There’s an old folk tale about a boggart that tries to take land from a savvy farmer. This is my interpretation of it, first posted in my Flipping Out blog.
Anthropologists have a lot to celebrate today after the discovery of the manuscript detailing a long lost English folktale. Originally written in Portuguese for some reason, the following is a translation by Gary Lineker:
Ploughing the field had become less fun ever since Toms horse had died (as had intercourse with said horse). Usually it would have had the harness put on and it would drag the plough, but as Tom could not yet afford another horse, he had to do it by himself (the ploughing that is). It was particularly stressful. He’d been here for five hours and had only done one furrow, and the field was well over five acres. It would take him weeks to finish.
There was one benefit to all this though; he had a lot of time to his own thoughts.Why did my horse die? What will I plant his year? Potatoes? Cabbage? Why does the sun shine? Why does my finger smell funny? Do I think because I exist, or do I exist because I think? So many thoughts were going through his head that he didn’t notice a shadowy figure lurking in the hedge.
‘Get off my land!’ screamed the figure in a voice that could have made an onion cry, causing Tom do drop the plough harness. He turned round to see a huge man dressed in a ragged trousers held up by a rope, and a ripped green shirt. He was extremely hairy, with hair all over his arms, and wild, bushy beard. His hair ran down to his shoulders. His nose was as red as a red parrot with a nose bleed.
‘Holy flaming turnips!’ exclaimed Tom, ‘You’re the biggest, hairiest bugger I have ever seen in my life!’
The stranger raised a bushy eyebrow and replied in an angry tone, ‘I’m a boggart God damn it. Not a bugger!’
‘Well, you’re the biggest, hairiest one I’ve ever seen.’
‘You’ve seen other boggarts?’
‘No,’ said Tom, ‘but you are the hairiest bugger I’ve ever seen.’
’‘I’m not a bugger, I’m a fucking boggart, you prick.’
The boggart seemed to be losing his temper very quickly.
‘Well what are you doing on my land?’ asked Tom.
The boggart chuckled menacingly, ‘Your land? Ha! It’s my land. It was my fathers before me, and his fathers, and his father’s father! It is rightfully mine!’
Tom looked at the boggart, and the boggart met his stare. For about five minutes they just stood facing at each other, until finally Tom said,;
‘That’s a lie isn’t it? You just made that up there now, didn’t you?’
The boggarts lip began to shake, and then he looked away, lowering his head like a child who had done wrong.
‘Yes sir, it was a lie.’
‘Stupid bugger.’ Whispered Tom.
‘Fuck you!’ exclaimed the boggart, ‘I’m a fucking boggart, and I’ll be buggered if you call me a bugger again.’
Tom began to snigger.
‘I wonder what a boggart being buggered would look like.’
‘It’s actually a wonderful sight. Why, just last week me and my boggart friend were watching ‘Boggart Babes Go On A Naughty Rampage’ and it was…..Hold on a minute….God damn it.’
Bewildered, and now completely devoid of patience for the young farmer who stood before him, the boggart managed to keep his voice to a low whisper when he said;
‘Right Mr. Farmer man, I was going to just leave once you realised I was lying, but now I really want this field. So give it to me.’ The boggart folded his arms.
‘Ha! And what are you going to do if I refuse?’ laughed Tom.
The boggart spent the rest of his life using Toms head as a cup, and his dismembered body as a plaything for other boggarts who liked to bugger things. The boggart lived happily ever after until he himself was buggered by a larger boggart .