0 comments/ 12488 views/ 0 favorites Tales from the Tundra Ch. 1 By: RonRyder 1. Albert loses his girl. It were all too brief, but a grand time for all that! There were just me, ‘er and the cold, clear pristine air of the far North. Jane were a lovely lass. Her skin were lilly white so when you stood ‘er up outside you couldn’t tell ‘er from t’snow. We lived like nature intended, days trappin’, fishin’ and skinnin’ -- Jane proved a dab ‘and at that -- and our nights -- well, put it this way, in t’morning t’permafrost were thawed a good ten yard around the tent! I knew it were over when one day she rolled off me, sighed and said, ‘Hudson….’ ….. Strange this you might think ‘cos me name’s Albert. But I got used to it just like I got used to ice-fishing in Albert Bay…! ? ‘Hudson,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t it be just terribly splendid to live in a hise again. Have cake and scones … ’ ‘Aye Aye,’ I thought to mesen’ ‘here it comes’. ‘… and the gay voices of children playing merrily in the grounds!?’ I told ‘er No. Bugger No! And that were flat! She dint say nuthin’, but the next morning when I awoke, she were gone. Lock stock and barrel. A couple o’ days later I packed up t’sled and set off wit’ dogs to Watson Creek. I made an early start. It were a truly magnificent night. The Northern Lights was flarin’ and the moose was silhouetted against the magenta sky. Along the route I passed a tent I knew belonged to One-eyed Pierre. Around it the permafrost were thawed twenty yard! Aye Aye, said I, I know who that is! I ‘ad an instant overcomin’ with jealousy. Me ‘and strayed briefly to the ice pick affixed to the sled. But I controlled me basic urges and stayed it in time. She wanted a family man, and a family man she’d got. With 12 wives and 57 sprogs sprinkled liberally throughout La Belle Province, Pierre had more than proved hisself. He’d make ‘er ‘appy, where I could not. I bowed me ‘ead to the better man, and moved on. 2. Albert meets Bluenose. It were evening when I reached Watson Creek (Pop. 6) and the wind were whipping the snow around me ear’oles as I mushed down t‘ill and into t’town. In no time I `ad the dogs fed and was settled into a quart of Theakston’s ‘Old Thunder’ at the Croix d’Or. A very welcome drop of stuff it were after a full days mushin’, I’ll tell ‘ee that. It were early so I were alone in t’bar, but suddenly t’double doors slammed open and in walked a tall, red-faced, black-bearded gent with a blue nose. He had on a trappers coat, but open, laike, so it were more round `is shoulders than covering his body and you could see this were a gent who enjoyed life, laike, if you see what I mean. The newcomer glared around the bar and greeted me with a gruff ‘Ow do!’ But it were only when he ordered three quarts of Hoegaarden that I put two and two together. Stealthily, I nipped to the door and watched as he dispensed two of the quarts to two girls he ‘ad tied to the back of his sled. They both `ad thingy’s `angin’ around their necks with writings on ‘em. One said: “I’m his favourite Sister” The other said “No you’re not, I am!” They was both nuzzled deep down in their Hoegaardens so I couldn’t see their faces to tell whether they was evil or not, but by now the circumstantial evidence were overwhelming. In awe, I returned to my seat by the stove and watched as the newcomer re-entered. No doubt about it, the blue nose, full-beard greying slightly at the edges, that imposing figure and the manner and bearing, I were in the presence of the famous Bluenose of Bratford! I thought of introducing mesen, but after al, ‘oo were I, Albert a poor trapper. So I ‘eld me peace, waitin’ laike. After a while, t’gent I assumed to be Bluenose took an extra deep draft, such a deep draft that ‘ee might very well ‘ave emptied t’entire load, jug’n all down ‘is throat. He snorted and shook his head backwards and forwards like a bear comin’ outa wata laike, and said, “Jesus Christ! That’s SHIT!!’ further firming up my suspicion as to his identity. ‘Excuse me,” I said, feigning a Bratford accent. ‘Are you, p’raps, the famous Bluenose of Bratford?’ ‘Wot’s it to you?’ said the gent I took to be Bluenose suspiciously. ‘Are ‘t Plod?’ I gaive a little laugh, y’see, ‘cos there weren’t no plod for six ‘undred mile in any direction. ‘I’m Albert,” says I. ‘Albert the trapper.’ ‘OhEye,’ says Bluenose. ‘What’ll thee be drinking?’ ‘Well thank ‘ee kindly,’ says I, I says, ‘it’ll be a quart of Theakston’s Old Thunder. Very kind!’ The man I took to be Bluenose glared at me, a fearsome expression on ‘is face. ‘Are you havin’ me on son,’ he said, threateningly. ‘I weren’t meanin’ for you, I were meanin’ for me. This Hoegaarden’s SHIT!’ Well this, of course, placed ‘im as either Scottish or Yorkshire, and I’d never met a Scot what would speak a language I understood. So my identification of this newcomer as Bluenose was signed and sealed. It were ‘im! No doubt about it!! What I ‘ad to find out were ‘What brings the famous Bluenose of Bratford to Watson Creek?’ 3. A fair trade? Well to cut a long story short, it took me eighteen quarts and a bag of reindeer bones and I still d’int get the story out on ‘im ‘til t’followin’ noon! ‘Albert,’ ‘e said, putting his arms around me in that way I `ate, but them touchy feely types just keep on doing to’m, ‘You’re all right.’ He did this seventy three times, and then collapsed on the floor and passed out. Aye Aye, I said, he’s a goner. I wondered about the girls outside in t’freezing cold, but when I looked they was ripping strips off each other so I din’t laike to interfere. I `ad a quart or two and went back, and in the end they calmed down and I invited them up to the room Peg-leg Annie had reserved for me in the Croix d’Or. It were the only honourable thing a gentleman could do! MiGod were I shagged out in t’morning!! Bluenose awoke exactly where he collapsed the night before with a fearful hangover. Annie fed him six pounds of moose bacon, eighteen eggs and a haggis that some lunatic Scotsman had once exchanged for a quart of ale and that she’d been trying to get rid of ever since. Din’t make no difference though. Bluenose kept on belchin’ and fartin’ as though there weren’t no tomorrow. All the while me an’ the girls was concludin’ business --- I’d kinda got a second wind --- and it weren’t until we `eard `im bellowin’ an’ hollerin’ that we reluctantly brought matters to a final head. He din’t seem to notice, though. Just tied up the girls, stuck ‘em on the back of the sled and mushed off. Hour later ‘er were back! It were openin’ time in Bratford, an `ed realized how far it were to t’next pub. Besides, ‘e said, said ‘e, he’d some unfinished business with me, Albert the trapper. Aye Aye, thought I. Now your number’s up! He’s found out about you and them bints! But it were different. ‘Albert,’ he said, putting his touchy feely arm around me again, Yuck!!, ‘Albert, I want to do something for you.’ Aye Aye, says I. I ‘ope he ain’t … y’know --- no prejudice laike, but it ain’t my bag, that kinda thing. But I needn’t ‘ave worried. ‘Albert,’ he says, says ‘e, ‘I am on a long, long haul. A quest for the Holy Grail.’ ‘Oh Yer are, are Yer,’ I says, says I, a bit suspicious laike. ‘I am indeed, Albert,’ he says noddin’ gravely. ‘You’ve not to speak of it, ‘cos my official task is to research the RLD’s of Northern Canada gaining material for my book entitled, “The RLD’s of Northern Canada”.’ Well I s’pose you’re wondering, laike I did, what RLD’s is, but they’s just red light districts, y’see. Nothing odd or kinky, laike. ‘Well I can ‘elp yer there, Blue,’ says I. ‘I know every one ‘twixt ‘ere and Moosejaw, five thousan’ miles to t’west.’ So it were my turn to get plied with ale, and `is turn to pay, and in the intervenin’ 12 or so hours I tole `im every detail about every RLD in Northern Canada. O’course, not 1% were true, and that 1% referred to the only genuine RLD in Northern Canada I knew anything about, which were run by Peg-leg Annie from the very room in which we sat. There were only one girl, you’ve guessed it, Peg-leg ‘ersen, but with Watson Creeks population steady at 6, an’ trappin’ losin’ its appeal in favour of the Montreal Stock Exchange, there weren’t no call for a full stable. Peg-leg were a lovely lass, an’ ‘er could handle all t’business entirely on ‘er own. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Blue eventually passed out agin’, so I done the chivalrous thing by his ladies and `andled me an even heavier night than the previous one. God strewth, them Bratford lasses was demanding! My respect for Blue gained ground with every passing hour! ‘ow he kept up the pace, day in day out, I really cannot fathom. ‘at’s off! In the mornin’ it were similar. Annie had no haggis, but she conjoured from somewhere a genuine black puddin’ --- well, ‘er were black, at least that I can say! On partin’, Blue were a real gentleman. ‘Albert,’ he says, ‘I’m really grateful to you. I won’t forget this.’ He put his f*****’ touchy feely arm around me agin --- Oohh! I couda punched ‘im, if only he weren’t so f*****’ famous!! ‘I want to share with you my secret,’ he says. Aye Aye, says I, watch out here! ‘Far out to the west, far, far, further than the eye can see, the ear can hear, the wind can convey, is a maiden so fair, so desirable, that the very ground melts before her passage.’ I thought of One-eyed Pierre an’ ad’ a little giggle, ‘cos he’d no doubt be getting the treatment round about now! ‘So fair is she that I would move heaven and earth to reach her. Albert, you must help me! Guide me to her, and you shall be rewarded handsomely!’ Aye Aye, says I. Rewarded eh! Well, I may only be simulatin’ Yorkshire, but I weren’t born yesterday nevertheless. So I says to ‘im. ‘Glad to ‘elp, Blue, but it’s got to be cash in advance.’ ‘Then so be it. But not cash. Let’s trade. I notice on your sled your carry provisions for the dogs.’ ‘A bag o’ bones, Yes, I do, I do!’ ‘Exchange them for one of my girls, then,’ says ‘e, ‘in evidence of good faith.’ At first I were taken aback, but I recovered quick! ‘Which one?’ says I. ‘Oh take your pick,’ says he. ‘It’s all the same to me!’ I did. She were rough, But she’d do for me, rough as she were! ‘What fortune we have different tastes,’ says he. ‘Lead on. The Grail, the Holy Grail!’ 