the next few days King Arthur had a pronounced limp. Pronounced just as it
sounds … limp!!! L … I … M … P … limp. It means to walk with difficulty,
typically because of a damaged or stiff leg or foot.
In his case it was on account of him having a big colour-changing chameleon stuck to his leg!
Have you ever had a chameleon attached to your leg? You know, just like having a child holding on to your leg when you’re trying to walk and get on with your household chores.
I once had a pet bite my leg hard and it would not let go. Wherever I moved I had to drag it along with me. I walked all the way to the bus stop with it stuck to my leg. I took the bus to town, walked to the vet, and the animal was still biting hard at my leg. It took ages before the vet managed to release Snappy the crocodile from my leg!
Never again … I gave the crocodile to the zoo and bought an alligator instead.
This time I made sure he does not get into bed with me. Many people have their pets in bed with them at night, you know. Dogs … cats … canaries … tortoises … Years ago I had another pet with me in bed. The next morning the bed was soaking wet and my goldfish had died.
Anyway … I did continue to visit the crocodile in the zoo. One day I was there looking at all the crocodiles in their enclosure and a man came and stood next to me. He said, “they look vicious … I wouldn’t want to be bitten by them!”
I told him, “a crocodile bit my leg once!”
He looked at my legs and said, “which one?”
I replied, “I don’t know … you’ve seen one crocodile you’ve seen them all … they’re all the same!”
But I digress, as I often do … so would you if you had a crocodile up your leg. You’d digress straight to the vet, I tell you.
as I was saying, King Arthur walked with a limp as well as a chameleon up his
leg. This slowed down his progress throughout the forest in search of the
unicorn with a golden tail.
Then suddenly, in a forest clearing, all was silent as silent can be. No birds flying or tweeting anywhere. No bees buzzing or wasps wasping or mosquitoes making mosquito sounds anywhere.
What do you call a mosquito sound? Buzzing? Biting? What?
I once heard in the garden what sounded like Zzzzub …Zzzzub … Zzzzub … it was a bee flying backwards!
Anyway … there was no sound in the forest clearing at all. No leaves rustling, or twigs cracking.
The King and his entourage of Knights of the Round Table suddenly stopped, swords drawn, ready to fight.
Suddenly, they were surrounded by many men with crossbows at the ready pointing at all of them.
“Drop your swords!” commanded their leader.
King Arthur and all his Knights dropped their swords to the ground. Except Sir Clumsy-the-Oaf, who dropped his sword on his foot and jumped up and down in pain.
“Restrain him” said the King to two of his Knights.
“Who are you?” asked the leader of the men with crossbows.
“I am King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot,” said, Arthur proudly, forgetting for a moment that he had one hundred crossbows pointing at him and his men, “and these are the Knights of the Round Table! Who are you, may I ask?”
The leader of the crossbows laughed. “You must have a very big Round Table. There are at least fifty men here!”
“And there are as many more Knights back in Camelot, if not more,” said Arthur, “now I ask again, who are you?”
“Keep your pants on,” laughed the man, “I am Skratchit the Great, son of Itches the Flea. I rule this part of the forest. You are in my domain Arthur Pendragon. I have heard of you and we fear you not. I could swipe you as if swatting a fly! But I’m in a good mood today. So I ask you, what are you doing here?”
“We are looking for the unicorn with a golden tail,” said Arthur, “he has magical powers to heal people.”
“Yes, I’ve heard said,” replied Skratchit, “what will you do when you find him?”
“I will have to stop him,” said Arthur foolishly, still not realising that a hundred crossbows were threatening him and his men, “magic is banned in Camelot. He should be stopped!”
“Let me remind you that you are not in Camelot,” said Skratchit scratching his armpit, “you are in my forest. And even if the unicorn has power to heal, would you rather have people suffer and die from many illnesses and diseases rather than use a cure that is alien to you?”
“I never thought of that …” said Arthur pensively gaining in wisdom a little at a time, “you’ve got a good point! Perhaps when I find the unicorn we’ll seek his help to heal my people.”
“You promise you will not kill him?” asked Skratchit scratching his chest, “we must live in harmony with nature. Each loving and nurturing each other. Not harming and killing and upsetting the delicate balance that is our environment and universe.”
“I solemnly promise and vow not to kill him!” Arthur promised and vowed.
“The unicorn lives in the meadow beyond the mountain with three peaks!” said Skratchit scratching his head.
“How do you get there?” asked Sir Curious gaining confidence.
“I wouldn’t start from here!” replied Skratchit scratching his head again.
“So how do you go to this meadow?” asked Sir Curious.
“My brother takes me … he knows the way!” said Skratchit scratching his tummy.
“What are you doing in these parts of the forest,” interrupted Arthur.
“We are searching for aliens from outer-space,” said Skratchit who had stopped scratching for a while, “we hear they have landed in these parts.”
“What do you mean?” asked the King.
“You know … people from outer space …” explained Skratchit, “beings from other planets. From stars out there … they have travelled here to earth and have landed amongst us. We thought you were them when we saw you. We understand they have no belly buttons … navels. You have a belly button … do you?”
“Of course I have …” retorted the young King irritably, “anyway … you don’t believe in all that nonsense about people from outer space, do you?”
“In years to come,” laughed Skratchit, “more people will believe in my aliens from outer space than in your unicorn with a golden tail. Anyway … what’s that on your leg?”
“It is the Camouflaged Chameleon of Camelot,” said Arthur proudly.
“It’s not well camouflaged is it? I have a mole on mine!” replied Skratchit.
“I can’t see it! Is it invisible?” asked the King.
“No … it’s a small brown patch on the inside of my leg. I was born with it,” said Skratchit scratching his mole, “doesn’t do any harm. Unlike your chameleon which gives you a pronounced limp. Pronounced … L … I … M… P … limp!!!”
And the moral of this story, (so far), is: People will believe what they want to believe regardless as to whether it is true or not; as long as they are comfortable with it.