It has been a challenging morning liturgy.
Our "Feast of Fertility" was meant to have a simple, symbolic act where each Beaker Person took a worm from the worm tank, and dropped it onto the Holy Square of Soil. There to increase its friability, water retention and humus content, thanks to the leaves we were to scatter at the end of the act.
Instead of which, everybody ended up screaming and retching at the thought of having to hold worms.
Really, this was due to a combination of faux humility and bad planning. The specially designed worm-handling devices were all out on the side. But Hnaef and I were at the back of the queue - making the point that, because we were litirgically last, we are actually first.
And we didn't explain the use of the worm-handling device because, as is well known, people only remember 10% of what you tell them, but 90% of what they do.
If they are told to do it first.
Anyway, it's Burton I feel sorry for. He spent all night going through the compost heap, sifting out the worms with his bare hands. He says it's not so much the ant bites that he really suffered from. More the wasps' nest he found.