cool | princessdippy

10 facts about me (I can’t promise they’re interesting)

Posted on September 20, 2019 by Anna

Magic runs in my blood. My Grandad was a magician and quite high up in the Magic Circle. He created new tricks, shuffles, and could manipulate cards in a way that would make your eyes bend.

I celebrated my 17^th birthday up a mountain in Nepal whilst trekking the Langtang Valley. In the summer between AS and A Levels I went to Nepal for a month or so on a trip organised by my school. We spent just under a fortnight working in a school; painting murals in the classrooms. Following that we trekked for another two weeks, walking through landscapes which looked like they were straight out of Lord of the Rings and camping at the foot of a glacier. Finally, we finished off with a few days in Kathmandu and a day white water rafting.

Elephants make me cry because I love them so much.

I am a qualified BASI Level 1 ski instructor. After having been strapped into a pair of skis since I could stand up, I gained my instructor’s qualification a few years ago and did a stint teaching at Sheffield Ski Village.

I have an IQ of 157. Despite this I still try to get out of the car before taking my seatbelt off and ask questions like, “where is Lincoln castle?”.

I LOVE dinosaurs and when I was little I was obsessed and dreamt of being a palaeontologist, that was after I realised that being Boba Fett wasn’t an option.

I struggle to keep my eating disorder in “recovery” mode.
If you know, you know. If you don’t, wish to keep it that way.

The first thing I ever drove was an army Land Rover. It was on the ranges at Beckingham camp and considering I’d never been behind the wheel of anything before I did well! I didn’t stall, crash, or roll it. I even managed to successfully navigate the gearbox, if you’ve ever driven an army Land Rover you’ll know what I mean.

I know how to take the wheel off an artillery gun, but do I fuck know how to take one off a car!

I just want to go to Disney World in Florida. That’s all I want in life and I want to go soon, before I’m too old (outlook not looking hopeful).

Fashion; the fabric that binds it all together.

Posted on September 11, 2019 by Anna

Try and tell me that fashion isn’t important.

Go on, I’ll listen……..

Tell me how it’s “just clothes” and taking an interest in shoes, different types of fabric, and fashion designers is just girly and stupid.

The fact is that fashion is vitally important, but not everyone realises it (or at least not to its full extent)

Most people see clothes as just necessity and don’t have strong opinions with regards to what they wear, or don’t see what they wear as holding some form of deeper and intelligent statement.

“Just jeans and a t-shirt will do, maybe a hoodie if it gets a bit chilly.” That seems to be the approach of many. Convenience and simplicity, the choice of t-shirt might be one branded with a particular slogan or symbol; which is still a conscious fashion choice. You might want to wear a t-shirt with your favourite band’s logo, characters from a film or tv show, or maybe it’s just a shirt that does nothing more than tell us where you bought it from e.g. Lacoste or Lyle and Scott.

There are a lot of people who will always purchase the latest fashion trend, they MUST have whatever the media and the celebs tell us to wear, and god forbid should they wear anything that was in fashion more than 12 months ago! However, despite these people always being ‘on trend’ and appearing to be fashionable, they’re not always the ones who truly appreciate what they’re buying into. They just want to make sure they conform and look good, fearful of not being cool and having the piss taken out of them. Clothes are easily expendable and fast fashion is their bitch! Wear something once and throw it away because people have seen you in it now, it’s already been used in an Instagram post so, can’t wear that again!

Finally, there are those who really love fashion, they appreciate true style and the timelessness of certain pieces. They know where influences come from and can see how we have got to where we are by respecting history. These people will embrace new trends, but not let go of the past, because it’s the past which made the present. They can spot a Dior silhouette and would give their left ear for a Philip Treacy hat.

True appreciation for style means that you will present yourself according to your own personality and using the archives of fashion you can create unique beauty.

Taking an interest in fashion and fashion designers isn’t a non-subject.

Coming from an old public school and classical education background I know a “Mickey Mouse subject” when I see one. Going to college or university to study subjects like kite flying are not *real* subjects. Fashion on the other hand is a subject, it’s art history. It encompasses design, culture, creation, art, politics, sociology, and history (lots of history).

Let me briefly (but not quite so briefly) give you an insight into what I am failing to get across to you….

History

Fashion tells a story; it’s the past and the future. We all know it goes in cycles. I was born in the 80s and I am now seeing the big high street shops sell styles and clothing that I wore as a kid. The current trend of ripped jeans, a t-shirt, Converse,and a plaid shirt tied around the waist is highly reminiscent of the Grunge movement in the early – mid 90s. The only thing that grinds my gears about the modern variation of this look is that a lot of the band t-shirts are being worn by people who’ve never heard of The Ramones (but they’ll wear the shirt because Urban Outfitters told them to).

The history of fashion is known to us all. If I say Tudor Period to you I guarantee you think of men wearing tights with short poofy trousers, and a ruff around their neck, you’ll picture Henry VIII or Shakespeare. You know that the 1920s gave us Flappers and there was once a time when bullet bras werefashionable (yikes).

Throughout history (but more importantly the past century) pop culture, music, and fashion have all moved in the same circles and occasionally they get together to make the next fashion forward love child.

In the 1960s there were the MODs who were massively influenced by bands like The Who, The Rolling Stones, and Rod Stewart. Their fashion was a departure from the Teddy Boy look of the 1950s which came over from America; instead they turned to Italian, slim fit suits, parka jackets, and polo shirts. They shunned branded clothing, had attention to detail, and an eye for classic design.

The 1970s gave us hippies, punk, and disco. We are all familiar with huge afro hair, bell-bottomed trousers, bright colours, and platform shoes. Similarly, we are also aware of the mohawk, bondage trousers, monochrome, and army boots. When it came to hippies and disco the silhouette was tight on top and loose on the bottom. Due to a shift in women’s rights there was a change in what the market and our new society were asking for. Yves Saint Laurent was one of the designers who embraced change and designed stylish trouser suits purposefully tailored for women.
Punk music was the anarchistic child of MODs and Rockers. Bands like the Sex Pistols, Blondie, and The Clash came onto the scene in the latter part of the decade and their followers were a fashionably hostile gang who screamed on the battlefield of style. Clothing was mainly torn and shredded. Safety pins were a popular accessory and often used to purposefully hold together ripped garments, but they were also pierced through the ears or nose. Offensive slogans and images were printed on t-shirts; including swastikas. Savage music bred savage fashion, these kids were angry, and the establishment was their punchbag.

They were sick of the perceived excesses and pretension of mainstream culture. The gender boundaries were sometimes blurred as women shaved their heads or kept their hair short. Bondage trousers, fishnets, and spiked dog collars also became part of the punk movement; items which would be picked back up again by Jean-Paul Gautier and the goths of the 1990s.

The punk movement did continue into the 1980s, but it was dominated by 80s FASHION!!! I love all things 80s, everything was big and that is never a bad thing. Huge shoulder pads, big hair, lose fitting clothing, mohair jumpers, jumpers with gawdy designs that are so awful they’re amazing, and leggings (I legitimately don’t know what I would wear if we didn’t have leggings, I can’t even remember a time before leggings!). Music at the time was Madonna, Duran Duran, new romantics like Boy George and Adam Ant gave a huge creative boom to artistic expression and androgyny. Style emphasised excess, expensive clothes, and heavy accessories. Costume jewellery and large faux gold earrings were popular, coupled with garments dripping in sequins. The colour scheme of the 80s was very bright and the whole decade seemed vibrant. Women were now no longer an unusual sight in the workplace and power dressing was born. Ever seen the film Working Girl? That perfectly showcases the 80s woman who has finally found power and equality (or even dominance) over men, Sigourney Weaver’s character is iconic. The New Romantics used individualism and creativity and presented flamboyant androgyny. Popular items across both genders would be dramatic makeup, ruffled poet shirts, hussar jackets, waistcoats, crushed velvet, and Regency era fashion.

