#Arthur’s terriers

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

October 1st

Happy spooky season (for real this time)! 🎃

Let’s stab some vampires!

4 a. m.—Just as we were about to leave the house, an urgent message was brought to me from Renfield to know if I would see him at once, as he had something of the utmost importance to say to me.

It’s the Mina Effect. No one can resist her Cool Secretarial Skills and Knowledge of the Train Schedule.

"Take me with you, friend John," said the Professor. "His case in your diary interest me much, and it had bearing, too, now and again on our case. I should much like to see him, and especial when his mind is disturbed."

"May I come also?" asked Lord Godalming.

"Me too?" said Quincey Morris. "May I come?" said Harker. I nodded, and we all went down the passage together.

GUYS this is not a picnic

"I appeal to your friends," he said, "they will, perhaps, not mind sitting in judgment on my case. By the way, you have not introduced me."

Renfield I love you

"Lord Godalming, I had the honour of seconding your father at the Windham; I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is no more. He was a man loved and honoured by all who knew him; and in his youth was, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much patronised on Derby night. Mr. Morris, you should be proud of your great state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may have far-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may hold alliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of Treaty may yet prove a vast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true place as a political fable. What shall any man say of his pleasure at meeting Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology for dropping all forms of conventional prefix. When an individual has revolutionised therapeutics by his discovery of the continuous evolution of brain-matter, conventional forms are unfitting, since they would seem to limit him to one of a class. You, gentlemen, who by nationality, by heredity, or by the possession of natural gifts, are fitted to hold your respective places in the moving world, I take to witness that I am as sane as at least the majority of men who are in full possession of their liberties. And I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist as well as scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to be considered as under exceptional circumstances." He made this last appeal with a courtly air of conviction which was not without its own charm.

I am, indeed, charmed

Van Helsing was gazing at him with a look of utmost intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting with the fixed concentration of his look. He said to Renfield in a tone which did not surprise me at the time, but only when I thought of it afterwards—for it was as of one addressing an equal:—

YES!!!!! VICTORY!!!!!

"Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward, oh, let me implore you, to let me out of this house at once. Send me away how you will and where you will; send keepers with me with whips and chains; let them take me in a strait-waistcoat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to a gaol; but let me go out of this. You don't know what you do by keeping me here. I am speaking from the depths of my heart—of my very soul. You don't know whom you wrong, or how; and I may not tell. Woe is me! I may not tell. By all you hold sacred—by all you hold dear—by your love that is lost—by your hope that lives—for the sake of the Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guilt! Can't you hear me, man? Can't you understand? Will you never learn? Don't you know that I am sane and earnest now; that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane man fighting for his soul? Oh, hear me! hear me! Let me go! let me go! let me go!"

OH MY GOD YES he truly is Van Helsing’s equal!!! Not only does he suffer from I Cannot Tell You Shit Syndrome, he also uses what I will now officially refer to as the Dracula Loop™ to evoke his own imprisonment!!!

"You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind, later on, that I did what I could to convince you to-night."

Well that sounds ominous. Hopefully no one immediately gets mentioned in a way that strongly parallels a character we’ve just lost in atrocious circumstances —

I went with the party to the search with an easy mind, for I think I never saw Mina so absolutely strong and well.

[Demonic screeches]

"You know this place, Jonathan. You have copied maps of it, and you know it at least more than we do. Which is the way to the chapel?" I had an idea of its direction, though on my former visit I had not been able to get admission to it; so I led the way, and after a few wrong turnings found myself opposite a low, arched oaken door, ribbed with iron bands. "This is the spot," said the Professor as he turned his lamp on a small map of the house, copied from the file of my original correspondence regarding the purchase.

Now is not the time to be facetious Abraham

The whole place was becoming alive with rats.

For a moment or two we stood appalled, all save Lord Godalming, who was seemingly prepared for such an emergency. Rushing over to the great iron-bound oaken door, which Dr. Seward had described from the outside, and which I had seen myself, he turned the key in the lock, drew the huge bolts, and swung the door open. Then, taking his little silver whistle from his pocket, he blew a low, shrill call. It was answered from behind Dr. Seward's house by the yelping of dogs, and after about a minute three terriers came dashing round the corner of the house.

As someone who grew up with a Yorkshire Terrier, this makes me indescribably happy. Good boys 🖤🩶🧡💛

The house was silent when we got back, save for some poor creature who was screaming away in one of the distant wards, and a low, moaning sound from Renfield's room. The poor wretch was doubtless torturing himself, after the manner of the insane, with needless thoughts of pain.

I came tiptoe into our own room, and found Mina asleep, breathing so softly that I had to put my ear down to hear it. She looks paler than usual.

I have no words.

"Don't you know me?" I asked. His answer was not reassuring: "I know you well enough; you are the old fool Van Helsing. I wish you would take yourself and your idiotic brain theories somewhere else. Damn all thick-headed Dutchmen!"

Renfield on the other hand has many words.

"Mrs. Harker is better out of it. Things are quite bad enough for us, all men of the world, and who have been in many tight places in our time; but it is no place for a woman, and if she had remained in touch with the affair, it would in time infallibly have wrecked her."

[Slams head on desk]

If then the Count meant to scatter these ghastly refuges of his over London, these places were chosen as the first of delivery, so that later he might distribute more fully. The systematic manner in which this was done made me think that he could not mean to confine himself to two sides of London. He was now fixed on the far east of the northern shore, on the east of the southern shore, and on the south. The north and west were surely never meant to be left out of his diabolical scheme—let alone the City itself and the very heart of fashionable London in the south-west and west.

JONATHAN HOW CAN YOU BE SO SMART YET SO DUMB

"To hell with you and your souls!" he shouted. "Why do you plague me about souls? Haven't I got enough to worry, and pain, and distract me already, without thinking of souls!"

🥺

Will not mention "drinking."

Fears the thought of being burdened with the "soul" of anything.

Has no dread of wanting "life" in the future.

Despises the meaner forms of life altogether, though he dreads being haunted by their souls.

Logically all these things point one way! he has assurance of some kind that he will acquire some higher life. He dreads the consequence—the burden of a soul. Then it is a human life he looks to!

And the assurance—?

