Saturday, 7 November 2009

Fustyweed

There is a place in Norfolk called Fustyweed
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?hl=en&tab=wl
Officially, it's just a hamlet........

A terrace of five small houses sit some distance back from the only road. Smoke from the five little chimneys zigz zags into the sky. The doors and window frames are haphazardly painted orange, purple, red and green. The front gardens are brimming with stunningly beautiful flowers: mostly noddydil, fraf and craggleweed. Silver and gold fluttifol buzz around them collecting gliff to make their glittery crunnyplop (which is sold in jars from a table at the roadside).

All of the houses are kept perfectly maintained with the exception of number four. Minky Flupp who lives there says she spends far too much time granting wishes to bother with keeping her house shipshape. Her neighbours don't mind, as long as she grants them a wish now and then.

Jiggy Paloozeville at number three keeps yickins. The yickins lay the most delicious eggs with a yoke so deeply purple few can resist. He willingly shares the produce with his neighbours and most mornings the fruity aroma of freshly poached yickin eggs wafts around the terrace.

People tend not to call round to number five because its resident: Professor Batty Baffookink conducts science experiments there. The one time Minky knocked on the door, it was answered by a squealing green and brown slimey mass. It took Minky some time to recover even after she had learned that the sight was just Batty covered in Harpypoo Sulphate after a tuttyfragwill experiment had blown up. Even so, these days everyone prefers to wait for Batty to come to them.

The eldest Fustyweed occupant lives at number one. At four-hundred and forty two, Neg Keg is filled with memories. So many, in fact, that he has to have them regularly removed by Chiffle Lacey-Trickle-Doot who conveniently lives next door. The removal process uses a bespoke machine that Chiffle invented. The machine has many cogs, several springs, a few sparking wires, two glass tubes and a large wooden memory vat. A wriggling hose-like attachment (tailored to Neg's spikey head) sucks out twenty year's worth of memories at a time. With the relief this provides, Neg can go back to filling his head up with new memories. These memories mostly come from his time on the wirrity field playing tuffball.

10 comments:

  1. I was gonna nick that and put it on the Quirky guide then I realized it is not a real place!! Doh!!! I love it.

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  2. James, Fustyweed IS a real place! Between Elsing and Lyng, UK.

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  3. It's still there, looking enchanted on a sunny Saturday in mid-March. So strange but true!

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  4. Just came across Fustyweed this morning on a tootle round Norfolk. Had to Google it as soon as I got home because I thought I had imagined it. What a delight to read this guide and know that I'm not entering my dotage.

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  5. I found Fustyweed today. Then I googled it and found Molly Potter. And Molly Potter reminded me of a song by John Otway called Poetry and Jazz.
    Molly, you must look this song up, it could easily be written about you.
    Leroy.

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  6. Found Fustyweed today, very pretty in the winter sunshine. Lived in Norfolk all my life, a considerable number of years, and didn't know it existed.

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  7. A.Arnold (nee Holden )19 February 2014 at 16:03

    My Gt Grandad lived in Fustyweed Norfolk around the late 1800's to early 1900's.

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  8. Like your Jung stuff. He was a great 'laugher' too (at least according to Laurens van der Post). Like you I went to UEA and couldn't get away!

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