Kung Fu Sing

Sleep well.

A wee bit more from Bast. I don’t like the way this part reads, so there is most likely another re-write on the horizon. The picture ↑ has The Kung Fu Sing embedded within.

Hamish

My name is Tilda, and I am a witch, just not your cliche’ woodcut defined witch, and I am definitely not, nor have ever been a dangly occult jewellery wearer, nor am  I of the pointy black hat, warty nose persuasion.

No, for a start I, Tilda, was in my early 700’s when Bast and I first met.

In “Highland Spinster Today” it had been chiselled in stone that I was a young, hip, upwardly mobile, no nonsense witch.  That I had read magazines, wore trousers, a burning offense, plus, my sensible footwear was made by ‘Birkenpeasant’, their main store four miles off. I had been voted the “Highlands most combustible, and eligible, spinster” two years consecutively as an after thought.

One of the few cliche’ witch things that I did succumb to, was flight.  Again, not quite the garden variety witch form of flight.  No, no.  I ride a long handled shovel – narrow head.  Why?  It is nigh on impossible to bury a) – the evidence, b) – the neighbours feral Tom, c) – that cheating bastard, d) – all of the above, with a broom.  Brooms to me are the equivalent of trying to wallpaper the kid’s rooms with a fish.  No matter how hard you try, it just will not happen.

And then I met Bast…………

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