Merciful God! the Count has been to him, and there is some new scheme of terror afoot!

AN UNEXPECTED BREAKTHROUGH

[Renfield] had got a scrap of paper and was folding it into a note-book.

Oh gods are we going to hear from Renfield himself??? Please say yes

The purchaser is a foreign nobleman, Count de Ville,

Count de Ville

Outside of the obvious pun I am being French-baited again… This novel truly is a Professor Layton game.

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[sanx049]

Back at it with the seanposting 🫶

Filled the blank space with some dumb gifs :D

[classic-art-favourites]

Gee-Up by Arthur Elsley, 1914.

[protagonist-art]

i may have problems and issues 🥳

[pawsitivevibe]

My family thinks Leia is being mean when she plays with Arthur, but she is just making Terrier Noises.

[leotheloaf]

Oh boy I’m to the part of Dracula where everyone makes just the worst decisions all the time

[whiterosealchemy]

one of the greatest tragedies of none of the screen adaptations of Dracula being faithful to the book is that none of them include Arthur’s army of little terriers that he has to pick up and lift over the threshold one by one

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

*doing an interview for a promotional thing*

Interviewer: Of the Big Three, who would you say is the smart one?

Arthur: I've heard some people claim the smart one is Batman, but paranoia isn't the same thing as intelligence, seeing as he keeps trying to hide life-threatening injuries after battle because, quote, "it wasn't important."

J'onn: Many assume that Wonder Woman is the smart one of the Trinity, but her boundless compassion and infinite courage masks an impulsiveness to rival a terrier. She keeps trying to adopt the monsters we fight.

Dinah: Well it can't be Superman. He likes to act like a one-man punching bag whenever someone even slightly threatening shows up, even when it's a magical threat that he's uniquely vulnerable to.

Interviewer: ... how is the Justice League even still functioning?

Oliver: Luck and prayers, mostly.

When asked the same question later:

Nightwing: *laughs for six minutes straight on camera*

Green Lantern: *leaves*

Captain Marvel: Umm…

Zatanna: *very drawn out sigh*

[08melancholie]

Do you have any head cannons on what animal each gang member would be?

I mostly agree with the popular HCs, like Arthur being a deer and John being a Wolf, so on. However I have a few of my own too still !!!!

Arthur—Deer, obviously.

John—Wolf; even more obviously. But also, raccoon.

Micah—The usual answers are always rat or snake here, because of course, but I actually think Micah would be, specifically, a white Terrier or a bull Terrier. Dog, in general.

Dutch—I'm stuck between a lion and a black panther here, nonetheless I think both fit great.

Bill—A brown bear, obviously! We love the bear <3

Charles—Bison is the usual answer, and I agree with that myself as well, however consider this; a bull.

Javier—Coyote all the way, something about it just feels so right to me.

Colm—People'll often say crocodile, but I think eagle. No specific reason, I just see him and I think of an eagle tbh.

Hosea—Cheetah, also no specific reason.

Molly—Pigeon, specifically the brown ones.

Mary-Beth—A wild cat! Specifically, a Havana Brown :3

Reverend Swanson—A borzoi. No further elaboration.

[cryptidcr3ature]

Van der Linde gang and what dog breed I’d recommend them.

Dutch: Caviler King Charles Spaniel. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who wants a hiking dog or something super high maintenance. Sure grooming might be a factor but personality wise, it’s the dog that’ll sit there, look pretty, and not really worry about anything.

Hosea: English Setter. He would do great with a hunting dog and based off the way he hunts, he’d do better with a setter. He’d also like the sweet demeanor of the breeds standard.

Arthur: Labrador. I can imagine Arthur and his dog playing together for hours. Everything about Arthur reminds me of a lab.

John: Australian Cattle Dog. Unlike the others, John has an interesting lifestyle for a dog. I believe grooming may be more of a chore to him, but he wouldn’t mind running around with a dog for a while. I also think he’d like the guard dog aspect of a Heeler.

Javier: Scottish terrier. I feel like he’d like a little dog with an attitude problem. He’d like the independent and confident personality and the grooming challenge of the dog.

Charles: Newfoundland. He spends a lot of time alone and is more reserved than most,so I think he needs a more mellow dog. Its large size would also help protect him while alone. I also can just see Charles with a big fluffy dog.

Bill: Schnauzer. I could see him with any size, but I think Bill would thrive with one of those stubborn ass dogs. They are so loyal and so protective, but so stubborn (I’ve had 4 schnauzers in my lifetime, I love them but you can’t tell them no). He also thinks the beard makes them look more manly.

Lenny: Standard Poodle. I think Lenny would love a poodle for its intelligence. He’d have it trained to follow his every command, but also that dog would be so spoiled. Lenny would just carry it around like a little dog because he would kill a man for his puppy.

Sean: Australian shepherd. He needs a dog as wild as him. The mischief they would get into would make a nun cry. However, aussies are super smart and Sean and Lenny would compete in which dog was smarter.

Trelawny: Borzoi. He needs a dramatic ass dog. They’re beautiful and so fast, but not known to be the most intelligent of dogs. All the love to my noodle dogs though. :)

Pearson: Lhasa Apso. He needs a crusty little dog to sleep while he makes food, and then sit on his lap while he sits by the fire. Just a throw rug of a dog.

Micah: AKITA! Mean sons of bitches. They are aggressive, but loyal. Micah would like the fact it would only like him.

Reverend Swanson: Chihuahua. He needs a nervy little purse dog.

I’ll make a separate part for the girlies. :)

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

Yes see but my problem is less that it's an unreasonable solution and more that it is unsatisfying and also sloppy writing to have a very specific tool to get out of a situation and to only introduce it 5 seconds before the situation occurs and then have it immediately disappear. Bram Stoker is not exactly the most talented writer but he does planting and payoff fine at other points in this novel and I think it was well within his talents to make Arthur's terriers just a bit less random and I think he just got lazy.

