Over at The Dabbler today you will find Old Key’s Almanacke, a list of a dozen prognostications of what will befall us in the coming twelvemonth. The spooky thing about Old Key is that he has been proved unerringly accurate, time and time again. I am not entirely sure who he is, or was, other than that his papers were discovered in a shoebox underneath a sink in a cubby in an old manse perched on a windswept hillside. The papers, bound into a series of Almanackes, had been piddled upon by generations of feral cats. On the rotting linoleum next to the shoebox lay a wand and a pointy hat. They too had been piddled upon, by something bigger and more terrible than a feral cat.
Sounds to me like you have been reading Edmund Spenser. The last time I read Spenser I became quickly pustulent and suffered goat scrotum and Punjab head into the bargain. Beware.