iiinova — where your digital self keeps evolving

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 27/07/2026

And you, Wegbrade, greatest of herbs, open from the east, mighty within. Over you carts creaked, over you queens rode, over you brides passed, over you bulls snorted. You withstood them all and resisted them; so may you withstand poison and infection, and the evil that travels through the land.

A clump of common plantain (Plantago major) growing beside a dry, sun-bleached path. Its broad, dark green leaves spread low in a rosette, while several tall, slender seed spikes rise above the foliage. Fallen leaves and parched summer grass surround the plant, highlighting its resilience as it thrives in the trampled ground.

1124

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 25/07/2026

Thank you to the wonderful @hookland.bsky.social for the beautiful gift. Like always with #Hookland it arrives just as I need it. I spent all morning going through it… I have been transported home.

Hookland fragments and my Hookland right to reside.

I am honoured and touched to be enclosed in the Acknowledgments.

Acknowledgements
This book is dedicated to Paul Watson and Paul Wilson.
Without their sustaining friendship, Hookland would have remained lost.
I would like to offer special thanks to Phil Hine, Maria Strutz and April Cole. Without them, this volume would not have been produced. I would also like to offer special thanks to all who came out to The Bell pub to attend the original talk, especially Tara, Jo and Bob who travelled so far.

3160

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 22/07/2026

The elder hangs her dark beads in July. The cunning folk say she’s counted the warm days herself and dressed for autumn before the rest of the hedgerow believed it. Never take the first berry you see. Leave it for the old spirits, lest they remember your name when winter comes. #Folklore

Close-up photograph of ripe elderberries hanging in a summer hedgerow. Clusters of glossy black berries dangle from vivid crimson stems, framed by dense green leaves with a few sun-dried brown leaves tucked among them. The berries are heavy and abundant, catching the light against the lush foliage, evoking the height of the English summer before the first signs of autumn.

0227

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 13/07/2026

A tiny bit of green in a rusted and dry summer. The reasons for its existence can be explained quite easily, however, the stumbling upon and subsequent mood change it created was pure magic.

Green grass and mushrooms in an uncharacteristically lush area in the middle of a dry, hot, summer.

080

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 12/07/2026

When the poppy pods begin to rattle, the cunning folk said the Elven #Summer Queen was counting her pennies for winter. “Poppy, poppy, lantern bright, Keeper of the noon-day light, Rattle softly in the sun, Tell us summer’s not yet done.” #folklore #magic

02910

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 05/07/2026

A photo from my #Steampunk musical — A Clockwork Heart.

On stage, a woman in Victorian-inspired clothing sits beside a table of steampunk props while a young woman in a white lace dress, with a large clock set into her bodice, sleeps against her knee. Black drapes and warm-coloured curtains frame the quiet, intimate scene, suggesting a tender moment between inventor and creation.

1163

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 02/11/2025

Well I finally did it. On Friday night I played a gig and sang my songs about #UFOs, #Bigfoot and how we as GenXers need to remember how anti-establishment and left wing we used to be. Oh also about how if the #tribulation came around, who Jesus really would hate. #NewWave #LiveMusic #OriginalMusic

Mary and I dressed up just before our gig. I am dressed as a zombie guy and Mary as a goth chick with LEDs in her hair.

1210

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 23/10/2025

When the storm rolls in from Sandown Bay, the waves whisper names long buried beneath the cliffs. Locals say if you answer the call, the sea remembers you and takes you back to where you were never meant to leave. #Folklore #FolkloreThursday

The image shows a dramatic coastal scene on the Isle of Wight, likely near Sandown. A two-lane seaside road curves gently alongside the beach, bordered by a strip of grass and palm-like trees. The sea is calm but dark, reflecting the moody sky above. Heavy storm clouds loom over the horizon, with patches of brighter sky and sunlight breaking through. The contrast between the storm and the light creates a sense of both beauty and foreboding. A sign near the shore reads “Welcome to Sandown.”

0160

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 17/08/2025

Been away for a while, frantically writing and getting my musical “A Clockwork Heart” ready. First table read today! #steampunk #musical #queer #lgbtqia

A photo of the script and songbook for my new musical

2121

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 02/08/2025

Blessed Lammastide. #lammas Drawing by me — The Lammastide.