Idk man in some ways the terriers are what bother me the most about Dracula plot wise and I know what a statement that is. It's kind of dopey that a mind controlled wolf breaks the window but at least we know what happens to the wolf and at least it is built up that Dracula has a connection to wolves before it happens + so it comes off as a fun character quirk more than anything else and at least it's quite entertaining. Bram Stoker relies on selective character stupidity with Lucy and Mina getting fed on way way way too much to be believable for me anyway, but at least you can kind of put a "this is your brain on paternalism/internalized misogyny/ableism" spin on it but those fucking terriers... Arthur never mentions them. Who is caring for them? I know that he lives relatively nearby but my understanding is that they went straight from the big group meeting to the Abbey, where were the dogs in the meeting did he stop home to get the dogs? We can assume that the dogs got dropped off at his place before leaving, but still it's just. Like it's so lazy. The fact that dogs scare off rats is not unbelievable but they just show up in the scene + disappear! Even if Lucy in her late August letter was like "we played with his dogs! My favorite is x" or if during Lucy's staking ceremony Arthur mentioned wanting to bring his dogs to the graveyard as protection or whatever I would hate it less. Like I know it doesn't really matter, and in all other respects I think that the scene is a cool example of horror, so I try to just ignore it but like. Bram. Bram come on just put the dogs in the story like 5% more if they're gonna save their asses I don't mean to sound like a killjoy but every year it just sticks in my craw in such a huge way.

[queer-ragnelle]

what are some of your favorite portrayals (medieval or retellings it doesn't matter) or sir kay?

Hi anon! Why, I'm so glad you asked. I love Sir Kay in all his forms. :^) I'll write out a complete list of my favorite portrayals of him across the board from Medieval Literature to Modern retellings, movies, and TV shows, that way everyone can find what medium suits them best. Links to read and watch everything are provided.

Medieval

The Black Book of Carmarthen

The first mention of Cei's existence! "Cei the Fair," a tall knight, is described battling a giant cat.

Cullhwch and Olwen

An obvious banger. Cai has his supernatural powers of growing as large as a tree, holding his breath for nine days, & "hot hands." He apparently uses this for blacksmithing. He & Bedwyr are inseparable.

The History of the Kings of Britain by Geoffrey of Monmouth

Caius helps Arthur & Bedevere kill the giant of Mont St Michael. After Bedevere is slain in battle, Caius suffers a mortal wound while retrieving his body from the field.

Peredur, Perceval, Parzival, & Didot Perceval

Peredur/Perceval/Parzival breaking Cai/Kay’s collarbone/arm is iconic. His pain is so funny to me.

Owain, Yvain, Iwein, & Ywain

Without Cai/Kay hadn't been busting Cynon/Calogrenant/Kalogreant's balls about his failed quest, Owain/Yvain/Iwein/Ywain wouldn't have met his wife. The seneschal is silly with it.

The Crown by Heinrich von dem Türlin

Keii is the ultimate seneschal. Arthur values him highly & sends him on important errands. He’s insanely melodramatic & kisses Gawain’s severed head. Repeatedly. His grief covers many pages.

Jaufre

Another silly ass Kay. He gets the first line in the story & immediately squabbles with Arthur. Brother behavior.

The Vulgate

Kay is important as Arthur's foster brother & seneschal. Lots of scenes repeated from the previous stories like fighting the giant of Mont St Michael, butting heads with Perceval, etc. but expanded upon. He's worsties with Mordred & just all around a fun guy.

La Tavola Ritonda

Chieso is such a guy. He isn't even mad when Tristan beats him up because it was so cool then his nephew Agravano patches him up.

Le Morte d'Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory

You know this is because of the kitchen boy storyline. It's peak. Beaumains is Kay's little guy. He was mean to him to make him grow they're besties later I swear.

Middle English Poems

These are about Gawain but Kay & Gawain go together like bread & butter. I especially like Kay's involvement in Gawain's marriage to Ragnelle, becoming her friend after the curse is broken.

Retellings

The Story of King Arthur and His Knights by Howard Pyle (1903)

The Story of the Champions of the Round Table by Howard Pyle (1905)

The Story of Sir Launcelot and His Companions by Howard Pyle (1907)

The Story of The Grail and The Passing of Arthur by Howard Pyle (1910)

Howard Pyle's series is near & dear to me, highly recommend. The illustrations are great & Kay feels nuanced. He can be a curmudgeon, but especially in the case with Beaumains, he was responding to Gareth's impudence toward Arthur. Basically he didn't start it, but he's going to finish it.

Arthur the Bear of Britain by Edward Frankland (1944)

Kai is Arthur's standard bearer & one of his toughest warriors throughout the wars. He's described as "having the wits of five men and the strength of ten."

The Eagles Have Flown by Henry Treece (1954)

The Great Captains by Henry Treece (1956)

The Green Man by Henry Treece (1966)

Treece wrote the same story three different ways, with Kai & Bedwyr as Arthur's closest companions, & Medraut as the wedge between them. Each book stands on its own as a complete story. The Eagles Have Flown is an illustrated chapter book for a younger audience so it has less of the darker themes the other two contain (such as incest & torture).

The Queen’s Knight by Marvin Borowsky (1955)

Kay is Arthur's foster brother & seneschal, described as "self-important as a little terrier." Later he gets mixed up in Mordred's schemes but ultimately backs down, while still protecting Mordred's homosexuality from the scrutiny of the court. Fascinating character.

Arthur of the Britons by Rex Edwards (1975)

Novelization of the 1972-1973 tv show. It opens like a prequel with Arthur & Kai as orphans newly adopted by Llud before catching up in time to the show where it adapts the encounters with Mark & others.

The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights by John Steinbeck (1976)

One of my favorite books ever. Steinbeck understood the assignment. Has the Kay quote which sets the standard by which all other Kays are measured: "Kay must be mean so the king can be generous."

Hawk of May by Gillian Bradshaw (1980)

Kingdom of Summer by Gillian Bradshaw (1981)

In Winter’s Shadow by Gillian Bradshaw (1982)

Be prepared to feel every emotion. Cei is great here 10/10 no notes.

Idylls of The Queen by Phyllis Ann Karr (1982)

The Coming of the Light by Phyllis Ann Karr (1992)

The Follies of Sir Harald by Phyllis Ann Karr (2001) [Going to scan soon!]

Arthurian Tales by Phyllis Ann Karr (2022)

Everything Karr writes is gold. Kay features prominently in all of them. Idylls of the Queen is first person Kay perspective retelling the apple poisoning incident from Malory, Arthurian Tales also has a lot of Kay focus, although it's an anthology with several different povs including Mordred.

