Bardic Weaponry

Your bow is not broken but you have run out of arrows. How will you fake being a bard?

A bard, as I am sure you will know, is a musician. A poet of the ancient Celtic culture. A writer and performer of epic tales. A storyteller, entertainer and singer of tales - both tall and newsworthy. Bards are poets of national importance. Like the Poet Laureate, I am thinking. I am struggling to work bows and arrows into their role.

What you may not know, and something which took me by surprise (never lovely in the middle of thinking) is that a bard is also a padded saddle. Arabic or French. Equine amour. Now this brings us closer to our perfect bow and missing arrows. Although, if I were to be honest, I am still not certain how I would pretend to be protective tack. I shouldn't like the idea of wearing lumpy, unflattering (although almost certainly flattening) coverings. I am certainly not enthusiastic about the prospect of some lumpen cavalry person sat on my back. This is not even close to any hobby I have tried and enjoyed. I am hoping this is not the reference being made in the question.

Now if I were pretending to be THE Bard I should have fewer problems with this question, possibly. I could simply use clever rhymes and dramatic moments. An empty quiver would be a redundant problem. In fact, to be quite frank, the bow and accessories would be noises off.

The conundrum continues. I wonder if some minion, while minning, has simply misspelled 'bardee'. As you know, this is a grub, native to Australia, which the genuinely local people consider foodstuff. Having an accelerate for absent weaponry would not be an impediment to faking grubishness. I should hide myself in the bark of a tree (or even the bow itself, possibly) and hope like mad that no Aboriginal person with a taste for tradition culinary happens by. I shall be quiet (not an easy task) and still. I shan't be faking it long.

So - frankly - the whole question is more than slightly off centre. I prefer to question the clarity of the querrant and the general state of mind which they were in when they wondered this. Do we think this is a chemically induced musing? Could our asker be seeing parallel worlds and fairy dust? Have we fallen foul of some mischievous, Loki like, Confuser of Minds?

So I tell you what. I am all done with this poser. I have a kettle which needs boiling and a teabag which needs soaking. I may write a poem about this experience, but it won't be epic and I shan't be holding people at the point of a pointy thing to hear it through.

Let me know if you should work out the answer.