I was born in 1985 which means that by the late 1990s I was only just starting to become self-aware with regards to clothing and as time went on I could start to make my own fashion choices as opposed to the Laura Ashley filledwardrobe my mum would force me to wear. As a 90s kid we were influenced by boybands, grunge and goth. We saw the rise of the tom boy (me) and denim found its resurrection moment; reaching its final form with double denim! Style wasn’t as outlandish as it had been in the previous decade, we’d tried to smarten ourselves up a bit, but also make ourselves fitter. The revolution that was boy and girl bands forced the image into the media of super fit, skinny (in the case of the girls), and very muscly (guys). Continuing the 80s aerobic fashion trend, the 90s included sportswear, tight vest tops, ANYTHING with Calvin Klein written on it, six packs, and those Adidas poppers (yes, I had a pair)! The 90s gave us the size zero body, an unhealthy must-have which is a painful subject for another blog.

As previously mentioned there was the darker side of 90s fashion. Grunge music was a remnant of punk, but also had relatives in rock music. Nirvana were the main grunge band, until the untimely death of Kurt Cobain in 1994. Following them we had Soundgarden and Pearl Jam. Grunge then evolved quickly and the next thing to come along was Metal and all its subgenres (of which there are loads). Slipknot, System of a Down, Marilyn Manson, KoRn, and Linkin Park are just a few bands I could mention. In the fashion world this rekindled the shock factor of Punk trends and we were back to wearing all black, tearing our clothes, being offensive, and wearing clothing that doubled us as weaponry. I belonged to the goth/alternate crowd and I would either wear black bondage trousers or enormously baggy jeans, a tight t-shirtwith some form of slogan on it, elbow length fishnet gloves, a green army shirt with a German flag on the arm, a spiked dog collar, and a miserable face. I have since lost the German army shirt and bondage trousers, but still own the rest (and more). I happily still wear the things I can still fit into; I wonder where by baggy jeans are……

From about 2003 onwards fashion and music don’t seem to have such a close relationship anymore, they don’t work in tandem as much. It’s as if they’re on a running track where one is sprinting and the other having a casual jog; occasionally they cross paths, but mainly it’s music which is moving too fast, it’s fickle and ever changing. Fashion will now tend to pick up trends from individuals in the media andpop culture derived from film and TV instead of music.

TV shows such as Peaky Blinders have had a direct influence on men’s fashion (including their hair). The popularity of beards and that ‘peaky blinders haircut’ had already begun not long before we were introduced to Thomas Shelby. Shops like Master Debonair are taking off and finally giving us well dressed and, let’s face it, sexily dressed men, thank you!

Even more recently we are seeing a huge movement by way of abandoning fast fashion and breathing life into second-hand clothing; a drive which, when you investigate it, flies the flag for the environment and political rebellion (and our pockets).

Now, I know I have so far stuck to the correlation between music and fashion throughout the decades, but that is important to demonstrate the importance and effect fashion has on society, culture, and you can pinpoint a period by looking at what someone is wearing.

Fashion history does go deeper, obviously.

If you watch the documentary films which have been made about Alexander McQueen, Vivienne Westwood, and Manolo Blahnik you will see that these designers don’t just blindly design without the inspiration of centuries gone by at their back. They know the tight engineering that goes into making a corset, they understand what differences can be made according to the structure of a shoe, and they appreciate the reminiscent beauty in a powdered wig. Alexander McQueen looked deep into his Scottish heritage, the “ethnic cleansing” carried out by the British in the mid-18th Century, and thefabrics and styles of the time and region in preparation for his Highland Rape collection. Whilst heading up Givenchy he took inspiration for his first collection from Ancient Greece and Rome. Inspired by the Givenchy logo he was automatically drawn to graceful white and gold garments draped elegantly to create pieces that could have come from Mount Olympus itself. These people know their shit.

These artists and creators can turn swathes of fabric into whatever they want, they are gods!

Their work can touch you on numerous levels.

Self-expression and Identity

Fashion is personal identity and a way of letting people know who you are from a distance; they can merely walk past you in the street and get an impression of who you are.

Even in work where we need to conform to corporate dress code and look like we all came out of the same smart casual zombie factory; people still let their personal fashion show. You might choose to always wear fabulous shoes, coloured shirts instead of white, or you could pick a sexy tweed number with elbow pads over a plain black suit.

You subconsciously think about fashion more than you realise.

Even for someone like me who has a mixed self-image that changes with the seasons and my mood, fashion is still my way of expressing who I am on that particular day. I still have my spiked dog collar, New Rock boots, and Marilyn Manson hoodie; they are the solid foundations upon which my “goth wardrobe” is built on.

To see people who go against the curve and dress how they want is so heart-warming. It’s so refreshing to see, in an oceanof people all wearing the same thing, someone stand out. I applaud that person who has the balls to wear what they feel.

Why should we be afraid to dress how we want and work our look on the catwalk that is life? We don’t do the same when we open our mouth; we openly discuss our hobbies, interests, opinions, and things we love. If you like something, wear it. Why should we be subdued and follow the herd when it comes to what we wear?

Fashion is a double-edged sword I guess. We are all sold the same thing from numerous shops, they all peddle the same trend with only slight variation. We want to fit in and be accepted by everyone which leads us to buy the latest pair of trainers or cry profusely because crop tops are in, but you’re a fat mess.

We have an unshakeable need to be part of the in-crowd, whilst simultaneously screaming “Nope. I am my own person.I’m a grown up human and I do what I want”. So, then we go for an outlandish fashion choice, maybe it’s something still bought in a high street shop, but it’s garish (for you) and you’ve no idea what to wear it with, but you try anyway. You scamper confidently out of your front door, proud of the fact you have chosen to wear something that made your personality feel all warm and fuzzy. Fingers crossed it all goes well, and your new outfit is met with positive responses and it just snowballs into a beautiful confidence that inspires you to continue wearing what you want because it’s who you are.

That’s how it should be.

“the worst fashion faux pas is to look in the mirror and not see yourself” – Iris Apfel

Politics & Anarchy

I remember being stood outside a Vivienne Westwood shop when I was about sixteen just in awe at the most beautiful suit I have ever seen; a white high collared shirt, shiny orb buttons, a red tartan asymmetric skirt with a jacket to match – the whole thing went together perfectly and held itself almost without the need for a mannequin – exquisite. I looked like the last person in the world who would appreciate and be moved by high fashion, dressed like something that just crawled out of Azkaban, but don’t forget that Vivienne Westwood was a huge part of Punk history and therefore a huge influence on myself and the pop culture I was embodying. Even though her designs are now far removed from the clothes she made for the Sex Pistols back in 1977 I still adore her style; the tartan, the non-conformity by using asymmetry, the tight and perfect fit of the jacket, the fact that even though this is something you could wear in a board room it still screamed “fuck you!”. I’m confident in saying that a lot of people who know the name of Westwood, maybe have one of her bags slung over their shoulder, or just wear a t-shirt because it cost a lot of money and want to show off are totally ignorant to the incredible woman behind it all and would never think that her current work is in any way related to where she started; rising to fame by defacing the image of the Queen and then becoming a Dame.

“I’m bored with fashion and much more concerned about the health of the planet. We barely have a generation to change things before it’s too late!”

Vivienne has now handed over design of her house’s fashion to her husband and long-time collaborator, Andreas Kronthaler in order for her to focus more on her furious campaign for our climate. She fights global warming and keeps a blog called Climate Revolution.

“We have an enormous global problem; our politicians are not listening to our scientists. We have barely 20 years to stop things, otherwise we shall reach a tipping point and we can draw a line across the earth and everywhere below Paris will be uninhabitable”

Westwood also works via the Cool Earth Movement, helping to save the rainforest not by buying it, but helping indigenous people to get legal documents to own their piece of forest; a campaign that could save the land for mere hundreds of thousands of pounds (not that much when you think about it).

She has even gone so far as to say that we should buy less, choose well, and make it last. Or even better, don’t buy at all! A revolutionary stance for a fashion designer, but she is that concerned over the state of our planet, the toxic mass production of items, and the throw away attitude of cheap, fast fashion that she has even said “I wish they wouldn’t” when asked in 2012 whether she wanted people to buy her latest collection. She promotes art and culture over spending and waste.

It takes a certain type of person to not just wear Westwood, but to wear it and evoke the emotion and history she puts into her work. She is one of my biggest heroes and I love her.