Sir Gawain and The Loathly Lady by Selina Hastings & Juan Wijngaard (1985)

Illustrated picture book of the Wedding poem, including Kay looking really dapper.

The Quest for Olwen by Gwyn Thomas, Kevin Crossley-Holland, & Margaret Jones (1988)

Illustrated picture book of Culhwch & Olwen, two page spread of Cai & Bedwyr riding the giant salmon to rescue Mabon.

The Knight with The Lion by John Howe (1996)

Illustrated picture book of Yvain's story which includes a gorgeously rendered joust with Kay donning his key-shaped regalia.

The Hunt of the Hart Royal by Cherith Baldry (1996)

The Trial of Sir Kay by Cherith Baldry (1997)

Exiled From Camelot by Cherith Baldry (2001)

The Last Knight of Camelot by Cherith Baldry (2024)

Everything Baldry writes is also gold. Exiled From Camelot is a retelling of Perlesvaus with Kay, Gawain, & Gareth povs. The Last Knight of Camelot is a new anthology with many stories, mostly Kay.

 In Camelot’s Shadow by Sarah Zettel (2004)

For Camelot’s Honor by Sarah Zettel (2005)

Under Camelot’s Banner by Sarah Zettel (2006)

By Camelot’s Blood by Sarah Zettel (2012)

Old man Kai acts as a frame story retelling the events of his nephews, Gawain, Agravain, Geraint, & Gareth's, & their lives with their wives, Ragnelle, Laurel, Enid, & Lynet. Kai is present throughout but especially book 3, Gareth/Lynet.

Movies

Sword of Lancelot (1963)

Kay is the old, hard of hearing seneschal of Arthur's court. He's funny & nice to newcomer Tor & the kids at Arthur & Guinevere's wedding.

Lancelot du Lac (1970)

Pretty much identical to his Knight of the Cart counterpart. Running his mouth a lot & advising Arthur, sometimes shushed by Gauvain or Yvain.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (1970)

Animated movie in which Kay is the one to discover Hank & bring him to Arthur. Present at Arthur's side throughout the film.

Perceval (1978)

An adaptation of Chretien's Perceval, so Kay is knocking jesters into fires, slapping maidens, & getting his arm broken by Perceval.

Excalibur (1981)

The Kay ever. Raised alongside Arthur, tries to claim he pulled Excalibur from the stone, then stays at Arthur's side as seneschal the rest of his life. Trains Percival in the kitchens & to be Lancelot's squire, tends to Arthur's health during the grail quest & protects him from Mordred, then follows Arthur into the battle at Camlann.

Knightriders (1981)

Kay is an early opponent of Mordred, they "joust" on their motorcycles so Mordred can test his new weapon, Kay has an axe.

Merlin and The Sword (1985)

Kai is Arthur's seneschal, unclear if they're brothers but certainly great friends. Arthur hugs him immediately on his return. Kai talks about managing the household, finding suitable rooms for the guests like Pellinore. Later he challenges Mordred's authority when he attempts to usurp. Gawain leaves Ragnelle in his charge while he returns to the dungeon to help Lancelot bring Guinevere home. Kai is the last one to see Arthur alive before he's slain by Mordred & shown mourning at the funeral.

Sir Lanval (2011)

Colorful indie movie retelling Marie of France's Sir Lanval, Kay is Arthur's foster brother & seneschal, who's forced to play middle man between Guinevere, Arthur, & Lanval. He's both the prosecutor & the defense team in the trial. Fun hat!

King Arthur: Excalibur Rising (2017)

This movie is bad. But Kay & Bedivere are shown kicking ass in the intro depicting the battle of Camlann. Later after Owain, one of Arthur's bastards & the main character, is grown up, we see that Bedivere is caring for an ailing Kay, still using his title to honor him.

TV Shows

The Adventures of Sir Galahad (1949)

Kay is Arthur's seneschal & keeper of the sword Excalibur. He explains to all newcomers, including Galahad, the origin story of how Arthur obtained it from the lady of the lake & then charges the new knights to stand guard overnight. After Galahad is drugged & the sword is taken, Kay & the others set out to try & find it. Kay is often shown to side with Mordred's harsher approach, but can be talked down by Lancelot into Galahad's favor. In the end his motivation is always to serve Arthur the best he can.

The Adventures of Sir Lancelot (1956-1957)

Kay is Arthur's seneschal & right hand man seated beside him at the Round Table. He's largely a comedic character who resists change, such as letting Brian the kitchen boy into the fellowship of the Round Table. He's not a bad guy though, more like Devil's advocate, who eventually gets proven wrong. He sometimes accompanies Lancelot on his adventures.

Arthur of the Britons (1972-1973)

Kai is Arthur's adopted Saxon brother, both were raised by Llud after they were orphaned. Kai is often used to conduct secret missions regarding the Saxons since he can blend in with them. He loves Arthur but they also fight a lot & Kai is secretly very good with kids. A balanced & wonderful portrayal.

BBC The Legend of King Arthur (1979)

BBC produced mini series covering the entirety of Arthur's story. Kay is only in the first episode as Arthur's foster brother, both beloved by their father Ector.

Knights of the Round Table anime (1979-1981)

Kay is Arthur's foster brother & later knighted & put in charge of the castle while Arthur ventures out with Lancelot, Tristan, Galahad, & Percival. Toward the end of the series, Kay is slain in battle & dies in Arthur's arms.

Starz Camelot (2011)

Babygirl. Played by the dreamy Peter Mooney, Kay is Arthur's foster brother & made marshal of the realm after Arthur's crowning. He's the sweetest ever, teaching Gawain to read, & speaking of Ector so fondly all the time, using his love of books to help people. He's a solid fighter & goes on all the missions.

[nthspecialll]

Have you ever gotten the dialogue from Dutch after you saved Sean? Where he says;

"Well done, Arthur. You found the Irish Terrier."

"Sadly."

"He's just a younger version of you. "

"Please don't say that to me, Dutch."

Do you think this has any truth to it? Honestly, I have a hard time imagining Arthur as anything other than his quiet-self, but maybe Dutch means to refer to Sean's eagerness to jump into jobs? I'm not entirely sure, but I will eat up any mention of the pre-game old guard.

