We, The Righteous Knights of Kettering, Northants; last bastion of L'quioch yn Ketyrngh, decendants of Gavin the Oraynge, sworn protectors of the Bless'd Kumquats of Miriam. These many ages we have fought the powers of darkness which would sieze the talisman of power, on which is carved the ancient rune Ma'huish U'qui Ketyrngh, writ in the black tongue of Wolverhamton. If the words are spoken in the centre of the Stones of Ketyrngh, N'Bobyl-Hattyd will rise from the burning pits of Tartarus and the Knights will be vanquished.

In a time long past, the hallowed hills and meadows of Kettering (as they once were) knew happiness. Grass was green, skies were blue, fruit was sweet and women were ripe; and the good, simple people of Kettering saw fit to give thanks to Him.

They tilled and fed the earth, fetched water from the clearest brooks and grew Kumquats. They grew Kumquats the like of which have not been seen since, so large, RIPE and fruity were they that any who set eyes upon them could only weep at such glorious perfection and visited were they that slept that night.

A vision. A vision of a barn. A vision of a barn of such majesty that they did weep again. And so, gripped by the awe in which they were bound they did build such a barn in which to store THEIR blessed fruit.

It was a glorious contruction. Proud beams were planted square in Kettering's rightous soil and sturdy walls stood fast against the winds. It was good. And they did fill their barn with Kumquats and they did gather to worship it's granduer - thrice weekly - after Emmerdale.

Such a happy place was Kettering.

Alas, no sooner had the winter frosts dusted thier barn with it's silver magic, than did come the Raiders from East Grimstead who covetted the barn and it's fruity contents. Not content with stealth and theft (for the Raiders were a warring people and knew not of agriculture) they did raize the barn and the sweet fruit therein to the ground. And they did break down Kettering's picket fences, and scribble on the bus shelters, and empty everyone's wheely-bins in the street before they left.

When our proud fathers arose, there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth and our proud fathers' daughters were sent out into East Grimstead to make war and to break all their toys.

Hear this, brave Knights: Who's watching your barn?

Naturally, we do not actually live in Kettering, but that is not important.

This is important

The world will end in 2093, because we'll be too busy being dead to make excuses when it doesn't, and because it leaves plenty of time for our second tenet of faith

Kumquat brandy, the cultists drink of choice.

Scrub and prick about 700g of kumquats, then place them in a large glass jar with a well fitting lid. Add an equal weight of sugar, pour in a bottle of brandy then cover with the lid. Leave in a cool pantry, or cave, for six months, swishing gently every month or so, then strain off the liquer, drink and invade neighbouring countries.

Kettering Pork Pies

Pork steeped in Kumquat Brandy baked in hot water crust pastry with some aspic jelly and grated kumquat zest.

The dark days of L'quioch yn Ketyrngh were indeed dark. They were known for it. Those few texts which survived the ravages of the N'Bobyl-Hattyd are collected in The Legendary Journeys of The Knights of Kettering

The reason we seek out the mammarically endowed californians is purely due to their strategic military importance. What would you a soldier in the ranks do when faced by a horde of tightly fitted, pert yet large babes, armed only with sheer affront, and wicked intentions. Would you not surrender as fast as you could raise a flag (missus)?