Open/close side menu
C.C. Hogan

What the Fairy did Next

Comment on this article

August 12, 1919

I am in trouble again.  To tell the truth, I am beginning to sense a pattern, a pattern that starts all light and pretty and ends up in twisted knots with me stuck in the middle of it.  It appears that a prank I and a couple of other girls pulled two summers ago might have come back to bite me somewhere soft and painful.  Now, I need to get the facts right here.

So, I graduated with top Fairy Grades a couple of years ago, though I did not get the prized apple stick wand; that went to the somewhat odorous Pixie Lee.  To be honest, those fruit stick wands are a bit of a let-down; they are meant to be all natural, straight from the tree, but in reality they have ugly little nobbly bits that get caught in the gossamer all the time and get mistaken as potential nesting material by pie-escapee blackbirds. 

Anyway, back in 1917, according to my notes, we went on a countryside rampage and found a couple of home-counties babes prancing around a river and playing spot the fairy; an interesting game since the only thing mythical round the area was a small, piker of a field dragon, but he was curled up dead asleep in a tree hollow twenty feet off the ground, so they were not going to spot him any time soon.

As fairies, we are not really meant to go off on unsanctioned (and unpaid) teasing jaunts, but you have to have your fun!  So we flew down and started striking poses and peaking round bushes and dive bombing the girls, that sort of thing.  Anyway, they ran off in fright and that was the end of that. It was a nice little river, so since none of us had any work yet we decided to hang around for a few days.  The river had a really fertile mixture of light and shade and there were loads of mosses, herbs and some pretty amazing mushrooms hidden between rocks and trees; enough for some serious brew ups.  Well, come the weekend and with the help of a great full moon shining down on our cauldron (fired up by the unwilling dragon), we were pretty much legless and wingless and ready for just about anything.  Esme, my best friend that week, had spent a day and a half trying to flirt with the dragon (not that he was interested in something as flammable as a fairy) and was now going through drunken rejection episodes that were getting a bit leery, to be honest.

So, who shows up in the middle of this party?  The two young babes, brimming with bravado.  Now, if any one of us had been even slightly close to sober, we would have got out of there and that would have been that.  But no, we were a right naughty bunch of Shebas and so we played.  We flew round their heads, did little routines on the grass and generally put on a right show.  It didn’t last very long; as the evening drew in the older of the girls took the younger one home.  And that was all of it. We sobered up and got back to our lives, end of story.  Until this morning when the fairy agency sent me a note with three words written in very large letters:

“You were photographed.”

Oh, Horsefeathers!


Next: December 20, 1920 »

  1. What the Fairy did Next
  2. March 31, 1912
  3. September 30, 1916
  4. August 12, 1919
  5. December 20, 1920
  6. June 13, 1921
  7. July 28, 1925
  8. February 21 1935
  9. March 24 1943, Asia
  10. December 4, 1959
  11. January 24, 1961
  12. May 22, 1971
  13. March 31 2012


Please feel free to comment - no anger, no bad vibes, no trashing people. Just sit around, enjoy a flagon of bear and mull over the world You can login with Disqus, Facebook, Twitter or Google.

Deep in the Dark Forest

Keep up with my Podcast

Series One & Two are out now!

Start series one with Dirt for Free, and start reading the brand new series two with Girls of Dirt for only 99p!

Girls of Dirt includes a recap of series one.

Get it now at the Dirt website

The Stink Is Here

North London, 1976. The longest, hottest summer on record. The water is running out and the kids hate their parents. Which bunch of idiots would think it is a good idea to start a band?

The Stink

Visit The Stink Website