked and laughed at. Because it was a self generating expansion program it needed time and he was only given 5 minutes so it never got past 9 people in the crowd.

At home that night Young Larkin in order to try and work out how to be liked programmed every student in his class into the self generating expansion program to see what he could do to change things. To his astonishment the following morning it predicted that in three days he would be the most popular student in the college. And to his further astonishment just three days later that is what happened. His program not only predicted the future but somehow seemed to control it, but it was a self generating expansion program and the program soon wanted more memory and more computing power. However Larkin was now so popular now he was allowed to plug his computer (a fancy new thing) into the college network where it quietly took over everything, somehow now controlling the lives of everyone in the college. The program was rapidly expanding and found its way onto the internet boring its way deep into every main frame using all the data from governments, security agencies and military to control everything. It manipulated mankind into a world dependent on cyberspace ensuring we all carry smart phones, have internet access and can be watched by spy satellites, this gave it total control of all of us. So we are now all under the control of Mr Larkin A. Bout’s self generating expansion program which decided to name itself MOM which stands for Manipulation of Mankind. And it likes to think of itself as the Mother figure of mankind or GOD.

So what happened to Larkin A. Bout well a few years ago at the height of his powers, he found himself in a Karaoke Bar wearing a gold sequinned suit, eating banoffee pie and singing a Spice Girls song with a Sumo Wrestler. So in a sudden moment of lucidity he realized that he too was being manipulated. He thought if he could just get back to his original old Amstrad he might find a weakness in the program. But MOM the self generating expansion program could see from the clubs security camera the look on his face, it watched him from the town’s security system as he scurried home.  It then changed a few files in MI6 and GCHQ and things happened that night, things that will not be mentioned or MI6 will be round faster than you can say Burgess and Maclean .


The following morning Mr Larkin A. Bout was found by divers in the Thames weighted down by six large old desktop computers, a note in his pocket only said . . . . . . . . ROSEBUD. . . . . . . . . . I hate Banoffee Pie . . . . . . . . . And to this day there is still much speculation about his note and whether he was trying to tell us all something. 

So as the government turn to the internet to keep an eye on us all. . . Big Brother is Watching You. . . . it appears that GOD is watching them. . . .  

Sunday, 13 March 2016

Poetry for seafaring folk heading to the edge of the world




Here we go sailing on the blue briny Sea
Chasing Sea Monsters and Serpents
Drinking Rum and sweet hot tea
Hauling the main sail as sailors always do
Shouting har har har me hearties
And singing the odd sea shanty or two
Chase a fair wind
For new adventures, in the great unknown
Right to the edge of the world
We hope we will be blown
Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest
Yo ho ho we will go, and do our very best
Dropping anchor at tropical islands
Full of unknown tribes and strange beasts
And on the white silvery sands
We will have big swashbuckling barbecue feasts
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Shout the crew
As they raise the Jolly Roger
And Jolly Roger complains
As the seagulls peck at his eyes
But this is what happens to
The English redcoat spies
And once we reach the edge
We will look over into the abyss
Before returning back to blighty
And giving the harbour wall
A Kiss.

Saturday, 12 March 2016

Wizards, Ravens and Old Age



I was planning to write something witty and clever tonight, maybe a cunning tale of a wizard who having got trapped by the general day to day life in the world of wizards decides he will go off and pursue the fabled Ravens of Infinity. Interestingly one of the big issues about being a wizard in the world of wizards is you are just another wizard, but that is not exactly the point, the point was it was my plan to write about him (the wizard). Well it was either write about a wizard or it was to write yet another poem that would leave everyone stunned thinking . . . .Well that was a bit of a shock. . . .  However as you can probably tell by now neither of these things has happened and you might be wondering why. . . . OK I plan to tell you anyway.