0424

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 06/07/2025

Settling down to watch Catweazle, I may come up for air at end is series 1.

An image from the opening titles of Catweazle

2160

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 12/06/2025

Each sunset, the Sky-Scribe scrapes the day’s final truth across the heavens. Cunning Folk say the red smear is his warning of promises broken, or love unkept. If the sun sinks blood-orange, beware: for someone below has lied, and night will remember. #folklore #vss365

A vivid sunset over the ocean, with the lower half of the sun dipping below the horizon. The sky is ablaze with deep orange, red, and golden hues, streaked with thin clouds that catch and reflect the warm light. The sea below appears calm and dark in contrast.

1334

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 08/06/2025

In the cloudy gloom, the #Speaker walks cloaked in gloom, voice like rusted chains. They say she speaks names the dead forgot, and the wind answers back. If you hear her call yours, don’t run. Don’t breathe. For in that moment, the earth remembers and so must you. #vss365 #Folklore

A photo of the sun trying to break through the rain clouds overlooking the island.

0235

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 07/06/2025

And so I’m ready for my talk about All Colours Sam, The Sandown Clown. I am terribly nervous, I am wracked with anxiety. But the show must go on. One hour to go. #Folklore #UFO #Mystery #IsleofWight

A photo of the stage and a screen showing the first slide saying “Mystery of the Sandown Clown (Declassified)”

190

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 04/06/2025

Need to finish my script in the Sandown clown for my talk on Sunday. No distractions. Ooooohhhh look, crows in my garden.

One of the original drawings of the Sandown clown.

180

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 03/06/2025

Slipped into the Hollow Hours again. Chronic illness winds itself meanly through everything: body, breath, even stories. I’m resting where the mist thickens and time stirs strange. Back when the stars realign and the somewhen releases me. Keep a lantern lit.

A photo of a red sign that says "Path Closed, Unsafe Conditions, Do not enter"

0281

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 01/06/2025

At this stage in my life, good socks and comfy slippers are all I want for my birthday. That and amazing handmade cards by my kids.

Socks and slippers and cards. Nothing special but means everything to me.

9340

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 29/05/2025

They say the vine grows only where something was sealed, something that begged not to be forgotten. It creeps through cracks each year on the same night a child vanished, whispering in green tongues. No matter how often it’s cut, by dawn, it return thicker, and listening. #Folklore #FolkloreThursday

A photograph shows a dimly lit corner of an old interior space. A leafy green vine climbs up the join between a white wall and a dark, cracked wooden panel. The panel is part of a door or wall with faded gold trim. Below the vine, there are miscellaneous items including a black bin bag, a straw hat, a patterned blue-and-white duvet or sheet, a white umbrella, and white feathers. The atmosphere feels neglected and slightly eerie.

0373

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 22/05/2025

A rare site and a wonderful omen. A hare crossed my crooked path. If a hare crosses your path, joy will follow before nightfall. Folk say it’s the moon’s own messenger, and its silent leap brings luck, love, or news long-awaited. #Folklore

0497

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 22/05/2025

The Pellars of the #IsleofWight call #foxgloves, #Deadmansbells — they know that the Elfen Folk may hide within in the flowers and disturbing them while one is in residence can have dire consequences. Admire from afar they say, but never touch. #folklore #FolkloreThursday

a picture of fox gloves growing by a fence in the middle of fields and the sea the background

17010

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 22/05/2025

Wegbrāde, mother of plants; open to the east, mighty within, carts ran over you, ladies rode over you, brides cried over you, bulls snorted over you, you withstood them all & you were crushed, so may you withstand the poison & infection and the evil that travels round the land. #FolkloreThursday

0182

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 19/05/2025

Today’s prompt is for #angerfish — everyone will be sharing pictures of females but I want to give a shout out to the males. Size doesn’t matter little buddy. (More info in the alt text) #vss365

A picture of a male angler fish.

Male anglerfish are significantly smaller than females, and some species have evolved into obligate parasites. They are not predatory and lack the luminous lure found on the females. Instead, they use their keen sense of smell to locate females. Once a male finds a female, he attaches to her with sharp teeth, and in some cases, they fuse together, with the male losing most of his internal organs except for the testes.