No he does refer to Sean's anger and impulsiveness. Firstly we have the offical description of Arthur which describes him as an "angry young delinquent."

Other than that we have in Country Pursuits where Dutch comments on the fact that Arthur never grew out of his childhood anger (though it was mostly a tease).

And when The Old Guard goes out fishing Dutch tells the story that Arthur was sent out to fish but got so angry and fustrated that he dropped it and just went to a market to get some instead.

Hosea tells a story when you go out hunting with him, that Arthur once blew up a rabbit with a shotgun.

All does point to young Arthur having been similar to Sean, I also used this in an analysis only to be told that Curzon and Ben had actually kinda already talked about it. They mentioned that Hosea were preparing Lenny and Sean to be the new leaders of the gang, and while they elaborated on Lenny they didn't elaborate on Sean.

[ostensiblynone]

'THOSE WINDOWS ARE SAYING THROW A CHAIR THROUGH ME'

-Light the touch paper and stand well clear. OASIS, Manc hooligans barely holding it together around the centre of their pop genius, are flying the rock'n'roll flag like no other band in Britain. SIMON WILLIAMS watches as their audiences tear apart stages, the band tear apart each other and hotel night porters are just plain terrorised. Blue loons: KEVIN CUMMINS

Liam: "My head's in ruins — so's my shirt." Noel: "You're a mad c—, you are." Liam: "No, you're the mad c—!" (Repeat to fade)

It all started off normally enough. A quiet Monday evening in Portsmouth, a sold-out gig for Oasis, followed by a drug pilgrimage and a 'crap' student party on the outskirts of town. Then back to the hotel for a few swift nightcaps. Simple, eh?

In the bar, Oasis bumped into East 17, fresh from their own gig at the Guildhall. "Are you Blur?" demanded East 17.

"No, why? Are you Take That?" came the stroppy reply. While the Walthamstow terriers wisely retired to their various rumpus rooms, Oasis settled down in the bar with a gin and tonic or ten. There was merciless ribbing of any roadie with more than a passing interest in Manchester United - crowned champions earlier that evening, much to the disgust of the pro-City band. Then a bottle of champagne or two appeared on the table. Then the barman made the terrible mistake of abandoning his post.

At this point, some drinkers would notice his departure and wonder how long he'd be, imagining wistfully all the alcohol they could purloin in the interim. Oasis don't imagine - they just do. Before you could say, "Bugger me, free booze!", two of the entourage were scrambling over the bar, emptying the fridges and passing the bounty over the counter. One minute later, 50 bottles of beer were being stuffed under chairs and into innocent bags. Then things got really strange.

Guitarist Paul 'Bonehead' Arthurs, decided to go for a dip in the horribly convenient pool next to the bar. The Gallagher brothers Noel and Liam decided to have a scrap about an ex-girlfriend. Allegedly. Expletives started flying. Then punches started flying. Then bottles of beer started flying. Then furniture started flying.

Bassist Paul 'Guigsy' McGuigan valiantly tried to separate the Gallaghers, receiving two knuckle sandwiches for his endeavours. Someone started throwing chairs at Bonehead in the pool. Then tables. Liam had Noel on the floor. Noel tore Liam's shirt off.

Other residents, tiring of the mass brawl downstairs, started coming out onto their balconies and shouting abuse. One particularly aggrieved sort was accompanied by his girlfriend. While her lover's attention was focused on the mayhem below, she would calmly open her towel to show Oasis either Nothing Very Much At All or Everything, depending on your perspective.

At this juncture, the pissed-up band would roar their encouragement, causing the baffled boyfriend to turn and find his demure-looking companion safely covered by the towel. Then he'd shout more abuse and she'd flash again.

And so it went, with a few more punches thrown here and a few more items of furniture thrown there (ie, in the pool). Eventually, at around six o'bleeding'clock in the morning, the night porter appeared to tell the fuzzy thrill-seekers that, actually, if it was alright with them he was going to knock off because, urn, someone had called the police.

IT IS common knowledge that hotels are utterly brilliant places. Let's face it, if you get smashed off your nuts in the confines of your own home and gleefully decide to trash your living room prior to catching a bit of shut-eye, are the cleaning pixies likely to rearrange the furniture into some kind of social order while your hangover works itself into a midday frenzy? Nope, you'd just wake up to discover that, somehow, World War Ill had kicked off during the night and your house is in a state of blitz.

But, hotels being hotels, when Oasis shamble into the bar the following lunchtime - apart from the occasional dark stare from the receptionists - life is back to normal. Stunningly overpriced pots of tea are being drained. Liam and Noel are comparing wounds and laughing about their fight. The swimming pool has been cleared of chairs and Boneheads. And everyone logically decides it was the hotel's fault, anyway.

"It's a stupid place to put a pool, innit?" frowns Liam. "It was asking for trouble putting us in this hotel."

"It's true." nods Noel. wisely. "Those plate glass windows are just saying, 'THROW A CHAIR THROUGH ME!"

In fact, were it not for a bar bill totalling £150, the odd bruised ember and some suspicious chinking noises emanating from a large black bag through the foyer out to the van, you could almost convince yourself that nothing happened. Really.

"Still we don't need a rider tonight," sneers Liam, waving carelessly at the departing baggage. "We can just go in and say, 'Newport - you can stick your rider UP YER ARSE!"

THIS IS life on the road, Oasis style. You may not think it's big, or indeed clever. But it is rock'n'roll bastard bonkers. This becomes screamingly apparent when, lounging around the hotel lobby preparing for the drive to Newport, while most sane people are dreaming of a world with no spirits and a nice weekend on a country health farm lest their livers quit and their brains implode, Bonehead studies the tour itinerary and suddenly yells, "F—ing brilliant!" The curfew at the venue tonight is half past one!" Oh good.

Our task is to follow Oasis around the country for three nights, from Portsmouth Wedgewood Rooms to Derby Wherehouse via Newport TJs and all blurred points in between. In this time various people will threaten to leave the band to set up habardasheries, the band will threaten to leave, several people and several senses will most certainly leave everyone.