Another personal hero of mine is Alexander McQueen. He could create things that will literally make you cry. Flawless pieces which came from a mind which seemed to have a higher level of vision and imagination. If you can find a spare 90 minutes to watch the McQueen documentary film on Netflix I urge you to do so!

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McQueen was often branded as a misogynist, but he was the complete opposite. He worshipped women and put them high up on the biggest ivory pedestal he could envisage. The reason so many critiqued his work as anti-women was because his shows made the audience feel uncomfortable, and that was the point! He constantly seemed to focus on the victim, in his Highland Rape show and Jack the Ripper Stalks His Victims his aim was to actually make women look powerful, turning them into menacing creatures. He wanted people to fear the women who wore his clothes. He confronted violence against women, something which he had witnessed his sister be victim of.

His collection simply entitled No.13 challenged the limitations of conventional beauty and we saw Paralympic athlete Aimee Mullins walk the runway in a pair of hand-carved elm wood prosthetic legs.

Bringing forward the issues of mental health, insanity and questioning the boundaries of normality McQueen gave us his Voss show. The audience were sat in a three–sided auditorium, so that they surrounded the area where the models would be walking, with mirrored glass separating them from the performance. He made everyone wait an hour before the showbegan and the audience had no choice but to sit there and stare at their own reflection in the glass before them, uncomfortably looking into their own being whilst waiting for the lights to come up. Models like Erin O’Connor mimicked inmates of a mental institution and interacted with their reflections in the mirrored wall of their stage. O’Connor wore a razor clam encrusted dress and McQueen had instructed her to break the shells off, she left the stage with blood dripping from her hands. The grand finale saw a glass box (which had been present centre-stage during the entire show) break open to reveal a voluptuous nude in a gas mask reclining on a chaise longue, covered in moths. Glass shards and moths flew across the room in a dark and chilling scene inspired by Joel-Peter Witkin’s work Sanitorium (1939).

McQueen’s work is something I find hard to put into words, it’s more of something you feel. He manages to make you feel strong emotions through his work. Something that sounds so strange if you say it simply, “look at this dress, it’ll make you cry”. This level of talent and the issues he brought forward were controversial genius at its finest.

Other instances where fashion has been more than just clothes

During World War 1 women were prompted to work in factories for the first time and therefore required to wear trousers. This was revolutionary in introducing not only trousers to the female wardrobe, but introducing the military cut to a realm outside of the battlefield.

In 1998 supermodel, Iman interviewed fellow model Waris Dirie to bring attention to the issue of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) for Vogue Magazine. The pair are both from Somalia and Waris is a victim of FGM. They were photographed beautifully dressed in bright colours and traditional Somali inspired dresses, looking strong and regal.

In his Spring collection of 2016 Kerby Jean-Raymond used fashion to highlight the Black Lives Matter campaign and also addressed the problems of police brutality.

John Galliano is a visionary and sparks debate beyond the catwalk by using social and historical issues as his weapons. The Dior couture collection of 2000 was inspired by homeless people and Galliano dressed his models in baggy clothes with torn linings, accessories like whiskey bottles and safety pins. New York times famously commented on the collection by saying, “which is worse? A Paris fashion designer who wants to look at the homeless as aesthetic objects, or a New York mayor who doesn’t want to look at them at all?”. I have an inkling that Galliano’s collection inspired and was parodied by the film Zoolander when the character, Mugatu delivers a show called Derelicte.

Demna Gvasalia brought raw chic to the catwalk using bold cuts and non-conventional design in the collection created for Balenciaga. The show was reminiscent of post-Soviet 90s evoking economic instability, political uncertainty, and disappointment in Soviet ideals. The oversized handbags alluded to shuttle traders and the IKEA business model, turning the democratisation of fashion on its head.

Fashion allows even the most unpolitical of us to join a cause in our own pedestrian way.

After all of this waffling on, and let’s face it, if you’re reading this you have survived just under 4,000 words of absolute twaddle (I applaud you), but no, after all of this rambling about I hope that I have somehow managed to convey the importance of fashion, even if it’s only slightly!

I wanted to touch more on how designers are experts in their craft and the deeper history of fashion and how they bring it all forward to us, but maybe another time.

I suppose the point I am trying to make is that day-to-day fashion, what we all throw on before leaving the house, doesn’t have to come from fashion houses like Gautier and Chanel, you don’t have to shun modern trends and ignore popular high street brands, I’m not telling you to deny yourself of what you like. What I am saying is that fashion is often cast aside without consideration as being unimportant, but there is a deeper meaning to it.

Wear what you want. Appreciate where it comes from. Learn your pop culture history. Show everyone who you are. But try to heed our lady Westwood’s words and make it last!!

The Battle of Hastings – fish and chips Vs wine and cheese.

Posted on January 6, 2017 by Anna

To mark the anniversary of Harold Godwinson’s coronation on this day in 1066, here is the story of how he came to gain (and lose) his crown.

As we all know, families do not come without their little squabbles. The royal families of medieval Europe were known for being quite combative with one another on account of them having all married one another. Inbreeding not only lowers the gene pool and creates some odd looking characters, it also lowers the IQ and thus rendering those further down the inbred family tree closer to a cabbage than a human being when it comes to the powers of logic and reason.

Their royal bickering wasn’t to do with who spent more on who for their birthday, or who wasn’t invited to so-and-so’s wedding, instead they fought over the thrones of Europe. It was a family rift such as this in the 11th century which lead to a slight altercation some people refer to as, The Battle of Hastings.

When king Edward the Confessor died in January of 1066 there was nobody left to officially succeed him because he had failed to produce an heir – too much time spent in the confessional and not in the bedroom methinks.

Edward was married to the only daughter of Godwin of Wessex, the most powerful family in England. With his dying breath, Edward announced his brother-in-law, Harold Godwinson (Earl of Wessex) as his successor. This caused problems almost right away because newly crowned King Harold II’s brother, Tostig and the Viking king Harald Hardrada also had their greedy little eyes on the crown.

It was at the Battle of Stamford Bridge where the dreams of a crown and potential Viking-English unification were squashed when Harold defeated both Tostig and Harald. Thus ended, as he thought, the fight for the crown, and also the confusion people were faced over being understood as to which Harold they were talking about – people felt stupid having to over pronounce
Har-O-ld and Har-A-ld; it was only after a few people were wrongly killed for treachery before the penny dropped. “Oooohhhhh, he meant the other guy….oops!”

Harold kicked back and thought that his troubles were over, but little did he know that at the same time a Frenchman was throwing all his toys out of the pram and making his way across the English Channel. The Frenchman in question was William, the Duke of Normandy. He was extremely perturbed because on one drunken night back in 1051, after a successful day playing in the England V Normandy la boule tournament; King Edward had promised William the throne. It was this verbal, albeit slurred, contract (and that they were distant cousins) which cemented William’s claim to the throne.

In September 1066 William landed in England and after securing the city of Pevensey he marched north to Hastings to pick a fight with Harold. On October 14^th 1066 Harold and William (now known as ‘the Conqueror’) faced off on Senlac Hill.

William and his forces stood proudly in their ranks; infantry, archers, and cavalry all trained to the highest standard and equipped with the latest weapons. Harold’s army was a slight contrast. He stood lead a herd of poorly trained Anglo-Saxon peasants; some of them were facing the wrong direction, their helmets were often on the wrong way around, those who had swords had most likely already cut themselves with it, and the ones armed with a bow and arrow couldn’t hit a target from half a millimetre away.

Battle commenced at 9am – nice early start, they didn’t want to waste the best part of the day – and the Normans sent a constant bombardment of arrows before charging in. The Normans had to attack uphill which put them at a huge disadvantage and the English threw spears and rocks down at them.

William sent in his cavalry, a little sooner than he should have to be fair, and soon enough the left flank of his army collapsed soon retreated. In the chaos some of the English chased after the Normans and scattered themselves like mindless, bumbling sheep across the battlefield.

A rumour that William had been killed spread amongst the men. Pissed off, William removed his helmet and rallied the troops.

“erm…d’uh. I’m here, Bon-jooouuur!!!”