4. In search of the Holy Grail. Brrrr! It's bloody freezin' up here. They just don't heat these IT cafes proper this far north. Brrrr!!! Where were I? Oh yes! Well, guidin' that Bluenose and his evil Sisters in pursuit of t 'oly Grail were one thing to agree to, but it were only when we was well away that he tole me where we was off to. The 'Peg! I laugh out loud, me! He’s off his trolley, barmy, meshugge!! I mean, can yer imagine, a solid mush all the way from Watson Creek to t’ 'Peg, in winter, two thousand mile through the tundra chasin' a bint he called AGFN, if you will. AGFN. Well I laugh out loud, me! An ‘oly Grail, ‘an ‘ee can’t even pronounce it! Off 'is trolley! I mean as if 'e din't 'ave enough on 'is 'ands with them evil sisters!! 'AGFN is the Princess of my Darkest Desires,' 'e says, 'It's an hobsession! I have no choice.' Well he were payin' and I will admit I'd grown to appreciate t’nightly ministrations of me ES. We made sweet music there under the clear, cold, star-filled sky the two on’us. Them was good times. 'Er'll still be 145 days 'ard mushin' at the least from ‘ere', says I to Bluenose a’ter a day or two, thinkin' 'e might reconsider laike. But d'you think it registered? 'e were squireing his ES all night and lying there pantin' sleepin' it off while she mushed t’dogs durin' t’day. 'an o'course a sled loaded down with thirty six crates o' Murphy's don't make for optimal progress. I felt for them dogs, I really did! It weren't obvious how we'd fall out but it happened funny. He says to me one day, he says, 'I can't stand monogamy for 145 days, give 'er back. She's mine, not yourn'!' Whereupon I says, ‘Bugger that! You made a promise, you stick to it.' 'Case thee forgot, he'd loaned me one of the ES in part payment for me guidin' services. But him, crafty bugger that 'e 'is, 'e just fell off of the sled one day and lay there comatose in t‘snow. I tole 'er he were playin' possum, but both ES just dropped what they was doin' and ran like sheep over to 'elp, an' no sooner was they within striking distance than 'e struck 'em both! an' in no time the three of 'em was rollin' around an' 'oo woulda thought a true blue Yorkshireman from Barnsley would get off on snow -- an' that whip Ooooooh!.... well, I'll spare thee t’ details. Perverse, if thee ask me, but I'm no saint so if that's 'ow they gets off, thinks I, there's all the snow they can want an' more in these parts. Anyroads, it were clear them Evil Sisters belonged to ‘im. Yes, the one with me ‘ad ‘ad ‘er fun, but it were clear where ‘er ‘art belonged. An’ I ain’t one for ‘olding a bloke to a deal if it ain’t workin’ out. So I jus' mushed away an' left 'em to it, an' that were t'last I ever saw on any o'em. Next port 'o call - Churchill, Manitoba as I recall -- I nipped into an IT Cafe and saw 'e were back 'ome in Burnley and all in one piece, though 'is website were all buggered and 'e sounded a bit subdued laike. The Far North'll do that to yer, tha' gnaws. It's an 'ard country. It changes people. ‘An as for the Holy Grail, well it seemed that were not abandoned, only on ice, as it were. I ‘eard much later ‘ed decided to make t’trip via Boeing747! Bloody sight more sensible than trying to mush a fookin’ dog sled three month through t’snow, I can tell thee!!! Only now, mysteriously, ‘er of the Holy Grail were not AGFN anymore but ALN. And there were talk of some new rival, SD or whatever --- well, don’ ‘spect me to follow the why’s and wherefore’s of t’Great and Mighty. I’m jus’ Albert, a poor trapper. Mind me p’s and q’s and keep outa mischief, me! Still, I did ‘ave a curiosity about me and as chance would ‘ave it, a final hencounter with ‘isself, some time later. It were in t’ ‘Toad an’ Strumpet’, pig of a bar down Whitechapel -- why I were there mesen I’d be ashamed to say! Anyroads, in walks Blue, large as life, plonks hisself down at t’ bar and calls hautily for a pint of Hoegaarden. (Can’t get quarts in London, bitch of a place!). I blink! Jes’ like that first time at Le Croix d’Or in Watson Creek. Is it ‘im or is it not? Well it were ‘im. And after five minutes or so my curiosity got the better of me so I sidled up to him and said, quite polite laike, ‘Ow do, Blue!’ He turns on me with them red bleary eyes ‘e always seemed to ‘ave and says, ‘’Oo the ‘ell are you. Fuck off!’ ‘I’m Albert the Trapper!, says I. ‘Remember? You me an’ them Evil Sisters…..’ ‘E waved a hand seeming to acknowledge so I took this as encouragement and eased mesen onto an adjacent barstool. ‘Ow about another?’ says I, noticing ‘ed drained his glass in practically a single swallow. ‘Bugger off!’ says ‘e, but he accepted t’pint when it came. I knew ‘e would. He’s Yorkshire, tha gnaws. Anyroad. After a bit I steers ‘im onto t’ Holy Grail, whereupon he gets suddenly quite violent, spluttering and snorting ‘til the Hoegaarden covered his beard with foam and dribbled down his chin. Seems Her Grace ‘ad undergone another transmogrification: AGFN to ALN, now to ‘Elaine’….. I left him banging ‘is head on t’bar screaming at the top of his lungs over and over again ‘She made me shag her, that fucking Saccharine Queen!’ I mean, can you make sense of it? Me not. I give up on him entirely. Some folks jes’ don’t seem to be hung together, do they. 5. Annie discovers ‘The Net’. I't ‘ad bin a while since I’d hit Watson Creek in midwinter and biGod ‘er were cold. So I ‘eaded straight for Annie's Croix d’Or. O'course, I always 'eaded straight for Annie's when I 'it Watson Creek so there weren't nut’in' remarkable 'bout this. To me surprise she's got in t’ Fullers' ‘London Pride’ wot I arsked 'er for 'cos t’last batch of Theakston's were off. A good slug of Fullers and the 'eat of the room an' I were feelin' much improved. That's when I noticed! 