Liam, Noel, Guigsy, Bonehead and drummer Tony McCarroll - fuelled by little more than raging testosterone, Big Macs, gin and tonics and whatever powders they can dust their nasal passages with - will play three splendid sold-out gigs, abuse more hotel staff and talk utter brilliant bollocks. Like about the time they stunned half of Manchester by appearing on The Word a full month before the 'Supersonic' single was released: here, Paula Yates was "up for a bit of sorting out", according to the ever-charming Liam, and Oasis once again made friends in their own inimitable style.

"Bonehead had his arm around Hufty," recalls Noel with a sad shake of his head. "He was shouting in her ear, 'What are you into birds for, anyway?' Then he started licking her head, right in the middle of the bar..."

It's hard to tell when the on the-road psychosis actually kicks in, such is the all-pervading air of insanity from day one. This is the second nationwide jaunt by Oasis, the first being a co-headline with Whiteout. And beneath the manic Manc exterior, the swaggering, crowd-shagging arrogance that dictates that they think they really, really are the best band in the entire galaxy, Oasis are freaked. Totally.

The first date was in Hull, where there were more people turned away than actually allowed in. The promoter eventually threw open every door of the venue, so the building was swarming with would-be punters peering in, striving to get just the smallest piece of the action.

Then 200 punters were turned away from the Coventry gig, where massed stagediving was the order of the night. So much so that Noel - possibly being as sensible as he'll ever be on this tour - suddenly had the diamond idea of, like, escaping unscathed. So halfway through the last song, he hands his guitar to a roadie and, with the legendary words, "I'm f—ing getting out of here!" heads towards the dressing room.

"I had to climb onto the PA to escape," he winces. "And someone's trying to untie my laces and someone else is grabbing hold of my trouserleg. I get to the dressing room just as the crowd is spilling onto the stage. Three-quarters of an hour later, the rest of the band appear and they look as though they've been in a fight! They were mobbed - the crowd wouldn't let them go! It was f—ing hysterical, like Beatlemania or something!'

"We expected the gigs to be full," he admits, warily, "so we could be arrogant and say, 'Oh yeah.' But I tell you man, we're more shocked than anyone! It's like, we've only had one record out - what's it gonna be like when we get an album out?"

There's a great - probably entirely mythical - story which sums up Oasis perfectly. After all the band (bar Noel) were arrested on the ferry to Amsterdam a couple of months back, Creation President, Alan McGee, took the group's press officer to one side and said: "F—ing hell, man, I've been trying to make Teenage Fanclub interesting for five years! Look what you've landed here!"

Fact is, Oasis are a dream come true. They fight! They flirt! They go f—ing mental! And they make music that creeps through your intestines, squeezes your kidneys and proposes to your heart. Probably. They are so OBVIOUS that the more manipulative record company sorts should be leaping off their high-rise ledges in droves, because Oasis - with their housing estate backgrounds, their working-class clumsiness end semi-genius pop sensibility could never be invented in a million units. Put simply, as The Stone Roses once said, Oasis are what the world has been waiting for.

Which, funnily enough, takes us to Newport, where Noel is comforting yet another G&T in a pub around the corner from the hotel. The fact that this particular hostelry has so many games it resembles a boozer's indoor sports centre, and thus leads to all manner of theories, vis a vis whether people in Newport actually talk to each other, is marginally interesting. What is fascinating, however, is that the posters advertising tonight's gig proclaim Oasis plus Very Special Guests. With The Stone Roses supposedly recording a few miles up the road in Rockfield it doesn't take a Nobel Prize winner to hazard a wild guess that the Manchester of yesterday is going to make an appearance next to the Manchester of today.

Noel laughs off the idea that the Roses intend to play, although subsequent rumour-mongers insist that Geffen had phoned TJs a few days before to book the slot for Ian Brown's bunch. Yet you can't rid yourself of the feeling that, in the absence of the Roses and Happy Mondays, there is a massive demand for a cocky, rocking, PC-shocking Manc band. And that band is Oasis.

"It's like, you get a band like Suede," ponders Noel, "and they write pretty decent music and all that, but Brett Anderson's lyrics are basically a cross between Bowie and Morrissey and I don't think that some 16-year-old on the dole is going to understand what he means by "Animal Nitrate" or whatever."

"The thing about The Smiths is that Johnny Marr was a lad and you knew he was a rock'n'roller - that's why I got into them. And I think a lot of kids find Suede too intellectual, while with Blur they don't understand all that stuff about sugary tea. But with Oasis, like the Roses and the Mondays, it's the bottom line: here's a guitar, here's the songs, you have them. We're not preaching about ye olde Englande or how it was in the '60s. We're not preaching about our sexuality, we're not telling kids how to act.

"You want to write about shagging and taking drugs and being in a band. You don't wanna write about going down the supermarket or anything like that - I know it's terrible, so I'm not gonna write about it. I met a girl the other night and I felt really sorry for her, because she came up to me and said (really quietly), 'I've got Supersonic' and I'm, er, really into your lyrics and I've been through a lot as well.' And I went, What do you mean? 'Supersonic' is about some f—ing nine stone geezer who got Charlie'd off his nut one night... it's not about anything!' It's just about a feeling, you just get up and play it. All I know is the gigs are selling out and we're probably gonna get in loads more trouble on this tour..,"

FACT: OASIS talk a lot of bullshit. After the Portsmouth gig, Liam insists that he's going to "sort out" East 17 because, he alleges, "They've ripped off "Imagine"." Half an hour later, the singer is insisting that all he wants to do is sit down with East 17, neck a few beers and sort out how they can "topple Take That".

The same applies for Noel when he's told that Manic Street Preachers are coming down to the Newport gig: "Do they wanna fight?" asks the guitarist. Nah, the Manics don't fight, comes the answer. "Right!" beams Noel, "we'll kick their heads in, then!"

The beauty is, much like all their hormone-raging banter about 'shagging' and 'birds', Oasis never actually get round to doing anything. All mouth and bad trousers, they're simply on a half-drunk, half-addled crusade to mollycoddle their audiences into believing that Oasis are the gnat's knackers.