William led his cavalry forward and they trampled Harold’s forces which had strewn themselves about aimlessly. It became clear that due to the English army mainly being comprised of blithering idiots it would be easy to entice the rest of them out and to break rank. Pretending to retreat in a “chase me, chase me” fashion William was successful in drawing out the English like moths to a flame. Soon enough he had won the battle and gained Norman control of England.

The story goes that Harold was killed by getting an arrow through his eye, as famously depicted in the Bayeux Tapestry. In the chart topping song of the time, ‘Song of the Battle of Hastings’, it says that the Norman knights tore off Harold’s limbs and disembowelled him.

William then marched to London, where the city submitted to his rule. On Christmas Day in 1066 at Westminster Abbey William was crowned King William I of England.

The Great Global Pissup!

Posted on January 1, 2017 by Anna

The New Year is observed on January 1st, the first day of the year on the modern Gregorian calendar as well as the Julian calendar, and there you were thinking the only type of calendar was the Boys of Hollyoaks.

In pre-Christian Rome, before all the significant artwork was destroyed and things were cool, they used the Julian calendar and New Year’s day was dedicated to the god Janus, god of gateways and beginnings, the month of January gets it’s name from the god of “new year, new me”.

As a date in the Gregorian calendar of holy and oppressive Christendom, New Year’s Day ritually marked the Feast of the Naming and Circumcision of Jesus, which is still observed as such in the Anglican Church and Lutheran Church. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather celebrate new beginnings in the Roman tradition rather than get drunk, and suffer the subsequent hangover, in the name of a child having the end of his penis chopped off.

Today, with most countries now using the Gregorian calendar as their means of tracking what day it is, New Year’s Day is probably the most celebrated public holiday. Commonly observed with fireworks at the stroke of midnight, health and safely risk assessmet permitting of corse. Other global New Years’ Day traditions include making New Year’s resolutions, calling one’s friends and family, and there is usually an argument thrown into the mix at some point.

It was way back in 2000BC Mesopotamia (that’s modern-day, U.S. Armed forces playground known as, Iraq to you lot) that the idea of celebrating the new year first came about in mid-March at the time of the vernal equinox. Sticking with this time of year the early Roman calendar assigned the start of the new year to March 1st. At the time the Roman calendar ony had ten months, the first of which being March. To those of you with enough intrigue to have noticed, this would explain why the names of the months are a little skew-wiff; October is the tenth month, but doesn’t octo mean eight? You know, like an OCTOpus? This is because our modern day ninth to twelfth months were originally seventh to tenth – septem is Latin for seven, octo is eight, novem is nine, and decem is ten. The months of January and February weren’t invented until 700BC when the Roman king Numa Pintalis thought he’d shake things up a bit.

The new year was shifted to January 1st in 153BC for no reason other than to streamline things a little. The beginning of the civil year fell on January 1st, this was when the two newly appointed consuls would start their tenure. It’s kind of like us deciding to move the new year to April 1st because that’s the start of the tax year (and when your annual leave in work gets renewed). Having said that, this new year date was a little unruly and wasn’t always celebrated as universally as hoped, some people who “don’t like change” still clung on to March 1st as the start of their new year.

After Julius Caesar reformed the calendar in 46 BC, what is known as the Julian Calendar, he was was famously assassinated. A murderous act brought about following a bitching session between vexed members of the Senate who no longer knew what day of the friggin’ month it was. Later, after the new calendar had been explained and understood, the Senate made the the decison, most likely driven by awkward guilt and regret, to deify Julius Caesar on January 1st.

In 567 AD the Council of Tours, a Roman Catholic council who brought you popular limitations such as the rule that priests and monks shall never marry or share the company of a member of the opposite sex, also decided to abolish January 1 as the beginning of the year. At various times and in various places throughout medieval Christian Europe, the new year was celebrated on Dec. 25, the birth of Jesus; March 1; March 25, the Feast of the Annunciation; and Easter. The Council of Tours took a universally agreed day of celebration and fucked it so now, again, we didn’t know our arse from our elbow with regards to when the new year actually began.
Staying with the theme of religion we turn our attentions to the pagans of Flanders and the Netherlands in the 7th century. They would enjoy celebrating the first day of the new year and exchanging gifts with oneanother, but this happy and innocent custom was condemned by Saint Eligius who reprimanded them by saying they should NOT set tables, exchange gifts, or “supply superfluous drinks”. Party pooper!

In England, up until 1752, the first day of the new year was recognized on the 25th March on the Feast of the Annunciation, also called “Lady Day” (not to be confused with ladies day when you put on a big hat and a nice dress and go to Doncaster races to drink enough Prosecco to sedate a racehourse). After 1752 January 1st was yet again reinstated as the first day of the new year and was officially baptized as such by Pope Gregory.

There are of course some alternatives to January 1st, Chinese new year for example is celebrated on the first day of the lunar calendar and falls between 20th January and 20th February. Similarly, the Islamic calendar is also based on the lunar cycles and the start of the year changes each time around. Ethiopian new year is celebrated on September 11th at the end of the summer rainy season. In Thailand the new year begins on April 13th or 14th and people traditionally celebrate by splashing blessed water on one another. Finally, we come to Gwuan Valley, Pembrokeshire, Wales who have decided to give a big “fuck you” to the rest of the British Isles and extend the limbo time between Christmas and New Year by over a fortnight and celebrate on January 13th.

The first day of the new year is a time for us to reflect on the year that has just passed and to look forward to what lies ahead. Many people will make a new year’s resolution, but not all will stick to it. A lot of people stride through the doors of their local gym to (yet again) strike up a membership contract whilst reciting the affirmation, “new year, new me”, only to leave the gym never to be seen again. For the majority of us new year’s day is spent crying into a McDonalds burger whilst watching nature programs as the cumulative festive period hangover begins to kick in.

Around the world there are various other traditions, which all sounds a little more exciting than what us Brits tend to do. In the Philippines a lot of noise is made using fireworks, horns etc to drive out the evil spirits of the previous year and to prevent them from dragging their bad luck into the new one.

There is something called the Polar Bear Club who’s members will revel in plunging themselves into ice-cold waters in order to wash off the old year and embrace the new year with shivvery vigor.

2016 has been a challenging year for us all, and with the forboding inauguration of Donald Trump, I am not too certain 2017 will be much better, but let’s try and kick it’s butt anyway.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Mithras.

Posted on December 7, 2016 by Anna

Mithras was a god who, had his religion not been assassinated, would have been the reason we all get together and stuff our drunk faces at this time of year. Unfortunately, because the Mithraic religion paid its taxes, didn’t actively oppress anyone, and wasn’t too fond of child molestation this god dwindled into obscurity.

We often hear about how many of the traditions, rites and symbols of modern day Christian holidays have their roots in paganism, which they do – we were celebrating the spring equinox (aka Easter) long before zombie Jesus came along!

c-h-spurgeon

So, have you ever wondered why December 25th was chosen to celebrate the birth of Jesus? Especially when you consider that the nativity is not assigned to a specific date, or even month, by some writer or other in the historically accurate book that is The Bible. The real reason for the choice of the day most probably is that it fell upon an existing pagan festival. Basically, Christianity thought they would be sneaky and crash a party that had been going for centuries and think nobody would notice if they changed the name of the birthday boy to Jesus.

“If the growth of Christianity had been arrested by some mortal malady, the world would have been Mithraic.” Ernest Renan 1882

If the accounts in the Bible are correct (and may you burn in hell if you say they aren’t) the time of Jesus’ birth should have been closer to spring/summer, this is when shepherds would have been “tending their flocks in the field” and new lambs are born. Shepherds would hardly be sat out on the hillsides at night time, looking after their sheep, and freezing their nads off in December would they?

Luckily enough for Christianity the ancient pagan religion of Mithraism (which now dates back over 2,100 years) celebrated the birth of their “saviour” on December 25th.This gave them an already popular public religious shindig to commandeer.

‘December 25^th was really the date, not of the birth of Jesus, but of the sun-god Mithras.’ Sir Arthur Weigall

Mithras’ birth on Christmas is evidently based on the calendars of Filocalus or Philocalian (c. 354AD), which mention that December 25th represents the “Birthday of the Unconquered,” understood to refer to Mithras as Sol Invictus (Unconquered Sun).