'Wassat?' I says to Annie, squintin'. The light dawned. 'A terminal! Yahoo!! Lass, tha's on t’net? 'I am too,' says Annie proudly. 'I 'ad this 'ere bloke come through last month an' he sold me the 'ole bit!' 'Gerraway!,' says I (wondering, but too gentlemanly to ask, the nature of the bargain that were struck!). ''e did! 'an very interestin' it is too.' 'I'll bet,' says I, sniggerin' a bit thinking she'd been lookin' at naughty sites! 'F'r'instance,' she says, 'There's this ‘ere site Escort Talk...' Aye Aye! The old ears prick up.... '.. where they have all kinds of working girls telling things about the trade and do's and don't's 'an all'. 'Tha’ don't say,' I says, says I, somewhat apprehensive. Somehow I ‘ad a premonition! 'I do! 'An I wanna tell you, there's goin' to be some changes round ‘ere, that's for sure.' 'Oh Aye', says I, I says. Booger, I thinks. A premonition indeed! 'Aye,' she says, 'there is.' Annie speaks a funny kind of dialect bit like english really, which is odd considering she's never set foot outa Watson Creek in her life ‘cept when she went down to Montreal to get her leg done. 'Do you know,' she says indignantly, 'what them ladies charge!!' 'What do them ladies charge?' She tole me! I damn near fell off me stool! 'Holy Mary Magdelene,' says I. 'Who the 'ell'd pay prices like that? We could ship ‘em over ‘ere by t’planeload an’ ship ‘em back fucked stupid for ‘alf of that!!' I pondered on this for a mo’ wonderin’ whether that would class as ‘pimpin’’, but I reckon not ‘cos then every airline running flights into Bangkok…… 'An there's all kinds of websites the girls run themselves, like this one......' 'Aw, come on Annie, let's....' '.... This one, 'an that one..... I got 'em all bookmarked. Gonna be some changes around here, that's all I can say!' 'Like what kinda changes?' says I, suspicious laike. 'Well -- I got this idea from one of the ladies' website --- I'm gonna demand all my clients tell me their real names.' 'Their what!?' 'Their real names. Real names. Wot's on their birth c't'f'cate.' 'What's the point 'o that?' 'Protection, y'see. Suppose some mad lunatic come in 'ere on a lonely night when's no-one around -- there's enough of them lonely night's when the wind cuts across the tundra and the wolves ‘owl, I can tell you! An' suppose 'e were to cut me up in little pieces and throw me to the dogs. What then eh!? Who'd know?' 'Well, Annie...' says I... 'No-one'd know!' hisses Annie. 'He'd be off scot free away over the tundra an' the Mounties'd never get their man. 'cos they don't know ‘oo 'e is, see.' 'Well, Annie...' ‘But if'n I got his name, his real name an' I send it in an e-mail to 'Saw-em-off Sally', we'd know who 'e 'is and either the Mounties'd get 'im, or she would! (An' I know which I'd prefer if'n it were me in 'is shoes!). 'Annie, get a hol' on yersen’,' says I. 'Why would anyone want to cut you up and feed you to t’dogs? A man'd 'ave to be orf his nut to do a thing like that! No-one ever give you an ‘ard time, did they?' 'Not yet they didn't.' 'I mean, where is this place where they cut ladies up in pieces and feed 'em to t’dogs....?' Annie twiddled her mouse expertly flicking through the pages until she came upon the desired page. 'Christ!’, she says, ‘How ‘d you pronounce D-E-R-B-Y.' 'D-E-R-B-Y, Dirby? Wheresitat? Which country?' ''ang on I'll look up the IP address..... There you are. UK.' 'Dirby UK,' says I. 'Never 'eard 'n it. Must be a crazy place. Maybe they've cannibals too?' Tales from the Tundra Ch. 1 'It can happen, Albert,' says Annie seriously.' Think of Jack the Ripper...!' 'But 'e were in London...And that were ‘undred year ago!’ 'And the Moors' Murderers!' 'Annie that were in Manchester. An there were t’woman involved too, not just a bloke!' '… and remember '56 over Squamamamie way, not a thousand mile from this very room, a woman 'ad 'er arm cut off by a fella.' 'Annie, that were while she were choppin' off his 'ead wiv an axt! Who ended up dead, 'im or 'er? She were loopy. Shemugge! She were an' 'ead short of a matchstick, she were..... '...him stone dead an' 'er 'alf bleedin' to death wiv 'er arm....' '.. it were a little marital squabble they was havin’. Got outa hand. Happens in marriages!' ‘It’s yous’ off your head, Albert the Trapper,’ says she with that glint in ‘er eye, ‘ ‘an if you’re wantin’ your usual this night, I’ll be wantin’ to know your real name, not just Albert, y’see. Real. Real name’ ‘But Annie,’ everyone knows me as Albert the Trapper, from Nome, Alaska to Goose Bay, Labrador. No-one knows me by me real name.’ ‘Not the point, init,’ she says, arms akimbo. ‘Cain’t go in no court ‘o law and tell em you got cut up by Albert the effing Trapper, now can ya! Judge laugh ya outa court!’ ‘Annie, tha’ knowd me ten year. Why one earth should I start cuttin’ thee up now? If I were going to do it, I woulda done it already.’ ‘Oh no you don’t get away with that. I bin readin’ on the web. Them madmen wot cut women up are cunnin’. They wait their time, bide their time……’ I sighed. Then I tole her me real name. ‘Wot!!?’ she said. I repeated it. She begun to laugh. ‘You’re kidding!’ ‘No I ain’t!’ ‘Yes you are! You can’t be …? … ? ’ fits of giggles. Growing uncontrollable! ‘Well I’m glad thee thinks it’s funny. Laike it or not, that’s wot it is.’ Annie giggled on, then controlled herself with difficulty. ‘But ‘ere, ‘ow do I know that. I mean, you could tell me anything. Here….’ She returned ‘er gaze to the screen. ‘.. On this website it says this girl from D-E-R-B-Y demands ID. No ID, no service. See! That’s my policy too from now on! Come on. Where’s the proof.’ I luked at her an’ shuke me ‘ead. ‘Annie,’ I says sadly. ‘It’s come to this ‘as it. We ‘ad such a good thing goin’. Ten year I’ve been comin’ into Watson Creek. We’ve had such times together…. ‘ ‘Albert,’ she said sternly. ‘I know what times we’ve ‘ad. But it’s been stric’ly professional. I’m an ‘Incall-Escort’ and you’re my client!’ ‘Thee’s a wha’?’ ‘An Incall-Escort’. ‘Escort? What thee escortin’ then?’ I were genuine non-plussed. An’ I were getting’ mad. ‘It’s that damn web that’s givin’ thee ideas, ainit! I know. And them stupid workin’ girl sites. ‘at’s all mumbo jumbo. I’m not your client, I’m Albert you’re Joe!’ ‘ ‘an I suppose I’m not your ‘Incall-Escort’, I’m Annie the bleedin’ ‘hore, right? That’s what you were goin’ to say, ainit, ainit, AINIT!’ ‘Aw nuts!’ I were pissed. She could tell. She were pissed. I could tell. She stood there arms akimbo and we stared each other up and down. ‘Annie,’ says I, final, ‘Thee’s never ‘ad nothin’ but respec’ from me. Thee’s no reason to go funny on me now.’ ‘Like it or not, Albert,’ she says, determined. ‘ I got me rules. I’m startin’ now. No ID no service. Savvy?’ Ooo! I coulda clocked ‘er one! 6. Albert meets a feminist. I asked ‘er whether I needed to show ID to get another quart of Fullers, and she said No!, frostily, and pulled it in pregnant silence. Churlishly I fisted me quart and retired to me seat in the corner. I wouldn’t ‘ave minded someone to talk to but there were no-one about. There rarely were at the Croix d’Or in winter, with no visitors to speak of and Watson Creek having a population of 6, most of ‘em snowed in solid for the winter. So me an’ Annie just glared at each other, or avoided each other’s gaze. Then the door opened sudden with a flurry of snow and cold air and in walked – well, that hardly do ‘er justice --- in ‘Entranced’ a striking lady with blonde hair dressed in full riding gear. ‘Hi There!’ said this apparition, the like of which certainly had never before been seen in Watson Creek, if at all in the entire province of Squamish-Inouie. ‘Is there someone who could attend to my horse?’ She was staring at me directly. Now to get this in perspective, tha’ sh’ll ‘ave to know it’s minus 40 out there, takin’ windchill into account. Even in t’height of summer t’only horse ‘at come through Watson Creek is a few Indian ponies. In winter, ‘orse is thin on t’ ground ‘cos they tend to drop dead, tha’ knaws. Everyone travels by snowmobile. Bloody noisy, but they get t’job done. So the sight of this figure dressed in formal riding gear demanding attention for t’orse in t’dead of friggin’ winter were not what tha’d call run o’ t’mill. Not that tha didn’t ‘ave to be flexible at Annie’s, but t’orse in the dead of winter……! That went beyond the ordinary, even for Annie. I came to t’ wicket. ‘Annie,’ I says, says I, ‘Leave it to me. I’ll put ‘t‘orse in t’shed out ‘t back where tha’ keeps the block heaters on the snowies. ‘e’ll be cosy laike in there.’ Now I hope you’re not thinking I’m trying to curry favour with Annie, ‘cos I bloody well were! I ‘adn’t ‘ad it for three month and I were afraid that if she stuck to her guns I’d end up showing ID, something me manly pride would never survive! I were weighin’ up me short-term needs versus me long-term ‘sense of self-worth’. ‘What be he who, for the sake of his common lust, would sacrifice his soul! Be he a man, a dog, a worm…..?’ Ooo! I were dreadin’ it, whichever way the cookie turned. So I done the horse an’ even tucked ‘im up under a couple of blankets I stole of’v Annie’s Uncle Francois’ snowie. She’d feed ‘im oats, ‘e’d be all right there for t’night. An I ‘oped Annie’d thaw out laike t’orse would and forget them silly notions she’d got from t’Internet. Back in t’bar, I seen that t’newcomer had sat hersen at my table in t’corner. This weren’t too surprising since there were only that one. Annie were nowhere to be seen and I assumed she were off getting fodder for t’orse. ‘You’re Albert the Trapper, I hear,’ the lady said to me. BiGod were I relieved Annie’d kep’ ‘er trap shut about me real name! There were yet ‘ope. ‘Aye Aye! I am that,’ I said, recovering me poise somewhat. ‘And who may thee be if’n I may ask?’ She said something that sounded like SuFlutin’. ‘Glad to meet you Ms Sflutin’,’ I said taking the proffered hand, and ‘ow relieved I were when she said, ‘Please call me Sue!’ I mean, ‘Flutin’, Fludin? Whoever ‘erd on a name laike that? She were a bit on t’wrong side of 40, but she ‘ad a nice way with her. Blue eyes and cheeks that gradually lost their palor in the warmth of the room. ‘And what brings ‘e to Watson Creek,’ says I, I says. ‘I’m on the last lap of a long journey,’ says she. A faint but not unpleasant New York twang. ‘Six years of research and I’m almost at an end.’ ‘Research’, says I, I says, toying with the idea of telling ‘er ‘ow the great Bluenose hisself had been through just a few months earlier researchin’ RLD’s. But I stopped mesen in time! Bugger, it were a while since I’d seen a lady (Annie exceptin’, y’understand). ’Oo knows ‘ow er’n react if’n I tole her what t’RLD was!! Finally I managed ‘And what would be your line, exactly?’ ‘I’m an author,’ she said. She smiled. ‘I write books.’ I refrained from telling her that Yorkshire was parsimonious and din’t go much for tautology. Ooo it bugged me, it did, but I held me fire. You never know where y’are with women. No sensauma, a lot on ‘em. ‘My latest is almost complete. It’s called, ‘Modern Man to Cretinous Wretch: How Feminism can help!’ Took me a mo’ to ‘ssimilate, but I git there in the end and says ‘Oh!’, says I. I says ‘Oh!’ Well what the ‘ell can you say? ‘It’ll be my best ever.’ ‘Doubtless,’ says I, I says, making eyes at t’deer head on t’wall! Well to cut a long story short, we was there and there we was, there being no-where much one could go from the Croix d’Or once darkness struck with the temperature falling below minus 50. She tole me endlessly about ‘ow modern society ‘ad destroyed the psychological underpinnin’s that had supported mens’ lives for millenia. Men was unneeded, unwanted, incapable, despicable and self-despising. It weren’t their fault. Society had done it to them, great movements, ideas, shifts in centers of gravity, the great wave of social change that had amassed momentum as the millenium came to its close…… I let ‘er ramble. She ‘ad that gleam in ‘er eye, but she din’t seem, laike, to ‘ave a violent streak. After a while, though, I did concentrate more close. That were when she learned forward across the table and lowered her voice to a whisper, implying confidentiality. ‘Albert,’ she said. ‘You seem like a nice guy. I wonder if you could help me out?’ Albert’s eyes struggled not to widen. ‘You see,’ she continued. ‘Somewhere along the path out there I’m afraid…. I’m afraid my purse fell right out of my saddlebags. I only spotted it as I pulled up here in Watson Creek. I must have not fastened it securely.’ Those eyes! ‘I’d love to help, .. er.., Sue,’ said I, I says, ‘But there’s no finding t’purse in t’snow out there tonight. I’m sorry to tell ‘ee this, but t’purse is gone now until t’ snow melts, in ‘pproximately’ --- I luked at me wristwatch --- ‘ six month from now!’ ‘Yes!’ said Sue gloomily. ‘That’s what I thought too. Oh well.’ I wrestled with it, but the gleam in t’eye were too much for me. ‘Tell you what, though,’ I says, says I, leaning forward so that our heads was almost touching. ‘Annie’s got a real nice room up there. Warm, cosy. And she cooks up a fair turn. Dinner, Breakfast……… An’ we’ll need to take care of t’orse … and o’course tha sh’ll need a stake to get thee to t’ next port of call, shall we say……?’ (I mentioned a not unreasonable sum, Yorkshire, me, but not unreasonable!) Ah well. Judge me harshly if you must. But it were worth it just for the luke on Annie’s face!! MiGod if she coulda brought ‘ersen to kill, that were the night! Sue and me both, the pair on us! Lives on a knife’s edge!! 7. Sue gets her man. I’d ordered breakfast in bed for two as well. Poor Annie. That were rubbin’ it in and I did feel a bit of an ‘eel. But she’d brung it on ‘ersen! It weren’t my doin’. It were that IT crap. Sue’d bin t’bit comatoase, laike, but o’er breakfast s’ came back to life and as we sipped coffee she started with her bleedin’ questions. ‘Tell me Albert, when did you become aware of these feelings of inadaquacy?’ ‘Eh!’, I says, says I, puzzled. ‘Feelings of inadequacy? Should I ‘ave feelings of inadequacy? How many bloody times thee ‘spec t’get shagged in a night, then!?’ I were genuinely miffed! ‘But that’s precisely it, Albert,’ she said. Raising herself on her elbow. ‘Your voracious appetite told me immediately what we were into -- you were compensating!’ ‘Compensating? Compensating for what?’ ‘Compensating for the fact that your life has become so empty --- look, do you mind if I take a few notes? This could be just the perfect rounding off for my book!’ ‘Notes? Tak’ whatever notes tha’ laikes,’ says I, ’but I ‘ve a very different theory!’ ‘Which is?’ She was already scribbling furiously. ‘That I haven’t ‘ad it for 3 bleedin’ months and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, thee’s a damn good shag! Somewhat to my surprise, mind, but thee is!’ ‘Thank you Albert,’ Sue said with a fleetin’ smile that came an’ went. Then, all businesslaike, ‘But that really won’t do. The ‘abstinence theory’ was disproved utterly by Silvia Silverspoon, Julia Jumpjacket and Heather Hornybush in their definitive study ‘The Influence of Abstinence on the Sexual Potency of Live Caucasian Males’. No! It’s clearly a compensation. Now what I want to get into is what you are compensating for ---- well, your wretched, cretinous life of course, but how did you come to this? What steps did your fall from grace actually take? Now, as I understand, you had a double first in PPE and Psychology from Awksford, a PhD in Chemical Engineering from Caltech and a MBA from Chicago …. (Author’s note: Just a coupla’ of small porkies here !) ….. Sooooooooo. What was the route from there to…… this!?’ ‘Well,’ said I, I says, ‘I started out in the orl industry and made it to VP when sudden, I come to me senses. I think it were t’collar and tie. Throttled the ‘ell out of me one day and I thought, Bugger this, do I need it? So I quit.’ ‘You quit…’ scribble scribble ‘… your job as VP of…..’ ‘Sales and Marketing….’ ‘At..?’ ‘Amoco. Now all gobbled up in ‘t scramble for share’older value, tha’ knows.’ ‘Yes, yes, Amoco. And then?’ ‘Then I decided to make mesen independent, so I founded a company….’ ‘… company, Yes! What industry?’ ‘Information Technology. Silicon Valley. ‘An all.’ ‘…Yes…. And next…?’ ‘Got bit by the VC’s , sod their raddled nuts!! Lost it all.’ ‘Lost it all. Mmmm. So you’ve retired to the wilds of Northern Quebec to escape the ignominy of your failure to retain control of your company!’ ‘Oh No! By the time t’cunt VC’s got it, ‘er were worthless. I’d already started another. Took it to IPO retaining 30% holding…..’ ‘Aha…. And the IPO valuation was….’ ‘$200Million. Shares doubled in value within hours. Still sky-rocketing. More than quadrupled last week.’ ‘Aha Aha Aha!’ Scribble scribble scribble. ‘Wonderful. Stupendous. Fantastic! So you’re not only a total cretin, you’re a fabulously wealthy total cretin!! How magnificent! Sublime! The ultimate Fall from Grace! ’ ‘Glad you’re happy,’ says I, I says. (‘er weren’t makin’ that much sense at this point, I’sh’l ‘ave to admit. Put it down to pending PMS, me, an’ decided to humour ‘er, laike.) ‘Albert,’ she clutched the notebook to ‘er breast as though ‘er were precious. ‘You’ve no idea what this means to me. It’s what I’ve been looking for all along. The final perfect, ideal, epitomy of the entire thesis I have pursued for the past 6 years. Albert, you are not just part of my book. You ARE my book!!!’ And ‘er leant across an’ give me a big hug an’ a kiss, leapt out of bed, threw on those ridic’lous riding clothes and raced for the door clutching ‘er notebook. ‘Er paused in t’doorway: ‘Albert’, ‘er says, says ‘er, ‘Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!’ ‘My pleasure,’ I says, says I. She blew me a quick kiss and were gone. Three minutes later ‘er were back. ‘Er.. You said, about the…er-hem .. little something to tide me over….?’ Shame, shame! It’d felt so like girlfriend sex I’d damn forgot to pay! I wondered about her a lot since, poor dear. Nutty as a fruit cake, seven a’ half bricks short of a wall, but quite harmless. I weren’t sure how serious she were about that book ‘n hers, but I’m not worried about bein’ attributed. Can you imagine anyone even publishing a book with that title an’ such a load of drivel, let alone anyone readin’ it!! I tiptoed downstairs some time later hoping to get out without encounterin’ Annie, but o’course, that weren’t going to fly! She stood at the foot of the stairs arms akimbo. ‘How dare you do that to me!’ she screamed. ‘You and your damn, cheap ……’ ‘Annie! Annie!!’ I interrupted. ‘Language! ….. Outcall-Escort!! Right?’ I raced for the door and just got there ahead of flying cutlery. Cheekily, I opened it and peeped around. ‘An’ she din’t ask me for no ID neither!’ Crash!!!!!!!!!!!!! 8. Annie’s finds her voice. G’day y’all. I’m new to this so f’give me if I appear nervous. lol It’s ‘cos I am!! Well I just got this PC recently and this bloke, Clive his name is, nice guy, real cute butt!, ‘as shown me how to get on the web. And now I’m hooked up all the way from Watson Creek to Watford Junction. Fancy that!! And this is my first ever post!!!!!!!! lol J Now I don’t have long ‘cos I’ve a booking ;-) but I’ve been reading this ‘ere message board and there’s one or two things that need clearin’ up!!! It’s these stories that Albert been putting about -- I’ll ‘ave ‘is ‘ead next time he comes in here! First off, he calls himself a Trapper! Ha! LOLOLOLOLOL!!!! Him, a trapper!!!!!!!!! All he ever trapped was ‘is finger in the door! Trapper!… LOLOlolol He’s a bleeding accountant in Toronto, that’s what! Well he calls himself a ‘stockbroker’, but accountant is what I think he is! Stockbroker wouldn’t be so damn stingy! He’s one of them that’s bored sh**less with their jobs. So every once in a while he ‘ops on his HD and nips up to Sioux Saguanay, ‘undred mile south of here, rents a snowmobile and up he comes to Watson Creek. Population 6, says ‘e! Ha!! LOLOL!! There’s 3000 if there’s a man, and I’ve got ‘em all to myself ;-) ;-) -- well, there’s Fat Fanny arrived in town last week, but there’s plenty of meat to go round. Just hope that Clive doesn’t put a spoke in me wheel!. Y’now how it is with men. You find one you wanna keep, and what happens? No UNDERSTANDING for the trade AT ALL Y’know what I mean? ROFL!! ………. …. And just wait ‘til that Albert gets back ‘ere. He’ll get more’n ‘is ears boxed, that’s for sure!! Won’t be for a while, mind, he’s on his way down to the Caribbean ‘…..for the millenium, Annie’ ‘e says, says ‘e! OhMyOhMy!! LaDiDa!! ROFL So I’ll just have to save it all up ‘til he gets back. But I won’t forget. Not me. Not Annie!!!! L Well, there’s a bunch of stuff I want to tell you girls about escorting in the Far North, but I just don’t have …OhMiGod lol Look at the time….! And me not done me nails yet!!