Jimmy Squarefoot on the Isle of Man

I was over on South Barrule this afternoon moving a few boulders around for Manannán mac Lir. He’s been moaning about the state of the old fort for a couple of centuries now and I don’t mind helping out as he lets me help myself to peat for the fire over winter.

Anyway, there I am throwing these great rocks around when my ears prick up to a distant noise. It was almost like a rumbling and the first thing to my mind was the thought of a Buggane tunneling deep under the mountain.

But then the noise began to climb from a rumble to something like a roar and I quickly jumped to a high point to scan the horizon but could see nothing. This wasn’t really a surprise as my hearing is far better than my sight thanks to my large ears.

As I strained to try and locate where the noise came from, the roar became more high pitched. It was coming from the East and my experience told me it was reaching me from far across the sea from the land man knows as Brittania.

By now the noise was a definite scream. A blood curdling scream so chilling it raised to the surface deep memories from dark days of a distant past I thought I had long forgotten. A scream from so far away it could not be heard by the ears of men from Mann yet was deafening to mine.

Manannán mac Lir appeared from his fort and gave me a look as if to say “what are you doing Squarefoot?” so I told him of the noise. He cocked his head to listen and nodded slowly with that all knowing look on his face only a Deity of his stature can have.

“It’s the men of Liverpool you’re hearing. They just got battered by Fulham and threw away the title race for yet another year. I’ve got it on the box if you want to see the highlights?” He told me.

“Sure” I said, “any chance of a cold beer while we watch?”