Moreover, it would seem that there is more to this story. Aurelian (Roman Emperor from 270 to 275) was the first to institute officially the winter solstice as the ‘Birthday of Sol Invictus’ (Dies Natalis Solis Invicti) in 274 AD. It is claimed that Aurelian’s move was in response to Mithras’ popularity. Obviously the Mithraic religion was popular enough to pose a threat to the new religion of Christianity and must be simultaneously emulated and destroyed.

The Mithraic religion is centred on the god Mithras. He is depicted most often in the iconic pose of slaughtering a sacred bull; sitting atop the exhausted beast holding its head up by the nostrils in one hand and a sword in the other. Mithras is a young man and wears Anatolian costume and a Phrygian cap (headdress originating from Asia Minor) It is believed that Mithras originated in Persia and the practice of his religion spread via Greece. Another popular theme is the depiction of the banquet, Mithras and Sol (the sun) feast upon the meat of the bull, using its hide for a table.

Such a handsome chap

Finally there is the depiction of his birth. While Christianity has the story of a virgin birth (see also, Perseus, Buddha, and Dionysus etc), Mithras took a more geological approach and was born from a rock. He is shown as already being a young man at the time of his birth and is carrying a sword and a flaming torch to signify his role as ‘the light of the world’ or ‘the way’. At the celebrations of Mithras’ birth his followers would light torches and candles to reflect this image.

The similarities between Mithraism and Christianity have included their chapels, the term “father” for priest, the monotheistic style of religion, sacraments, celebrations held on a Sunday (you know, Sun’s day – d’uh), celibacy of the priests, the idea of there being twelve followers (the twelve who follow Mithras are sometimes shown as signs of the zodiac), and the aforementioned shared birthday.

The morality of the Mithraic religion is that we can choose to be good, keeping our hands pure of actions which cause harm and pain, without the overwhelming power of evil threatening us constantly. Evil’s influence can still seem powerful because our minds believe it is, but because of his teachings we know that the purpose of our lives is to serve others in the name of Mithras (not through fear of some malevolent deity who sits in opposition). Basically, don’t be a dick! Christianity has a similar golden rule, “treat others how you would wish to be treated”, but by looking at the discriminatory and hateful actions of the church we can see that this isn’t fully adhered to.

Followers of Mithras would have to be initiated into the religion by a re-enactment of the ‘water miracle’ where Mithras fired an arrow into a rock and from that sprouted a spring. One main part of their meetings and ceremonies was a meal, replication of the dinner shared between Mithras and Sol, much like holy communion replicating the last supper.

There is no archaeological evidence of Christianity which pre-dates the earliest Mithraic archaeological finds (dating to c95AD). Our findings point to Christianity being conjured up during the second century AD.

When thinking of archaeological evidence we must keep in mind that a lot has been destroyed “accidently on purpose” in the last two thousand years—including many Mithraic remains and texts— all in the name of affirming Christianity as the only religion, the idea that their god is the ‘one true god’, and “protecting the faith” from such ancient and blasphemous religions such as Mithraism (despite them being centuries old and having followers stretching between India and Scotland). Much like a Facebook cull when you split up with someone or leave that job you hated, Christianity deleted what they could of Mithras, untagged him from written documents, and unfriended those who liked him (or any other god(s) ) more than theirs. Christians have never had a problem with destroying anything which goes against what they want and say, much like a spoilt child throwing a tantrum. The Crusades are probably the biggest religious strop in history.

It is erroneously proposed by some religious writers that because Mithraism was known as a “mystery cult”, due to their temples being built below ground level (to represent the cave in which Mithras slaughtered the bull) and that there was initiation ceremonies involved, it did not leave any written record. In reality, much evidence of Mithras has been destroyed, including monuments, iconography and numerous books by ancient authors. The existence of written evidence is indicated by an Egyptian cloth manuscript from the first century BC which refers to the “Mummy Funerary Inscription of the Priest of Mithras, Ornouphios”.

This almost Nazi-esque destruction of “items and documents we don’t agree with” means that they must have been SO damaging to Christianity that their mass demolition was required. Items which portray similarities between Mithras and Jesus; symbols such as a cross, ritualistic bathing (or baptism), the Eucharist, and reference to him as the ‘light of the world’.

These strong similarities were so obvious that early Christian leaders would have a shitfit over them. The copy-cat evidence even drives some church supporters to madness today and they not only attempt to deny these similarities exist, but simultaneously try to claim that Mithraism plagiarised from Christianity!! Obviously these people are too thick to figure out when one thing predates another – I know the BC/AD date format can be confusing for some.

So the sun god Mithras, the light of the world, who’s quiet religion that minded its own business and taught its followers to not hurt anyone was squashed and destroyed. He had held the 25^th December as his day of celebration for centuries, marked with lighting candles and feasting long before baby Jesus did. I often think it is a shame that pagan religions died out, it is nice to think that everything has its own god controlling it (including those of the Discworld universe), and I am pretty sure that wars were not waged and oppression was not dealt in the names of Apollo, Anubis or Thor.

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Don’t abandon your new girlfriend on an island whilst high on the excitement of having just killed a monster.

Posted on December 2, 2016 by Anna

Do you remember the story of Daedalus and Icarus? No? Well, go back and read it! (https://princessdippy.wordpress.com/2016/11/21/icarus-the-reason-why-we-should-all-listen-to-our-parents-when-they-tell-us-not-to-do-stuff/)

Each year the city of Athens would send an offering of male and female virgins to the island of Crete in order to satisfy the Minotaur’s hunger, this was as a debt to king Minos over the death of his son, Androgeus at the battle of Marathon. The Minotaur was a ferocious beast – it was half man and half bull, and kept in an elaborate labyrinth built by the great architect, Daedalus. It was impossible to escape the labyrinth and once inside you became part of a live screaming buffet.

Theseus, prince of Athens, decided in true hot-headed Greek youth form that he wanted to kill the Minotaur. Theseus joined the ranks of the sacrificial victims, even though his virginity was questionable, and made the journey to Crete. He had told his father, king Aegeus, that if he returned safely he would put white sails on his ship, but if it all went to rat shit and he ended up dying he would instruct his crew to hoist black sails. Aegeus promised that he would watch out for his return every day.

Upon their arrival the Athenians were greeted by Minos’ daughter, Ariadne. The beautiful princess took an instant liking to Theseus and made a pact with him. She would help him escape the labyrinth if he promised to kill the Minotaur and then take her back to Athens with him.

On the day of the sacrifice the young men and women were shoved into the dark depths of the terrifying maze. Theseus was at the back of the group and just before he entered, Ariadne gave him a spindle of thread.

“eh? How’s this meant to help? Can’t kill a monster with this can I?!”

*eye roll*. “No, dufus! Tie this to the door behind you and let the thread unravel as you go through the maze. Once you’ve found and killed the Minotaur you’ll just have to follow the thread and you’ll find your way back here. I shall be waiting for you and then we can make our escape together.”

“Oooohhh. I get it. Right, I’ll do that then”

Not wholly convinced the prince had understood what he was supposed to be doing Ariadne slammed the door shut behind him anyway.

Theseus tied the thread to the door as he had been instructed and began to make his way forward.

After getting tangled up a few times, falling down some stairs, bumping his head (not that this made much difference to his intellect), and tripping over the skeletal remains of his kinsman, he came across the Minotaur. The beast was chowing down on what looked like someone’s right arm. Drawing his sword Theseus crept up behind the Minotaur. Managing to climb up the walls slightly he gained some higher ground and from there he was able to leap onto the back of the monster and drive his sword down into its spine. Prematurely celebrating his victory Theseus performed a brief victory dance and cheered to himself like a dumb jock. A hard kick to the back threw him to the floor and he turned to see that the Minotaur wasn’t quite dead yet.

“Oi!! You’re supposed to be dead. I slayed you!!” yelled Theseus. He picked up his sword once more and thrust it deep into the dying creature’s heart. This time it was really dead. Awww sad.

After another victory dance and a pretend award winning acceptance speech, Theseus got to work on removing the head of the Minotaur and then dragged it all the way back to the entrance to the labyrinth.