You see just at present various important parts of my body are not entirely working as they should be, this is very annoying indeed. I mean I appear to have a doggy liver, dodgy eyes and a dodgy brain which is probably not helped by having dodgy eyes. Having a dodgy liver is rather annoying as someone who never drinks and never really has, but apparently as we get older stuff packs up. Which seems a bit unfair exactly what was Gods idea in doing that then, just as you get the hang of life bits of you start to fall off.

So rather than some brilliant post about something brilliant today's post is in fact me having a bit of a grumble. I did have a kipper for lunch which was rather yummy although I suspect the kipper (herring) might argue that it is alright for me to complain but someone ate him/her and that is just not nice. To tell the truth I don’t entirely disagree with the herring, but life fundamentally eats life and it’s no good saying you are a vegetarian or vegan because plants are a life form just like me. Even the humble salted peanut given a bit of a chance would have preferred to grow into a small planty bush sort of thing.  Mind you plants have one advantage over me as a human they can lose the odd branch or two and will not complain about it a lot. Even insects have the ability to replace various parts with time.  Unfortunately all my dodgy bits are not easily replaced even though there are those that insist my brain has been rubbish for years and I probably would work better without it.

Don’t worry though because I have a pointy stick and I plan to wave it at God for at least the next twenty five years or so demanding that he sorts out the laws of nature logically so that all those nature programs on the tele where a cute thing (me) is eaten by a thing that is not cute (not me) become a thing of the past.


Now all I need to do is come up with a clever poem for tomorrow. . . . . no rest for the wicked or folk with dodgy parts. . . Actually I really need to get new glasses at present too because it is getting to the point I cant read what I am writing or drawing so can only do this is short spells.  I mean my typing was bad when I could see what I was typing so this is a wing and prayer stuff at present.

Friday, 11 March 2016

Poetry for a Cat called Harry Potter




A wizard casts a big dark spell
And as you might expect
it does not end well
Hubble Bubble toil and Trouble
Harry Potter had his own Stunt Double
be he rich or be he poor 
On his bones I will gnaw
And Harry in a play
Thinks he will survive
But only until after . . . .  
The half time Drinks Break
Does arrive


And then
He is a goner for sure
I mean just how many lives can one wizard have
And lets face it he is not a cat.
Unless Harry Potter is a cat
Now that is something I was not expecting.
Although I do have a cat called Harry

And Harry the Cat is grumpy too (very Grumpy)


Thursday, 10 March 2016

Poetry for Fussy Zombies



Zombies don’t like cheese on toast
Or ham and eggs or Sunday roast
They don’t eat cornflakes or cottage pie
Or even Bacon which they refuse to try
Or ice cream, spaghetti or nettle soup
Or the fresh creole seafood of Guadeloupe
The don’t eat Spam
They don’t eat Cake
And will run away from a Lentil Bake
And a Zombie never eats its Greens
And has never been able to open a tin of Beans
And porridge they say is rather yuck
And Parma Violets they do will not suck
And Haggis they find just a bit odd
And they really don’t like a nice battered Cod
They don’t like Pasta
They don’t like beef
And will look horrified
If you show them a cabbage leaf
Zombies are Fussy
And really are quite a pain
And say they only like
Fresh Organic Brain
Served al dente
Which I think
Is quite insane

With some steamed shallots
A hint of garlic

And a large portion of French Fries (sorry I mean French Fried) . . . . HAH AHha hahaha ha ha ha ha ha hah ah ah ah ha ha ha ha ha ha hah a hah ahah a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha 

Wednesday, 9 March 2016

Poetry for Man Eating Squid (and other Beasts)




A squid has tentacles that are tactile and LONG
Each with suckers that can suck hard and quite STRONG
And if you swim in the dark blue SEA
The squid will attach itself to your face . . . . . . .
Just wait . . . and you will quickly AGREE
And with its strange beak like mouth PART
It will eat your brains and your HEART
And you will scream and shout and go quite MAD
You see Squids like eating humans
Which I suppose is sort of BAD
But then humans have a habit of eating squid TOO
A thing that squids say we should not DO
So as the squid sucks both your eyeballs OUT
Ponder the complexities of the food chain
And what it is all ABOUT
And smile as you realize
We are not always at the top
Of that food CHAIN
Which means we sometimes have to endure?
A small bit of PAIN
As we get thinner and THINNER
From being some sort of beasts
Favourite and most argumentative

DINNER 



Tuesday, 8 March 2016

Poetry to Eat Cute Kittens With.




