This week’s words: Score Cluster Sorrow Limestone Hierogram (a sacred symbol, as an emblem, pictograph, or the like.) TTTC stands for Thrown to the Clocks it was too long for the wordle image hence the abbreviation (Overly harsh or unreasonable punishment) Blur Handwritten Friction Crisis Perception Kindle
Gladys Smudge looked at the score. Virgins 3 – Crones 1
At that very moment the teams were clustered round the Virgin goal, as Candix Daub was about to take a corner. In the goal square the Crones awaited, elbows out, feet tripping, bums bumping, it was a sight to behold.
Gladys expected the Crones to win. It was sorrowful watching them as they kicked, scratched and repelled their opponents but still failed to score.
It wasn’t a matter of football skill for the Crones, they never purported to have any, it was more a matter of their appearance and the hideousness of their behaviour. When they lined up against you and you realised that each was uglier than the previous one, it was without doubt an intimidating sight.
Gladys herself had spent years in the Limestone caves honing her skills, shaping her hands so that they now resembled talon like claws. It was here she had discovered the hierogram of the twisted snake around a boiling cauldron in the back of the cave. Suddenly her destiny was there in front of her, a soccer coach.
She looked up in time to see Palsy Pustula snorting to herself as she headed the cross from Candix into the net. She was immediately mobbed by the Crones all of them salivating in anticipation of an anticipated victory.
The Virgins hated the Crones scoring because the salivation was such that the ball was wet and one of them had to carry the thing back to half way and a ball dripping with Crone saliva was not the way you wanted to kick off. It was akin to being TTTCd, like as if it wasn’t hard enough facing up to them you had to endure their disgusting habits.
As the kick-off occurred Gladys received a handwritten note from Lozatron Chookpen the team statistician. Lozatron had a habit of kindling a good fight whenever she could. Loxatron had spent years perfecting her crone features and along with Manster Smurter, the team goal keeper with her flowing locks of greyish hair, had gone head to head, literally with an array of plastic surgery procedures to produce the better cronish features. And they had succeeded though Lozatron was certain she was the more cronish of the two.
But right now Gladys could see a crisis developing as the game neared its end and friction between players suggested any perception that the game was going to end favourably for either side would be a huge misconception.
As the ball came down the wing, Manster Smurter centred to Candix who passed to Palsy who then found Hilda the More Hideous (Her sister Hermione, was hideous but Hilda outshone her in that department) on the far wing. In what could only be described as a blur of movement Hilda lofted the ball to the centre where Candix headed the ball into the net. The Virgins were lying everywhere nursing sore heads and other body parts, which they immediately checked to make sure, were still intact.
The full time whistle sounded, the score and result to the Crones, the cackle of victory heard a mile away in the village where the publican put down his kindle, kindled the fire and prepared for a long night.