“I was born with the name Geraldine,
with hair as coal black as a Raven “
Tamerlin was born in the autumn wastes of Sherwood Forest, under the forlorn roots of an English oak tree. Abandoned by his mother and her gang of sheep rustlers, he was adopted by a family of wise ferrets. They taught him how to grub at the soil for sustenance, a trait that is still apparent today in his rather crude table manner. Later, as he grew too large for their nest, he was sold for a bag of nuts to a band of wandering minstrels. Upon realising that he had absolutely no talent whatsoever, they quickly traded him to the Monks of Lindisfarne for a couple of fiddle strings and a loose-limbed gypsy girl. Tamerlin then spent several years learning how to repel Norsemen, eat raw potatoes and hum along to Celtic dirges.

“I travelled┬ámy life without a care”

The monks made and occasionally sold bread. It wasn’t very good. The loaves that they didn’t sell they used for bedding and pillows. Tamerlin caught a yeast infection in his ear from one of those pillows, leaving him partially deaf. Eventually he left the monks and fell asleep for several years. Those years are remembered by most people as ‘the sixties’. Unfortunately Tamerlin cannot remember much about them, honestly.

“Good were the parts that we played in our game. And a long ways off was the morrow”
The seventies brought him a new awakening and a realisation of his own immortality. With a liver shot through by alcohol, adrenalin induced high blood pressure, scars up the ying-yang and several people wishing to hang his head on a stick by the city gates, Tamerlin realised that nothing could really destroy him. So he stopped most of the self-destructive behaviour that had characterized his earlier life. Not because of any higher power or sagacious advice, but simply because it had become pointless.

“Not much from life was I asking,
’til I met someone to give all my love.
All my love so long and lasting.”
Marriage to a virtuous woman of high birth, two children of capricious intelligence and a migration to the Pacific shores of British Columbia finally sealed our hero’s fate. He became a part of the mainstream, an artist, a writer, a keeper of goats, and an example of reason and coherence to his offspring and his peers. But, occasionally, when no one is looking, Tamerlin will wander off into the rainforest with a bottle of homemade wine, a couple of raw potatoes and grub through the soil as he hums an old Celtic dirge to himself…

” I was born with the name Geraldine,
with hair as coal black as a Raven.
I travelled my life without a care,
Ah but all my love I was saving” (Donovan)