Once at the door he knocked on it to the tune of the Colonel Bogey March.

The door flung open a few minutes later and there stood Ariadne in her onesie and with a sleeping mask pushed up onto her forehead.

“What the hell are you doing?!!” she snapped

“I thought I would do a secret knock. You know, coz we’re doing sneaky stuff and escaping and shit.”

“Just get out of there N-O-W!” hissed the princess as she grabbed him by the beard and dragged him forwards.

Quietly the pair crept through the palace to Ariadne’s chambers so that she could grab her things before making their way to the harbour.

“You’re room is right nice.” chimed Theseus, sitting down on the bed.

“GET THAT OFF THERE!! THOSE ARE CHANEL BEDSHEETS!!”

With a guilty and shifty look on his face, and without looking at it, Theseus nudged the head of the Minotaur off the bed and it fell to the floor with a thick and squelchy thud.

“Fucks sake” breathed Ariadne

“I love you, but you aren’t half thick!” .

Once she had packed her things the pair made their way to the harbour and boarded Theseus’ boat. Forgetting what he had promised his father and thinking only of wanting to stop the head from smelling so bad, Theseus grabbed the white sails and wrapped it up in them. His crew had no choice but to hoist the black sails and begin their journey back to Athens.

They stopped on the island of Naxos to replenish their food and water supply. In the evening they had a beach party with wine and a BBQ.

In the morning when Ariadne woke up she was alone. On the horizon she could see the outline of Theseus’ ship. Standing on the beach she screamed out and cursed the Athenian prince, promising him that he would only find grief on his return home and all his loved once will perish. She didn’t have to suffer too long though. The god Dionysus soon married her and she actually had an alright life.

Meanwhile, Aegeus made his way to the top of the cliffs, as he had done every morning since his son left, and looking out to sea he saw the outline of a ship. Could this be him? Has his son finally returned? He stood there staring at the horizon, waiting for the ship to become clearer. His heart sank as the vessel came nearer and he saw that it was flying black sails. Heartbroken the king threw himself from the cliffs and drowned in the sea below which now bears his name.

Once his ship landed on the shores of Athens, Theseus was devastated to hear of the death of his father and he only had himself to blame. The curse of Ariadne had started to weave its terrible path.

So, there you have it, the story of Theseus and the Minotaur. The morale of the story? Don’t be a dick and keep the promises you make to your parents.

Guest Publication; Operation Barbarossa: aka “Holy Shitski I thought the jack-booted ones were our friends?!”

Posted on November 18, 2016 by Anna

This history lesson is written by a good friend of mine called Ken.

As a young man, Adolf Hitler served in the trenches of the First World War (on the German side, obviously even though he was Austrian) it was in this cauldron of mud and boredom with occasional shit-your-pants terror that the young Adolf formulated some plans for social reform in Europe. These plans essentially amounted to him being in charge and everything he said was right because he said it. Agree or die, not a hard choice is it? Restrict your protests to your inner monologue or face being denounced, detained and de-lifed.

Bizarrely, even though ol’ Adolf was a ranting nutter, most people in Germany at the time thought he was the shit even though he was Austrian and therefore was quite like that cousin that everyone is polite to but no-one really likes. As a result, he got in charge of Germany. Everyone thought he was great and was very nice to him, or at least pretended to be.

Hitler wanted to make Germany great again but as part of the massive wrist-slap that the Central Powers got at the end of World War I, they weren’t allowed to re-arm. This was the Versailles Treaty that told Germany it couldn’t have any toys until it could learn to behave with them properly so no tanks, planes or battleships for you. But Hitler and all of his friends wanted those toys; Hermann Goering and Lothar von Richtofen were fighter pilots in the First World War and they really wanted young men of the 1930s to experience the same level of excitement (and mortality, let’s not kid ourselves) that they had between 1914 and 1918.

So, Germany made an agreement with Russia called a ‘Pact of non-Aggression’ which let’s face it is rather like avoiding a bar-brawl with some bloke only to jump him the car park later. It’s a wonder the Russians fell for it but they had their own problems; they were led by a bloke called Josef Stalin who loved power as much as he was paranoid of losing it. After years of development of military strategy and tactics in the 1930’s (which included ‘trying out’ these tactics in the Spanish Civil War using Spaniards as crash-test dummies which was handy as it meant that no Russians died when it went wrong). Learning from lessons in the Spanish Civil War and with massive exercises in Russia where they’ve got loads of space (more on that later) the Red Army became very proficient in ‘All-arms warfare’ which translates as ‘blowing your enemy to bits from all directions at once’ using a planes and artillery to support tanks that made deep penetrations (ooh-err!) into enemy territory. By the mid-1930’s the Red Army was top-notch at fighting and bloody massive and would definitely make anyone think twice about attacking Russia.

Then our friend Jo Stalin’s paranoia got the better of him and he decided that the most dangerous threat to his position would be from officers in the Red Army (to be fair, he was probably right) and decided to arrest most of them. Lots of them were executed and the rest sent off to the Gulag work camp which like a Siberian Butlin’s holiday where you only get fed if you work. After this ‘Great Purge’ which sounds like something you’d do at a posh spa, and was only great in terms of it being large but in terms of usefulness it was anything but great, it was ridiculous. The Red Army now consisted of a lot of Indians with very few chiefs who were all really scared of doing anything in case they pissed off the big chief and ended up at the Siberian Butlin’s. The post-purge Red Army was still bloody massive but was also really shit at fighting, Hitler couldn’t have been happier.

Back to all that lovely space the Russians have got. The Germans had been using it to try out ‘farming equipment’ which included tractors that looked like bulldozers but with loads of armour and a gun just in case they got charged by something really big (like another’s country’s tanks). Also included were high-performance crop-dusting planes that had cannons strapped to them for shooting down extra big locusts. Because Russia’s a big place and isn’t really hot on sharing information as a rule, most of western Europe was oblivious to the fact that Germany was re-arming right under their noses. Despite the hundreds of thousands of personnel involved, it didn’t get leaked on social media and the spy-satellites that nobody had didn’t spot it either.

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A German farmer in his tractor. Looks like he’s ploughing.

During the Spanish Civil War the Germans had been a bit taken aback at how good the Russian’s tanks and planes were and so set about making their own that were at least as good. The French had also built some tanks that were very good but were heavy and slow which was weird, given their predilection for running away. Everyone fell about laughing when they saw the British effort which was basically an Austin Allegro with tracks running over the wheels and a gun sticking out of the sun roof. The Brits were chuffed with it and called it a Whippet and all of their enemies did.

Sorry, bit of a tangent there. By 1940, the Germans had also got really good at all-arms warfare but they called it Blitzkrieg which translates as ‘lightning war’. Everyone knows, it’s no good training to do something without actually doing it so the Germans tried Blitzkrieg out on France. The French hadn’t done nearly enough training and so Germany won and had control of France in about six weeks. Hitler then got all giddy and decided to try the same trick on Russia because he wanted some ‘living room’ for the German people even though compared to most other European countries Germany is massive. Some people are just plain greedy. So in the middle of 1941, Germany jumped Russia in the car park, kicked the crap out of an un-prepared Red Army and started marching across Russia towards Moscow.

Stalin called up Hitler but Adolf wasn’t taking Jo’s calls so he left a message to say that he thought the leader of the Third Reich was a back-stabbing arse-bandit and he’d be very sorry if he didn’t stop his invasion immediately. Hitler thought this was very funny at the time but wasn’t so sure about three years later. More on that in a later essay.

Hitler had got his maps at the wrong scale and hadn’t realised just how big Russia is and that marching a German Army to Moscow would take so long. It would take ages anyway but the Red Army started to get their shit together and it took a bloody lot longer with irate Russians shooting at them. Hitler got more and more annoyed with Ned Stark telling him that “winter was coming” and that Russia gets really cold so the German soldiers wouldn’t get on very well in their current uniforms of board shorts and flip-flops.

Hitler thought they’d win by winter but they didn’t and it all went to shit.

Miyamoto Musashi – the man who kicked ass, whilst at the same time asking, “Do I have to?”

Posted on November 9, 2016 by Anna

No doubt you will have never heard of Miyamoto Musashi, to be honest neither had I until a few years ago.