Simplicity is the key: Newport, much like any other set on the tour, is utterly straightforward and unnervingly familiar. There's the Coca-Cola song! The one-that-sounds-a-bit-like-Blur-song! The T-Rex song! The Wham! song! A cover of "I Am The Walrus"! And no bleeding encores! It's the history of rock splattered over the past 30 years from The Beatles to the Mondays, played by five blokes who scarcely move a muscle onstage, who barely communicate between songs, and who are hardly likely to rival Bad Boys lnc in the,"Woof woof! Down boy!" stakes.

And if you believe that Oasis are adhering to some sort of genius game plan (look sultry! Look disinterested!), then Noel's confession that he'd "love" to dance around on stage, but he has to concentrate on playing guitar because he isn't that good will blow any conspiracy theories out of the water. Fact is, far from swanning through the ranks to run rampant in the Fab 40 with their debut single, the Oasis success story is...an accident.

"They were just an indie band before I joined," explains Noel. "It was alright, it just wasn't rock'n'roll. But the bassist looked good, the drummer didn't look too bad, and our kid looked pretty f—ing cool. At that time I was a roadie and I thought, 'F—me, it's looking me in the face.' So I bowled into the practise room one day and said, 'Right, change that guitar, take them shoes off, cut your hair, I'm gonna be doing this from now on.' And they just looked at me and said, 'Oh, alright, then.'

So Noel took control of the band, injected it with the requisite rock'n'roll spirit, played the rest of them stuff by T Rex, The Faces and, um, Burt Bacharach, started writing all the songs, insisted that the band rehearse three times a week — including Saturday nights — and then... nothing happened.

"We were actually trying to convince people we were great," sighs Noel. "But after the first four gigs in Manchester no-one would put us on, because we had this reputation for being...not lads, just difficult. We had a fight with the headlining band one night 'cos they pulled the plug on us during the last song. That's when it started, because loads of A&R men had come to see this other band and they saw them have this MASSIVE scrap onstage with us. It got us a bit of a reputation.

"It's like McGee saw us by accident in Scotland and he says, 'Have you got a record deal?', and we said no and he said, 'D'you f—ing want one? I'm the President of Creation Records!' So I said, 'Aha! So it's your fault then is it, you twat!' And he says, 'What do you mean?' And I said, 'Shonen Knife is your fault! It's all down to you, son!'"

Now, naturally, the phone doesn't stop ringing. Manchester rumours abound (the one about Oasis buying a massive house in London and living it up with butlers and limousines is a peach). And Oasis don't give a f—.

"That city's done us no favours, man,' shrugs Noel, defiantly. As well he might, because ultimately Oasis have rolled along under their own steam. In 'Cigarettes And Alcohol', Liam sings, "You've gotta make it happen", and, in a very real sense, that line could be taken as the band's short, sharp manifesto. Noel reckons he hasn't had a day off since last October. In a recent two-week break between tours the rest of the band went home (mostly to their mams) while the guitarist stayed in London doing press and mixing the album.

So it's little wonder he's letting his hair down now, raving about "enjoying yourself", about making the most of it while you can and taking in the smell of the crowd while the fans can still get close to you.

"It's all new, no-one's seen it all before," he insists. "The next tour will be even better because we'll have another record out. Then there might be ambulances at our gigs!"

He knows that this is the optimum time for appreciating why you're in a band, when you're buzzing on new-found infamy, when all the gigs are packed out, when the crowds are all singing along even though only a minuscule part of the set has actually been released. And — better still — Noel Gallagher knows precisely how f—ing ridiculous this entire situation is.

"Who'd have the bollocks to release a first single like 'Supersonic', with lyrics like that about Alka-f—ing-Seltzer?" he rants, waving his G&T around. "I just hope that some band reads those lyrics and goes, 'What does it all mean, maaaan?', while the guy who actually wrote it is in a pub somewhere, pissed as a F—ING TWAT!

"Music for me at the moment is DEAD. It's poncey and serious and everyone's gotta make some sort of statement, whether it be about 'Parklife' or their feminine side or their politics. But we're a rock'n'roll band — we say all you need is cigarettes and alcohol. Everyone's dead into analysing, but don't analyse our band. 'That's a good song, that is. What does it mean?'. Who gives a f— what it means?"

So 'Shaker Maker' (the Coca Cola song, naturally) is the new Oasis single, and it's kind of something to do with the Mr Fluffy guy who sells Soft Mints by wobbling into lamp posts. And Mr Benn's in there, as well as a load of other characters, and Noel says that, more than anything else, it just makes him laugh.

"There hasn't been any 12 bar blues in the charts for as long as I can remember. And I don't think anyone's sung about plasticine and Coca-Cola in the same song, so that's the one for us, that is. Get it in the charts!

"Like I said before, it's just a feeling. If you sit down and think, 'Why do I like this band so much? Well, the singer's an arrogant git, I'd like to twat him one. And the rest of the band might as well be cardboard cutouts.' So you end up thinking, 'I don't like f— all about this band, but... the songs! Aren't the songs F—ING GREAT!?'"

A FEW more things you may or may not need to know about Oasis on the road. Already a seasoned autograph campaigner, Liam has sussed that signing fans' chests is a daft idea because cleavage perspiration prevents your pen from working properly. Whenever two or three of Oasis are gathered around the piano they will bang out a cheery version (to the tune of The Small Faces 'Lazy Sunday') of, "Wouldn't it be nice to be a f—ing cock-er-nee / Wouldn't it be nice to be in f—ing Blur — SLAG!". And Newport witnesses some serious psychological collapse.

It may be something to do with the manner in which Oasis valiantly attempt to get a goodly proportion of the TJs crowd into the hotel after the gig. Dispensing with the trite formalities traditionally deployed to convince suspicious hotel staff of their guests' worth, Liam simply harangues and abuses the night porter until the poor bloke's left with the enviable choice of opening the front doors or spending his entire shift being chased around by drunk Mancunians. It may then be something to do with the six-hour drinking session that ensues in — spookily enough — the hotel's Oasis bar. Whatever, the following morning is a sad sight for bloody sore eyes.

Bonehead has trashed his room. You can tell this by the way the morning staff patiently file in from the street carrying paraphernalia (telephones, cushions, pillow cases scarred with tyre marks). Bonehead would have thrown the bed out as well but it was too big. Now he is sitting in the lounge with a transparent shower cap on his face, muttering, "I can't do it any more."