….. OH!! Lololol… Almost forgot. That Albert ‘as the gall to call me PegLeg!! God knows what they get in their preverted brains these men. Anyway, girls, just so’s you know, it’s all a total fiction! I got the trimmest pins in town -- ask anyone within a hundred miles of Watson Creek lol ;-) Ah, Yes! You’re wondering about my e-mail address I’ll tell you ‘ow that happened, I tried Annie and that came back, so I tried Annie1 and that came back and so on until at Annie21 I give up and I got mad and I thought to mesen’ ‘I’ll get these Hotmail boogers’ and I typed in PegLegAnnie. Course, they had the last laugh ‘cos once you’re in you can’t change your handle. So I’m stuck with it lol. Ohwell could be worse hehe Bye for now! ;-) And Happy Holidays to you all!! 9. Good for Annie! Hello? It’s me again, Annie, and I jus’ HAD TO TELL YA!!!! GUESS WHAT!! I got ME A JOB! LOL !! And Vancouver, that’s where! No more stuck in this ‘ole Watson Creek! An’ no more frozen tits from October to May!! It’s this web thing. It’s amazing. So liberating! I ‘ave that Clive to thank even if I did ‘ave to throw the bastard out the winda when I caught him being chased out of Fat Fanny’s across the street. Dancin’ around in the snow trying to get his pants on hehe lol --- shoulda left ‘im out there to freeze to death like a plucked chicken! But No! Soft hearted me. Jes’ like a stupid woman. But ‘e were out in t’ morning, I can tell thee that. Where were I? Oh Yeah! I got onto an IT-Jobmart and THEY PICKED ME there and then on the spot. GOD WAS I made up!!! LOL ‘An I web-auctioned the Croix d’Or t’ very next day. I said it were an hotel hehe but by the time the mug that bought it finds out I’ll be out and about, over and away WHEEHEEEEEE!!!! lol lol Oh by the way, that Albert were up here last week. Y’know, one calls hisself ‘the Trapper’ hehe lol rofl Well guess what!? Here’s me wondering how to break it to him that I’m hangin’ up me knickers when out he comes and says, ‘Annie,’ he says, says ‘e, ‘I going away now. I may be some time!’ Tales from the Tundra Ch. 1 He said it so dramatic, laike. Kinda took me breath away for a mo. I give ‘im a look, but then I thought, BLOODY MEN! Here’s me got something really interesting going on in my life for once, and this booger comes out with a thing like that. I coulda clocked ‘im!! I thought, ‘Stuff ‘im then! I ain’t tellin’ ‘im!’ (I did in the end though. Couldn’t resist! Jus’ can’t keep me gob shut, me!! lol) But ‘e w’un’t say where he were goin’ and I think I know why! Guess what I found goin’ through ‘is pockets while he were snorin’ away -- well you do, don’t you. I mean, who knows what you find. Train ticket, Toronto – Sioux Saguanay – Toronto, that’s what! So I thought to mesen’, Aye aye --- bloody hell I’m soundin’ like ‘im lol lol !! -- he’s sold his Harley D.! Now THAT’s serious stuff. If he’s ever been in love in his life, that Albert, it’s with that bike. So I tell you what I think. ‘E’s BEEN LAID OFF! That’s what I think. Well, it stands to reason dunnit! I mean, what with Microsoft Works, Quicken Pro and stuff, WHO NEEDS ACCOUNTANTS these days. Dyin’ breed. an’ good bloody riddance, says I! AINIT GREAT THOUGH! Me with a job and ‘im laid off. OOHH! I were made up!! lol Now before I go, I’ve got something to say to you girls there in the UK! You think you’re all so smart and edificated don’t you. LOL But you don’t know everything. I were watchin’ this thing on the box, old BBC re-run --- all you ever get these days on CBC. Well anyway, maybe you know better by now, but in case not, I’d jes’ like to leave you with this final thought:- IF YOU THINK LUMBERJACKS SLEEP ALL NIGHT AND WEAR WOMEN’S CLOTHES, TRY BOOKING ONE!!! ROFL ROFL LOL !!!!!!!!! 10. The Arctic Fox. I 'ope yer readin' me. Tiddley Lake's e-Café -- well, primitive as t'Bratford privvie! So I'm postin' blind, so to speak. No idea whether this damn thing connected to owt! Any roads, jus' want t' sign off, so t'speak. Off a'ter t'Arctic White Fox up t'Yellow river. I wish 'ee'd mak up t'mind! One year t'fox about extinct, t'next thee'r breedin' like fookin' rabbits..! ..! Any roads, there's nobbut a single e-café 'twixt Watson Creek and t'Yellow river, an' this be it, so don't b' 'spectin' to hear from Albert t'Trapper any time soon! (Not that tha' gives a damn, I'm sure.) Any roads -- Oh by the way, PegLegAnnie's 'ung up 'er knickers!! Can t' believe!!!! By God'm ‘er 'as!!! Got some kind of job in t'hotel in Vancouver, Director of Caterin' or s'umpn'. Trumped up waitress I'll be bound. Mind you, she lernt that computer damn fast! Dab 'and, 'ats off! An' I bet it won't be long afore she starts getting 'the itch' if tha’ gnaws what I mean. Wi'all them fine gents at'hotel! She'll be set up!! Any roads, life moves on. Tak' a month or so to get t' t' trappin grounds. Skirtin' Hudson Bay --- gotta laugh when I think back! Albert Bay she used to call it. 'An I were 'udson!! Jane! Wot a lass!! Wanted a house -- 'hise' 'er pronounced it, rhymes with mice!! Brain like a pea!! I 'eard ‘er left One-eyed Pierre when ‘er found out about all them wives. OOoo what a bugger 'e were! Lyin' swine! Anyway, no room at the inn these parts, I c'n tell thee! No sense takin' 'em back jes' for t'same shit all o'er agin!………… ………Not that er's arsked, mind! Any roads, who needs women. Tonight I'll get a roaring log fire goin' and lie in me sleeping bag 'n watch t'winter sun go down on 'udson Bay. No finer sight than that in all t’ world. Aye the female form's a sight to behold, it is an' all. But 'ee's ten a penny, women. Thee can 'ave 'em. An I'll ave this! Eat yer 'arts out! I'm a lucky bloke! Count yer blessin's, I say. ==========================================