2333

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 14/05/2025

Something a bit different. Here is the single cover I have made for my band's new single -- @cybercryptrequiem.bsky.social (for anyone interested in check it out) #NewMusic #Art #Single

060

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 09/05/2025

In English lore, yellow dandelions were sun-gifts, blooming with cheer. Their milky sap was thought to heal warts or reveal truth. When brewed with burdock, they made a drink said to gladden the heart and guard against goblins that crept through hedgerows at dusk. #Folklore

This photo shows a single bright yellow dandelion flower growing in a patch of green grass. The flower stands out vividly against its surroundings, with its many narrow petals forming a full, round bloom. Around it lie thin twigs, some fallen dry leaves, and a cut or broken branch. The scene captures a moment of natural beauty; simple and untamed, where the cheerful dandelion pushes up through the lawn.

1312

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 08/05/2025

Extract from the #OldEnglish #Sacred #Herb #Charm Weybread (plantain), you mighty plant, You are the most revered among the earth, You are wrapped in power, You withstand the poison, Bend over with tiny drops of water, When a man blows upon you in the snow #FolkloreThursday #Folklore

Certainly. The photograph shows a thriving plantain plant (commonly known as Weybread in Anglo-Saxon sources), growing at the base of a wooden fence beside a red-brick edging. The leaves are long, broad, and glossy with prominent parallel veins running their length—characteristic of the Plantago major species.

The plant is flowering, with several tall, slender stalks bearing small, tightly packed greenish-brown flower heads tipped with white stamens, giving them a somewhat fuzzy appearance. The background includes grass, another plant with rounded leaves and white flowers (possibly mallows), and some bramble foliage creeping in from the corner.

The scene is brightly lit with clear sunlight, casting soft shadows and highlighting the vibrant green of the Weybread leaves against the contrast of the wooden fence and red brick.

Would you like a poetic interpretation of the image in the spirit of the Nine Herbs Charm?

1172

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 08/05/2025

#Vatican #Folklore The “sedes stercoraria” was a throne with a hole, used to verify a pope’s manhood. A cleric felt beneath and declared, “Testiculos habet et bene pendentes!”…“He has testicles and they hang well!” A ritual to ensure no woman ever sat on Peter’s throne in disguise. #Conclave

Certainly. Here’s a focused, richly detailed description of the image of the chair itself, written for the visually impaired:

⸻

Image Description (for the Visually Impaired):

The image depicts an ancient chair carved from reddish marble. It has a square, upright design with a flat seat and a tall, rectangular backrest. The most striking feature is a large, circular hole cut cleanly through the center of the seat. The edges of the hole are smoothly finished, indicating deliberate craftsmanship. The chair’s legs are short and sturdy, making it sit low to the ground. Each armrest is thick and blocky, formed as part of the same marble slab.

The stone surface appears worn and slightly mottled, suggesting centuries of age. The overall design is simple and functional, without ornamentation—stark in contrast to the ornate surroundings of the Vatican where it is kept. The chair rests on a slightly raised platform, and soft, ambient lighting casts gentle shadows that emphasize its solidity and the curious emptiness of the seat’s central void.

This is widely identified as the sedes stercoraria, the legendary “testicle-checking throne” associated with papal folklore.

061

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 08/05/2025

The dead don’t rest if you cut #hawthorn at midnight - stick of the dead. Saw a man do it once on the Downs; next morn, all they found were thorns in his bed and boots pointing toward the graveyard. Hawthorn don’t forget, and neither do the dead. - Old George the Rogue #FolkloreThursday #Folklore

A spray of delicate hawthorn blossoms leans into the sunlight, each small white flower opening like a tiny five-petaled star. Their centers are sprinkled with dark pink-tipped stamens that look like tiny candle flames. Around them, bright green leaves catch the light like thin jade fans. Behind, the world fades into soft green shadows, as if the tree is whispering secrets to the breeze.

1295

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 08/05/2025

Beneath the elder’s scented bloom, Takes the evil to its tomb. Witches whisper in the shade, Where ancient deals are done and made. Sip the bloom, but ask with care, The elder’s spirit lingers there. Bless or bane, it’s hard to tell, A friend to heal, or charm to spell. #FolkloreThursday #Folklore

This image shows a large, oval-shaped wicker basket filled with freshly picked elderflowers. The elderflowers are tiny, creamy-white blossoms gathered in delicate clusters, with some light green stems still attached. The basket is placed outdoors on a wooden surface with sunlight casting gentle shadows across it. The flowers appear soft and fragrant, evoking a sense of late spring or early summer foraging in the countryside.