"There's no such word as 'can't'," a worryingly wise Guigsy informs his colleague.

"But I CAAAN'T!" howls Bonehead. "I'm giving up this rock'n'roll business, I'm gonna be a Tory MP. GIVE ME A SATSUMA! GIVE ME A SATSUMA!"

Over on the other side of the bar, an irate Liam is throwing the morning's music papers around and ranting about Oasis being exploited or some such like. Noel watches his brother, adjusts his shades and sighs. "I'm gonna tell him that Henry Rollins has been slagging him off," he decides. "He'd rip our kid's leg off, shove it up his arse and then lick him to death like a f—ing lollipop!"

And over in the corner, Guigsy sits wondering why his hands are shaking so much, enthusing about Star Wars and planning for the future: "You know Leonard Nimoy is on Creation?" Erm, yes. "Well, I want Spock to be our tour manager. Could you imagine it? 'You have just thrown that table out of the window — that is highly illogical, Guigsy'..."

Obviously, confronted with all this evidence, any sane sort without direct responsibility for the tour would pack up their bags, slink off to the nearest mainline station and get the first train back home to Normality, pronto. Sadly, the NME crew simply sits in the midst of the chaos and twitches.

Eventually, after losing the band transport for half an hour, Oasis apologise to the staff, pile into the van and head off to Derby armed with half of the local McDonalds. It's one of those afternoon-after-the-few-nights-before journeys, where a sense of communal numbness prevails, Bonehead wants to vomit and the tape deck blasts out The Beatles, The Who and The Sex Pistols. Then we hit the traffic jam from hell outside Birmingham.

When a sleek business type refuses to let the van sneak in front of his saloon in the outside lane, the previously dozy band suddenly erupts, banging on the windows and hurling abuse at the unfortunate driver. Then, as we crawl through the roadworks, Bonehead spots a clutch of archetypal British workmen doing bugger all and yells, "START DIGGING!" Five minutes later, and now fully warming to the task, Bonehead decides to stagedive. Clambering on to his seat, he throws himself headlong into the back of the van. Nothing wrong with that, you might say. Except Bonehead is driving.

It could be said that if in hedonistic terms Primal Scream are The Muppets, Oasis are more like The Muppet Babies: a danger only unto themselves, they're the sort of trainee rock'n'roll gits who may be sussed enough to go backwards for their musical inspiration, but they've mercifully left behind the nastier elements of the trad RAWK lifestyle. So their bag is speed rather than smack, and their attitude is based upon bewilderment rather than insufferable belligerence.

Noel's the one with the permanent half-smile who appears to get most of his kicks from watching the rest of his band's antics. Tony barely utters a single word in the entire three days. Guigsy, general consensus has it, is coming out of his shell and becoming more and more unhinged the longer the tour progresses. Bonehead is simply bonkers. And Liam... Liam is the loose cannon, the one who spends ten minutes abusing receptionists and the next half an hour trying to chat them up. Lippier than the rest, he's always up for something. And when he recounts the Portsmouth saga to an enraptured mini-audience in the Derby dressing room, you can see how much he gets off on the attention.

"Beer is the best drug ever!" he bellows at one point. "I don't f—ing care, me."

"I feel sorry for our kid sometimes," Noel had mused back in Newport. "I've got all this shit going on inside my head and I can write it all down and get off on that. But he can't, so his release is to get off his head."

Noel admits that he worries about some of the, uh, less PC things that Liam is inclined to blurt out: "There's no need to say them, really. He just sets himself up." He talks about his brother's responsibility towards the band, pointing out that he's representing five people, not just himself. And then the guitarist sighs heavily yet again.

"Our kid thinks that I want him sitting in a room reading a book. I don't want that at all, man! But he f—ing winds me up. He's the one person I argue with. He goes on about this and that and I'll say, 'Shut up, you f—ing dick — I used to change your f—ing nappies!' Basically, if he's asking for a smack in the mouth he'll get one. And the same applies to me — if I'm asking for a smack in the mouth, I'll get one."

What if Wank Weekly phoned up and asked Liam to romp around in a soapy bath full of naked models for the centrespread?

"He wouldn't do it," frowns Noel, after a long, considered pause. "That'd cause another fight. But do you know what really worries me? I worry that someone's gonna throw a bottle at our kid one night and he's gonna casually move out of the way and let it smack me right in the mouth!"

So Oasis do another cracking gig, and some more substances and some more socialising. And then — no doubt to the relief of five horrendously overworked bodily constitutions, not to mention all of Derby's hotels — they go home. After a bizarre night drive across England, there's a quick sprint around Manchester dropping various band members off at their houses.

It all ends at 3am in the Britannia Hotel, where The Buzzcocks are retiring to bed. These Animal Men cower in shady corners and the bar bulges with soft Southerners in crap Adidas gear loudly celebrating United's championship success.

In the midst of all this, Noel Gallagher partakes of one last G&T and contemplates the next step in the Oasis plan for global domination: Glastonbury.

"People go on about the pressure and all that because they sit and think about it all day," he decides. "But we'll just bowl up there, arguing in the coach on the way. Someone will probably have a tooth missing by the time we get onstage and we'll play the gig and then we'll get off and start arguing again.

"This is another dream: I always wanted to go to Glastonbury but I could never afford a ticket, and now all of a sudden someone's paying me to play to a load of people and give me loads of beer and drugs. It's gonna be brilliant, because once you're in that field anything goes. When you're at home in your local pub and announce, 'I'm gonna get my face painted like a panda,' everyone goes, 'What the f— does he mean? Let's bottle the c—!' But at Glastonbury you can take all your clothes off and run around naked — that's what it's there for! It's the same with this band: let your hair down man, have a good time, that's what it's there for. Then you wake up the morning and do it again."

And again. And again. And again...

—NME | 4th June 1994

[count-skribula]

The Suitor Squad!

Featuring Arthur’s terriers

[jubileesstuff]

This last race of the season is wild, we got:

Max and George beef

Max and Kelly baby news

a yapping Terrier

A lot of drivers leaving F1

Lando loving the Drama

Charles being happy that he can do testing with Arthur

And I guess some more things I can't remember