By
Mark Sadler
I want to make it clear from the outset that this a 100%
blame-free zone. As far as I can recollect, during the celebration of
the Winter Solstice, we as a pantheon, came to a tacit agreement that
a plague might liven up what was looking to be an otherwise rather
boring 2020.
Having been forced to self-quarantine on the summit of
Mount Olympus for the past eight weeks, I think we can safely
conclude that this strategy has backfired.
Each of us suffered in different ways:
Enforced beach closures have prevented Poseidon, who
holds dominion over saltwater, from accessing his second home on the
bottom of the Aegean Sea.
Eros, in his role as chief overseer of love and sex, has
struggled to cope with a rise in demands for advice from couples who
are attempting to maintain long distance relationships, along with
other couples, at the end of their tether, who have been forced to
spend rather too long in each other's company.
I have been prevented, by social distancing guidelines,
from indulging in my pet hobby of metamorphosing into the likeness of
a swan, and impregnating some innocent maid with my bastard
offspring, prior to abandoning her to raise the child as a goatherd.
Like I said, we have all been forced to make sacrifices.
Again, I do not wish to apportion blame. All we can say
with certainty is that one, or perhaps several, of our number,
thought that it would be amusing to instruct our intern, Prometheus,
to capture the morning breath of Hades in a stoppered bottle, and
then release it outside the wet fish market in Argos.
In hindsight, when this decision was made, we had all
imbibed one too many thimblefuls of ambrosia. It should have perhaps
been a sign that our judgement was impaired when we cheered as Hera
climbed up on the giant relief map of Ancient Greece (which incidentally is terribly out of date) where we idle away our hours
toying with the lives of mortal men, moving them around like pieces
in a board game. When Hera subsequently fell off the table, having
stumbled midway through her well-observed imitation of a Spartan
stripper, we should have definitely called it a night.
On a side note, a figurine representing Achilles, that
was scattered during Hera's fall, ending up being broken in half
under her high heel. This breakage has had life-changing consequences
for the real Achilles.
There also remains the delicate matter of the city of
Troy, which is currently enveloped beneath a gigantic pair of ladies
underwear. Might I suggest that now is as good a time as any for
their owner to reclaim them. Again, no judgement. All I ask is that
you think of the ramifications before table-dancing on the map of
prophecy.
In dark times such as these, where the leaders of mortal
men founder, and their apothecaries race to assemble double-blind,
placebo-controlled clinical trials of new blends of medicinal herbs,
people will naturally look to the gods for guidance.
Could it be that, where hydroxychloroquine has failed to
impact upon the spread of the pestilence that is referred to as
COVID-19, a solution might be provided by a sun-bronzed, square-jawed
specimen of Greek manhood, with a chiselled physique, dressed in
little more than sandals and a loincloth, ready to embark upon a
dangerous quest for a cure, fighting giant monsters across a chain of
arid Mediterranean islands, before returning home to marry a
princess, who is also his mother?
It's just a thought.
Ordinarily I would cast one of my illegitimate children
in the role of hero. Unfortunately, none of my offspring seem to be
very keen on going out at the moment, so I have been forced to
outsource the position. I suppose that, given our home nation's
reputation as the birthplace of democracy, it is only fitting that we
distance ourselves from nepotism and the 'chosen one' model of
hero-selection and place these decision in the hands of the hoi
polloi, who can be blamed if anything goes wrong.
I am pleased to announce that, following a public vote,
the flame-haired troubadour, Ed Sheeran has been chosen for the role
of people's champion. We already have a PR firm working on raising
his mythological profile. They are going to build him up as the bad
boy of Mediterranean folklore. Meanwhile, I have arranged for some
paparazzi to photograph him sneaking out through the back entrance of
an apartment that belongs to the Oracle of Delphi.
I have also managed to secure transportation for the
journey, in the Platonic form of the ship of Theseus, which is
currently a Norwegian-registered cruise liner called The Sunset
Voyager, incorporating two
cinemas, a full-size basketball court, and an unlimited seafood
buffet. Unfortunately the port authorities on several mythical
islands have said that they will not allow the ship to dock during
the pandemic.
There remains the issue of deciding upon a suitable
end-destination for the quest. Many of the usual mainstays (the
Fountain of Youth; the factory where they produce golden fleeces)
have been designated as non-essential businesses and will remain
closed for the duration of the lockdown.
Another unresolved difficulty has been rounding up
appropriate monsters for Sheeran to do battle with. The obvious
candidate, the hydra, is currently on a list of critically endangered
species. Sadly, the financial penalty for cutting off even one of its
heads places it well beyond our current monster budget.
As far as other monsters go, Medusa
recently posted on social media claiming that she is self-isolating
more than usual; the Harpies won't get off their perch for anything
less than half a million euros; and Charybdis and Scylla apparently
got married last year in a civil partnership, and have retired to
Cornwall to run a donkey sanctuary. I've put out a casting call but,
so far, the only respondents have been Frankenstein's Monster and an
agent representing some of Doctor Who's lesser known adversaries.
Despite
these setbacks, our champion will still face many challenges, albeit
of a strictly bureaucratic nature. These will include mercurial
travel restrictions and the possibility of two-week periods of
mandatory quarantine after crossing national borders.
On this
subject I would like to make it clear that this quest (working title
'The Sheeraniad') is not an opportunity for you indulge in your own
personal amusement by throwing an Archimedes' screw in the works. Ed
Sheeran's people have informed me that their artist remains committed
to a busy schedule, and any world-saving quest must adhere to a
strict, pre-agreed itinerary. I will take a very dim view of any
attempt to create unnecessary obstacles. If I find out that one of
you has conspired to wreck the Ship of Theseus on an island of
man-eating trolls, disguised by magic as beautiful women, then I will
raise the matter formally with Human Resources.
So that's we stand at the moment.
I suggest that we all convene for a Zoomchat on Thursday
morning, if that is convenient for everyone.
~ Zeus
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