0688

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 07/05/2025

In Brading’s darkened villa, a cock-headed man was said to guard buried Roman secrets. By moonlight, he crows thrice: once for warning, twice for doom, and thrice to steal your shadow. Children left corn at his mosaic feet, praying he’d never crow their name. #WyrdWednesday #Folklore #Roman

This image shows a section of an ancient Roman mosaic from Brading Roman Villa on the Isle of Wight. The mosaic depicts a curious and mysterious figure often referred to as the “cock-headed man” - a humanoid figure with a rooster’s head. He stands upright, clothed in a tunic with outstretched arms, facing a small structure that looks like a shrine or temple. To the right, there are several animals, including a goat and what appears to be a serpent or dragon, all arranged around a long, diagonal object, possibly a spear or pole. The artwork is made from small, colored stone tiles and is partially damaged, with some sections missing or faded.

The cock-headed figure is unique in Roman mosaics and has inspired local folklore and speculation, with some linking him to ancient gods, protective spirits, or even mythical hybrids.

0274

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 07/05/2025

Left me ol’ hat here once, thinkin’ I’d be back by evensong. Never was. If you see it, leave it be. It holds a #trace of mischief and rain, and maybe me too. Small church, smaller sins. - Old George the Rogue #vss365

In a quiet corner of what might be the smallest church in the land, a straw hat with a dark brim rests on a wooden peg, as if waiting for its absent-minded owner to return. The wall behind it is thick and whitewashed, worn with age and stories. Nearby, a tilted mirror leans against the wall, catching a slant of light from a latticed window that peers out onto a patch of green. A basket lies beneath the window, draped in something forgotten. The room is still, steeped in a kind of gentle magic, where time lingers like a whisper and even a hat can feel like a relic of adventure.

0181

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 05/05/2025

Each spring, the Path of Whispers blooms with wild garlic, said to mark where the Moonmaid once wept. As their scent fades, so too does the spell—step lightly… quietly: one may glimpse her dancing where the world frays, and dreams slip through like mist. #Folklore #Spring #WildGarlic

The image shows a narrow woodland path winding gently through a lush green forest. On either side of the path, dense clusters of wild garlic plants carpet the ground, their long green leaves topped with delicate star-shaped white flowers. The blossoms are beginning to fade, signaling the end of their season. Tall trees arch overhead, their trunks thick and covered in ivy, with fresh green leaves forming a canopy that filters soft daylight. A single bare, crooked tree stands among the greenery on the right, adding a touch of mystery to the serene and slightly overgrown scene. The atmosphere is peaceful, fresh, and a little magical.

212214

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 03/05/2025

They called it Gēsīeg—Goose Isle—named for a forgotten godling who moved through dunes and guided souls on dusk-feathered wings. After a church to St Helena was raised, the name faded, leaving only a whisper: the Isle of Geese, spoken with joy, when the spring flock return. #Folklore #IsleOfWight

The sign of the village of St Helens, with a goose.

180

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 02/05/2025

The Mole had been working hard all morning… #Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. #WindInTheWillows

A drawing from Wind in the Willows — the Mole by the riverbank for the first time. Ernest H. Shepard

0120

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 02/05/2025

Along the crooked path, in the woodland of Arwald, #spring sighs in petals, carpeting earth in blushing bloom. Elfen eyes glimmer from leaf and bough, watching in stillness. Do not touch, nor speak—only dream, for beauty here is sacred, and to disturb it is to vanish with the breeze. #Folklore

A photo of petals on the woodland path in spring.

0162

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 29/04/2025

You maybe wondering what I have been doing lately? I have also been working on a new talk about the Sandown Clown! Thank you to @hookland.bsky.social & @skionar.bsky.social for encouraging me to pull all the primary sources etc I have and produce something. www.bembridgefort.org/whats-on-eve...

A poster about my upcoming talk about the Sandown Clown. 7th June, 7:30pm -- Never before seen evidence and documents as well as first hand accounts.