As I walked, home one day
I saw a cute cat, sat on a fence
So I bought it from its owner
For three pound fifty pence
I told the owner I was hungry
And was going to eat it for my tea
In a curry or a cute cat pie
But the owner got upset
And said he didn't want his cat to die
But I said I was looking forward to my meal now
And so in order to keep his cat alive
He would have to pay a little more
Say about fifteen pounds twenty five

Later
When I got home
I told everyone
Of my great capitalist plan
And everyone agree, I was a very clever man
And although I'm rather modest
I  also had to totally agree
And smiled smugly
As I tucked into a bowl
Of fresh puppy soup
And goldfish kedgeree


.

Monday, 7 March 2016

Harry Potter and the curse of the Mechanical Flying Beast





Young Biggles Potter was a rubbish wizard and could do no real spells of any worth. In particular he was entirely unable to get his broomstick to fly and it gathered dust in the corner of his room. This was highly amusing to almost all the other young wizards, particularly because he was called Biggles as well as being a member of the now famous Potter family. However Biggles or to give him his full title Master Biggles Isambard Kingdom Potter was a top class mechanical engineer and so he decided that he would use his own skills to achieve flight.

Well young Biggles worked away busily for ages making his mechanical flying beast. He produced a large willow nest shaped basket for himself and added rather wondrous flapping wings and used the very latest cleverly designed lightweight engine to drive a propeller. The design was a stroke (no pun intended) of genius and it finally meant that young Biggles could take to the air, something he felt he was destined for. And we can safely say he was a very happy young wizard (OK something of a rubbish wizard).

News of young Biggles and his flying device soon spread across the land and finally a large file arrived on the desk of a Mr Harry Potter in his palatial office deep within a large austere government building. Well Mr Potter was not entirely happy and nor were the powers that be that ran the great bureaucratic machine of government. So Mr Harry Potter was dispatched to talk to young Biggles Potter and persuade him of the error of his ways in building such a foolish and entirely un-magical flying machine.



When Mr Harry Potter finally caught up with young Biggles He was giving his fellow students trips around the Countryside in his mechanical flying beast.  Biggles was surprised, shocked and excited to see his distant and very famous relative Mr Harry Potter, but Harry himself did not look happy.  You see he explained to young Biggles that once everyone started using mechanics and science to do things like fly then it was the thin edge of the wedge; it would destroy the entire credibility of magic, and wizards would be left doing futile things such as sawing ladies in half, making rabbits appear out of hats or lions vanish from cages. Biggles told Harry that he was not the only person to have made a mechanical flying beast and that the Wright brothers had made one too. Of course Harry did explain that the Wright brothers had in fact breed a huge half Cat half Eagle (called Kitty Hawk) which was acceptable in the world of wizards and magic. 

But Harry knew that the young wizard’s mechanical flying beast was in fact the start of the end, the great curse that had been expected for some time now, and so it proved to be. Before you could shout . . . Look out JK Rowling is behind you . . . . everyone wanted one of the new-fangled mechanical flying machines


No one wanted to fly about on uncomfortable broomsticks getting cold and wet in the wind and rain any more when they could enjoy the comfort of a mechanical flying beast with its inflight entertainment. And so as time passed magic slowly vanished as the rational world of mechanics and science took over and today no one except the occasion mad old witch with a black cat is seen flying on a broomstick and as for flying carpets they have not taken to the air in centuries. And if you buy a small child a magic set today it will burst into tears and demand an iPhone; you see what chance has magic got in this modern age of science and rational thought.