Miyamoto Musashi is the greatest swordsman to have ever lived. What you will also learn from this essay is that he was also the most aloof and nonchalant warrior of all time, he basically came up with the word “meh”. He had immense fighting talent, he wrote a book on marshal arts called ‘The Book of Five Rings’, and in his own words fought in ‘six battles’ – failing to mention that these were of major historic and political importance, to him they were just fights he joined in on, for “funsies”.

“Miyamoto Musashi, weren’t you there at the great battle of Sekigahara?”
“Erm…yeah? Maybe? I just fight, I dunno…”

He was born in 1584, the year of the monkey. In his major work ‘The Book of Five Rings’ he gives his full name and title as being, Shinmen Musashi-no-Kami Fujiwara no Genshin, but that is a bit of a mouthful so we’ll just keep calling him Musashi. His father was an accomplished martial artist and master of the sword, but sadly died when Musashi was a young boy.

He fought his first duel at the age of thirteen against a samurai named Arima Kihei. The story goes that Arima posted a public challenge and Musashi signed up. Challenge accepted. However, Musashi’s uncle, Dorin was shocked and tried to stop the duel from going ahead based on Musashi’s age. Arima said that the only way to protect his honour was if Musashi met him and apologised publically. When the day of the duel arrived, Dorin began to make apologies for Musashi, but it all went to shit. Musashi charged at Arima brandishing a six-foot quarterstaff and screaming a challenge at him. Arima went to retaliate with his wakizashi, but Musashi threw Arima to the floor, struck him between the eyes and beat him to death.

Dorin, “I wish to apologise for my nephew, he is young and foolishly accepted……”
Musashi, “AAAARRRGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”
Dorin, “….nevermind” *eye roll*

At the age of sixteen Musashi left his village and spent his time travelling and fighting duels. In 1600 a war between the Toyotomi and Tokugawa clans broke out and he fought on the side of the Toyotomi’s “Army of the West” the Battle of Sekigahara led to the Tokugawa Shogunate being established in 1603 and being the last Shogunate in Japan’s history. He then disappears from the records for a while and re-emerges at the age of twenty or twenty-one where he takes up his old hobby of picking fights and duelling with people.

Whilst in Kyoto he fought against members of the Yoshioka School. In previous years Musashi’s father had too duelled against the Yoshioka School and gained the title of “Unrivaled under Heaven” after winning two out of his three duels. Out of all the martial art schools in Kyoto, Yoshioka was the best. Musashi challenged the master of the school; apparently he wanted to “fight the organ grinder and not the monkeys”.

The date for the duel was set and the location agreed. Musashi, true to his ‘can’t be arsed’ attitude, arrived late and faced off against a really pissed off opponent. The terms of the duel were that each man would lay a single blow and a winner would be determined based upon the injuries inflicted. Musashi struck the master on his left shoulder so hard that he completely crippled his arm and also knocked him unconscious. The master’s brother, seeking revenge, immediately challenged Musashi. On the day of the duel Musashi’s opponent arrived wielding a staff with a ball and chain attached. Musashi arrived late again, the bus was late or he was eating a bun or some shit, basically he was just too chill to even care. With little effort Musashi disarmed and defeated the new school master.

With the Yoshioka family now beyond cheesed off and their two eldest, and best, swordsmen incapacitated at the hands of this half-arsed genius the head of the family (a twelve year old boy) said he “wasn’t going to take this shit anymore”. Another challenge was proposed to Musashi and they were to fight outside of Kyoto (probably because being publically shamed three times in a row would be too much). The young head of the family brought along a posse of archers, musketeers, and swordsmen because he had planned to simply scale a full blown assault on Musashi and he knew the only way to do so was with a small army. Breaking with tradition Musashi arrived hours early and hid in a bush, proper ninja style!! He sprung out from his hiding place, killed the young boy, and escaped whilst dodging blows and volleys from the enemy, defeating many opponents along the way. With the young head of the family now dead the Yoshioka School was destroyed. That is an elite martial arts school, one which has been going for years and was the best in Kyoto, completely grounded by one man in the space of about a week. Badass!
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It was during this conflict that he was forced to draw his second sword and fight with a sword in each hand, errggghh the effort! This was the beginning of the niten’ichi sword fighting style. It makes sense really – he carried two swords, had two hands, why not maximise his awesomeness and ferocity and fight with both swords at once?!!

“I was fighting with two swords before it was cool” Miyamoto Musashi, The Five Rings (1642)

Between 1605 and 1612 Musashi travelled throughout Japan fighting more duels, because he could and was probably bored. He is reported to have used a bokken (wooden sword), dressed rather shabbily, and his appearance was unkempt. Unless it was agreed that a duel could prove fatal the aim was not to kill his opponents, but to simply defeat them. Musashi didn’t really give a shit what weapon his advisories used, he knew he would win anyway and he was more than justified in his complacency. Ignoring deaths dealt by his hand in battle, Musashi is supposed to have fought over sixty duels and remained undefeated.

In 1612 (at the age of about thirty) Musashi fought against Sasaki Kojiro “The Demon of the Western Provinces” – oooohhhh!!!! The Demon’s weapon of choice was a blade called a nodachi which measured at least 35.7inches. This happens to by my favourite of Musashi’s duels. Naturally he arrived late, by boat – it was said by his supporters that he timed his arrival with the tides to ease his passage, or maybe he just didn’t get out of bed on time and stopped off at Starbucks on the way? He arrived and took the time out to carve his own bokken out of one of the oars from his boat. His opponent was really pissed off and agitated by this point, and I mean proper fuming! When Musashi finally made it to face off against the Demon the battle didn’t last long, the Demon was dead within minutes and Musashi yawned, scratched his head, hopped back in his boat muttering something about going home to catch up on The OC and getting some pizza.

Musashi went on to serve numerous high ranking families in provincial conflicts and taught martial arts throughout Japan, writing numerous scrolls and developed many fighting disciplines, his most famous book being The Book of Five Rings.

In 1643 Musashi retired and lived in a cave as a hermit. He passed away of what is thought to have been thoracic cancer in his cave around June 1645. His passing was described at the time:

‘At the moment of his death, he had himself raised up. He had his belt tightened and his wakizashi put in it. He seated himself with one knee vertically raised, holding the sword with his left hand and a cane in his right hand. He died in this posture, at the age of sixty-two. The principal vassals of Lord Hosokawa and the other officers gathered, and they painstakingly carried out the ceremony. Then they set up a tomb on Mount Iwato on the order of the lord.’

This incredible, Jack Sparrow-like, master of the sword is one of the most accidentally cool people in history and I am happy to have shared his story with you, more people need to know about the great Miyamoto Musashi.

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The Battle of Thermopylae -the story of the film.

Posted on November 9, 2016 by Anna

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So, you want to know about one of the manliest moments in history? We’ve all seen that beautiful piece of cinema called ‘300’ and we’ve all marvelled at how glorious the whole story is with those rippling abs, strong thighs, dark hair….erm….I mean, the glory of battle, the strength of Spartan warriors, the camaraderie, fighting prowess, and the struggle of the few against the many. Unbelievably the film is startlingly accurate.

In 480BC, Xerxes, the Persian douchebag, decided that he wanted to be a spoilt brat and go about Eastern Europe licking things and claiming them as his own. Continuing his father, Darius’ work he advanced into Greece with a view to conquering the entire nation.

Whether he timed it perfectly or not, Xerxes’ advancement through Greece occurred at the same time as when the Spartans, renowned badass motherfuckers, were enjoying a festival called the Carneia which, for its duration, forbid armed battles to take place

Considering the urgency of the situation, you know because there was a 70-300,000 man strong Persian army marching on Greece, it was deemed that there was ample reason to still go into battle, it wasn’t just for funsies. King Leonidas of Sparta, who by the way did not speak with a Glaswegian accent, went to the Oracle to find out what would happen in battle. The Oracle advised that he would die – talk about being a Debbie Downer. Leonidas chose 300 men from the Royal bodyguard who had sons to carry on their family lineage.