3336

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 16/04/2025

Nearly time to come back. It’s nearly time to remember the last British Pagan King, Arwald. I will be back soon… #arwald #pagan #king #IslofWight

A drawing of the past Isle of Wight King, Arwald.

0180

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 09/03/2025

I went to Roslin on the Isle of Wight today. Locals believe this is the true resting place of the Holy Grail. They say it will show itself to the person who does not want to find it. #Folklore #Arthurian

A drawing of an angel holding a chalice by me.

1220

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 04/03/2025

On the Shrovetide, bands of children would go tripping from door to door, caps in hand, singing “Shroven, Shroven!” In exchange for their tune, they’d hope for a feast—bread, cheese, pancakes, or even a juicy bit of bacon—before Lent’s lean days set in. #pancakeday #ShroveTuesday #Lent #Isleofwight

An image of children read to go out a Shroven. Singing:

Shroven, Shroven,
I be come a Shroven.
A piece of bread,
a piece of cheese,
A piece of your fat baacon,
Doughnuts and pancakes,
All o'your own maaken;
Vine vowls in a pie,
My mouth es very dry,
I wish I was zo well a-wet,
lazing the better vor a nut.
Shroven, Shroven,
We be come a Shroven.

2297

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 04/03/2025

Cunning folk tell of the #Penumbra Folk—thin-limbed things lurking in the crisp spring shadows, where morning frost clings. They hide in half-light, unseen but felt, weaving feelings with cold fingers. Step too near at dawn, and they’ll mark you, taking away your joyous gate. #vss365 #Folklore

A drawing of the tall man.

Standing tall with tattered bones,
The black hatted man is grim,
He does not look at the passers by,
Only the wicked will see him.
Doubting is the tall man's sport,
Greasy and long is his hair,
One eye is broken and hidden away,
The other does nothing but stare.
Fair game are you poor sinner man,
Your excuses he will reject,
No contrition will save your soul dear boy,
When the tall man comes to collect.

1357

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 03/03/2025

Yes, Probably what is now called Church Lane.

110

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 01/03/2025

#Folklore has always been #political — born of #resistance, #rebellion, and the whispers of the oppressed. It is #subversive by nature, shaping and challenging power. Though many twist it for control, in the end, true magic endures, and the light always reclaims its own. #FolkoreAgainstFascism

A just that tells Nazis to fuck off! They are not welcome here.

2469

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 01/03/2025

The #Emporium of Stars bids farewell to the dark as the choir of birds awaken. The Song Thrush weaves golden notes, the Blackbird calls the sun, and the Robin sings of hope. The Dawn Chorus stirs the world—an ancient spell, sung anew, welcoming the Goddess Hreðe. #vss365 #folklore #magic #Spring

A picture of hedgerow, leaves and grasses.

0317

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 28/02/2025

“The #Outlier walks where the world frays, neither lost nor found, but watching. Her voice is the hush before the storm, her touch the shadow on the morrow dew. Beware her kindness, for she knows only hunger.” — Pella Wilfrid of Blackmere #vss365 #Folklore #Myth #Folkhorror

A sketch of the old Outlier as she walks the crooked path with the moon looking down on her through the leafless trees.

0275

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 24/02/2025

Today’s prompt from #vss365 is #sonic Here is a drawing I did of Sonic for my son. This is probably the lowest effort response to a prompt that I’ve ever done. Anyway, enjoy sonic.

0201

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 22/02/2025

The kittens moved in, took charge right away, Claimed the best spots, made us obey. I thought they were ours—how wrong could I be? They stole the deeds and now own me! #caturday #poetry #catpoetry #cat

My two kittens in their bed, curled up together.

1401

Tales of Wihtlore @wihtlore.uk · 20/02/2025

Two kittens home, so small, so new, Baked Beans blinks, Sushi Cat too. Floppy paws all puffy and wide, Timid hearts, #unbridled inside. A twitching tail, a cautious peek, A world to claim—maybe next week! #vss365 #CatsOfBluesky #FolkloreCats #kittens #CatPoetry #Poetry

Our new kittens. Baled Beans the sister is curled up in their bed. They’re quiet little boy, Sushi Cat is hiding behind, just poking his head up.

0423