Welcome to Maid Spin, the personal website of iklone. I write about about otaku culture as well as history, philosophy and mythology.
My interests range from anime & programming to mediaevalism & navigation. Hopefully something on this site will interest you.
I'm a devotee of the late '90s / early '00s era of anime, as well as a steadfast lover of maids. My favourite anime is Mahoromatic. I also love the works of Tomino and old Gainax.
To contact me see my contact page.
Chapter I: Fairy Gates
My tale begins on a bright and hot day in mid-May. It was a Sunday and I had taken the Great Western Railway westbound for a hike out in the country. After a long and busy week of work amongst the dark greys of the city I wanted nothing more than to be somewhere green and somewhere old. I had picked my destination at random really, nothing more than a quick scan across one of the old OS-maps my father passed onto me a few years ago to find somewhere suitably rural and out of the way. The map said that there was nothing more than a few houses and a church by the station. Oh, and that little blue pint glass that indicates a pub: the perfect spot for a quick drink after a good days hike.
The train pulled into the station at five past ten, and I could already tell something wasn't quite right from the number of passengers alighting at such a remote station. Wandering out onto the high street I instantly recognised my error: gone was the quiet hamlet of that old map and here was the very model of a "new garden commuter town". The road was lined with those strangely spaced out semi-detached houses of the middle class, with the ominous plastic sign of a new-build housing estate glinting from a nearby junction. The plastic cars of the sophisticated modern residents rolled endlessly past, each as indistinguishable as the last. The white facade of the local Co-op laughed at me from across the street as the floppy-haired teenaged cashier in the window picked his nose and I wondered whether I might just get back on the train home. Such towns are found everywhere nowadays, swallowing up ancient villages to provide the bulging modern population with four walls and a bed, no matter the cost. I knew I should have checked online before I went: how old was that OS Map anyway? I pulled the thing out from my pocket and flipped it over: "1959". Blimey that is an old one: must have been Grandad's. I unfolded the map and located the path I had been planning to take north from the station. Luckily if I've learnt one thing from these old maps it is that while roads and buildings can shift and change, footpaths never do. Following my plan I turned right and headed East along the high street toward the start of my footpath out of here. It seems the Co-op really was the only shop in this town: nothing but bland semis as far as the eye could see. I checked my map again and to my horror I realised that even the pub had gone! It should have been just there, only a few doors down from where the Co-op now stands. But instead the mock-Tudor facade of a single family home stood snidely where that little blue pint glass should have sat. Thoroughly beaten but not defeated I bravely decided to keep soldiering on: soon I would be out and into the real countryside.
Turning left I was finally greeted with a friendly sight: the old village church still sat precisely in her proper place, the stout bell tower firmly rooted in the verdant, if slightly overgrown graveyard. It didn't look well-used, but no churches do these days. I wasn't sure whether they still held weekly services, but there was no activity there despite the day of the week it was. My path took me along the dry-stone boundary wall of the graveyard, past the church building into what should have been the first field of the day, but which instead turned out to be a narrow alleyway between two houses, flanked by dual rows of prefab-wooden slat fences. Onwards I went through the seemingly empty backstreets. But fortunately my journey through cul-de-sac hell wasn't too long, as I soon found myself walking out through a gap in a holly-hedge into an open common with views out into the open countryside beyond. Manoeuvring past a set of sad looking football nets I finally stepped out from that ungodly town into the unspoilt domain of farmers, hedgerows and sheep.
My mood, soured by the unfortunate early dashing of my expectations, again began to rise as I trudged along the edge of open fields and under boughs of oak and ash. The Spring really was in full bloom now, the untended field verges thick with grasses and brambles and wildflowers. Even my map starting working again: with the positioning of fields and paths entirely unaltered since its printing all those years ago. For several miles I walked on, absorbing the healing properties unique to the ordered beauty of the English countryside. Each new field brought with it something unique: the satisfying uniformity of the wheat fields, the shifting green shadows of leaves in the wooded plots, the perfect lawns of the pastures manicured to perfection by flocks of sheep. Oh how I wish I could stay here forever!
In high spirits and with a spring in my step I eventually reached a large meadow that stretched down towards a small brook. The bright sun of midday was starting to beat down heavily now, making me regret my lack of foresight to bring a hat. The sheep of this meadow must have been feeling the heat too, as they were all sat together in the shade of the hedge that crossed the meadow. Or rather it was the outline of a hedge; now only a scattering of hawthorns remained, tracing out the old line in the soil but leaving large gaps in between. It was through one of these gaps I was headed, as in this direction should be a footbridge over the stream according to my map. The walk across the open meadow was longer than I imagined, and with the exposure to the hot sun I started to feel a bit light-headed as I approached the hedgerow. Taking influence from my ovine friends, I decided it would be prudent to take a little rest in the shade provided by the thorn bushes too. A few of the sheep stood up as I approached, but I didn't get close enough to make them scatter, picking a tree several yards away instead. I sat down on the dusty earth and took a much-needed swig from my water bottle and cleared my head. As I gazed out across the meadow I noticed a curious little gate further along. Once it must have given passage through the hedge, but now it just stood alone and useless. "A Fairy Gate" my Grandmother used to call them: neglected old gates that have outlived their adjoining fence. Their slightly off nature was always of extreme interest to me as a child, and I would always go through them rather than just walk around like the adults would. Besides, Grandma always said it was good luck to go through a fairy gate. Or was it bad luck? I can't recall.
Now it had piqued my interest I knew I had to investigate. So after another sip of water I stood up and walked over. It definitely was an old gate. It was made from delicately designed metal bars, with the diagonal bars curving elegantly into a soft S-shape. No one would make a gate like this today; especially not one to just be used in an out-of-the-way field like this. I wondered when it might have been made. It must have been at least a hundred years ago, if not considerably older. The latch looked a bit rusted, but when I tried it it unlatched with ease, letting the gate swing open with an unexpected smoothness. Did someone maintain this gate maybe? Surely a weathered old iron gate like this would have rusted over: it would have to be greased to be this smooth. But who would bother greasing a useless old gate like this? "Maybe the fairies," I laughed to myself as I stepped on through, the gate effortlessly and silently swinging shut behind me, the latch clicking back into place.