As the Spartans marched on Thermopylae their numbers grew to over 5,000 by encouraging more soldiers to join their cause from Greek cities along the way, “hop along bitches, we’re off killing Persians!”.

leonidasstatue

When they reached Thermopylae the Greeks camped out at the narrowest pass called the ‘middle gate‘ where the Phocians had built a defensive wall.

When the Persians landed they sent their emissary who offered terms that outlined a scenario where battle could be avoided, but while still being classed as free men the Greeks would also be subservient to the Persians.

“Fuck that!” laughed Leonidas, “I didn’t march all this way to negotiate, I want a fight! Come at me brah!!”

Five days later battle commenced. The Greeks placed themselves in front of the Phocians defensive wall and formed the Greek phalanx, an impenetrable wall of men that rotated continuously so those out of the battle will be brought in and out keeping the Greeks from tiring. Standing side by side with their shields to the front they created a solid wall of bronze that stood as one unit. One fighting tactic of the Greeks was a manoeuvre called an othismos, basically a mass shove (similar to a rugby scrum) which would drive the enemy backwards.

Xerxes watched in horror as the Greeks destroyed his forces, with minimal losses. This caused Xerxes to deploy his elite troops, The Immortals, on the second assault of the first day. The Immortals were so called because their numbers were kept at a constant 10,000, for every man wounded or killed he was replaced and therefore maintaining constant strength. However, The Immortals ended up suffering heavy losses, proving that no man is immortal when at the receiving end of a pissed off Spartan.

The second day ended up in the same vain as the first and Xerxes threw an enormous tantrum as more of his men were slaughtered. Eventually Xerxes became so pissed off that he withdrew his troops from the field.

Unfortunately for the Greeks their fortunes changed when a Greek called Ephialtes, that hunchbacked bastard from the film (yes he was real), went creeping off to Xerxes in the hope of reward by being a dirty little snitch. He told Xerxes about the Goat trail in the mountains where a cohort of Phocians was stationed. On the third day Xerxes sent his troops along the goat path. One of the Phocians ran to Leonidas as soon as the Persians were seen. The Greek commanders had a quick power huddle and tried to come up with a quick plan of action to counteract the Persian advance. Almost all of the Greek force ended up retreating, fearing the battle to be already lost. With the Persians getting closer there remained 300 Spartans, 400 Thebans and 700 Thespians (men from Thespiae, not actors, it’s not like half of their fighting force went in armed with nothing more than colourful language and dramatic hand gestures).

“Arrgghh! That’s a proper dick move!!” said a random Spartan soldier upon seeing that Xerxes had launched a frontal assault in time with the Persians attacking from the mountain. The Greeks fought hard and did their nation, and the gods, proud. Leonidas was killed by the Persian archers. According to legend his final words were, “don’t worry; they can’t hit us at this range”. The Greeks retreated to higher ground and continued the fight there until they were all killed by a constant volley of arrows.

death-of-leonidas

This was a true act of heroism, manliness, sheer determination, and stubbornness. The Spartans and the rest of the Greek forces really did themselves proud and deserve to have one of the best films ever made in their honour and they sure as hell deserve to be portrayed by sexy ass men who look like they just came straight from the CrossFit Games.

Straight to the point history lesson.

Posted on November 3, 2016 by Anna

Because I am weird, a nerd, and love ancient history and literature I was compelled the other day to write an essay on the importance of the Battle of Cannae. I don’t know why I felt the need to document this moment in history, it’s not like I had any reason to other than my own boredom and geeky amusement, but I’ve done it anyway. I have written two essays; one is a formal and analytical essay and the other is more of a casual, to the point, and humorous approach. It is the more amusing of these accounts I have decided to share with you. However, if anyone would like to see how good I am at writing formal essays you’re more than welcome to request I publish that too.

So, prepare to be educated in a way your teachers at school never taught you.

The Battle of Cannae aka The Day Rome got its ass kicked by some dude from Carthage.

Hannibal is revered as being probably the most successful military commander in history, along with other warmongering egomaniacs such as, Napoleon, Nelson, and Churchill. He hailed from a place called Carthage, now known as popular holiday destination, Tunisia. He had followed in the footsteps of his father, Hamilcar, and gone into the family business of fighting neighbouring countries and killing people. Hamilcar had lead the Carthaginian army to a disastrous defeat against Rome way back in 241BC during the First Punic War and until his death proclaimed that he would, “never be a friend of Rome”. His father’s continued cob on with all things Roman, and his insistence that everyone else promises to also hold the same grudge, helped fuel the fire which ignited the Second Punic War. With a great mind for military strategy, leadership skills, and daddy issues, Hannibal was perfect for the role of taking the wrath of Carthage back to Italy.

Some of you will have already heard of Hannibal without realising it. You might just know the one thing that everyone seems to know about him and that is that he is ‘that dude who took elephants across the Alps’. This is true. Hannibal’s herd of war elephants were feared as being ferocious beasts who could charge in extended line and mow down their

actual real life picture of man eating war elephant

enemy in minutes, they had spear heads protruding from their tusks making them extra deadly, and he had somehow bred them to have a hunger for the taste of man flesh! Remember the battle in the third Lord of the Rings movie, Return of the King? Well, it was like that only more terrifying. OK, that is not true, but it sounds cool.
Once in Italy Hannibal had many successes and fought his way south until he reached the ground of what would become the most famous battle in history, a moment in the military annals that would forever be hailed as the perfect example of how to be a clever tactical bastard. Sadly, none of his elephants made it this far, they unfortunately perished in a freak skiing accident.

Hannibal faced off against the Roman army at Cannae. The Romans were under the leadership of Varro and Paullus, men who couldn’t organise an orgy at a symposium.

“Salvete, bitches!!” Hannibal taunted from the front of his army. “My dad says y’all a bunch of Greek knock-offs and can’t fight for shit! Haaaaaa!!”

“Who the chuff is this arsewipe?” said Varro to Paullus. “This is going to be a piece of piss. Tell, Lavinia to put the kettle on and I’ll be home for tea and medals in no time.”

the pride of Rome

It was this lackadaisical and complacent approach which sealed their fate.

“Just do your thing so we can go home, you know the drill” Varro commanded from the rear.

The Roman troops advanced in text book formation, we’ve all seen Gladiator – we know what they looked like. Now, Hannibal had been a little clever in putting his shittest troops, the Spanish and Gauls (that’s the French), at the front. As they met with the Romans they did as they had been told and retreated back, apparently the Gauls took this order too seriously and have continued to obey Hannibal’s command into the present day – how very loyal. This tactical retreat allowed the more hardy of his troops to get involved. The Romans continued their advance and before they knew it the whole of their army was surrounded on three sides by the Carthaginian hoard who had moved forwards in a pincer movement.

Meanwhile, the Roman cavalry was getting its arse handed to it in the most confusing of fashions. They were used to battle being fought in an orderly and traditional fashion – charge at one another, stabby stabby, bleed, death, and victory. However, the enemy’s hodgepodge cavalry made up of Numidians, Gauls, Iberians, and Phoenicians had other plans. Instead of charging towards the Romans they galloped in a circular motion. This allowed them to get close enough to sling their arrows and by the time any of the Romans had managed to pull their heads out their arses and take aim they had already galloped off and were making their rounds again. The Carthaginian cavalry were also donned in the latest minimalist fashion and their armour allowed for more mobility, and the horses therefore had to carry less weight. Apparently, the Romans didn’t realise that massive amounts of swag was not the key to victory, but they still looked cool as fuck!

Once the Roman cavalry had been squished the Carthaginian ponies turned and joined the fray, slotting nicely in at the rear of the Roman troops. This is what is now known as a battle of annihilation – how cool does that sound?!

70,000 Roman soldiers were killed that day (which at that time was the equivalent to 1/10 of the population of Rome) and approximately 8,000 Carthaginian troops, making the Battle of Cannae the largest loss of human life in a single day (not the Somme as many believe).

After the battle, Hannibal went to the pub, got twatted, and made his way back to Carthage safe in the knowledge that he’d just officially become a legend. He could have gone on to conquer Rome itself, but couldn’t be arsed.

Battle of Cannae 2nd August 216BC.

Stay tuned for more straight to the point accounts of history and legend.

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