After the Fall

And so, as sure as autumn follows summer (except in Australia where, weirdly, it's the other way round), Hnaef fell into the duck pond last night. 

He was a magnificent sight as he plummeted past Duckhenge, displacing vast amounts of water and several ducks. We can truly say that autumn is now here.

And I'm increasingly convinced that it was the ancient Beaker tradition of equinoctial funambulism that led Autumn to receive its original English name, "Fall".

So Autumn is here, the season of smogs and the smell of rotting apples. And the world - or at least this half of it - spins on into darkness. Rather like Hnaef did last night,

Feast of Equinoctial Balance

Bad luck for Hnaef. As we realised the actual date of Autumnal Equinox is at 1.06 am Husborne Crawley Time. (2 minutes behind BST).

It's the tradition for us to reflect the balance of the equinox for Hnaef to perform his tightrope walk over the duck pond while we chant the Equinox Chant, "Nights are Drawing in - Soon be Christmas". 

But in the pitch black, and given his increasing age (56) we're a bit worried that this won't be the year for Hnaef to don his Equinox Hiking Boots and climb up the Ladder of the Seasons.

Still, we'll give it a go. At least it's a soft landing.

We're all off to play Kirsty MacColl's "Last Day of Summer". What a voice. What a song. What a shame.

Give Us This Day our Daily Beans

I'd like to say thanks to everyone who came to our Harvest Festipocalypse this afternoon. 

Three hours of high-intensity giving thanks for this world, against an interactive, rolling presentation of forests burning, crops wilting, glaciers disappearing, and polar bears looking kind of cuddly but tragic.

I'd like to thank Young Keith especially for his control of the air-con temperature in the Moot House - raising it to 120°F to symbolise global warming, then crashing it to -10°C to symbolise the breakdown of the Gulf Stream, which might freeze the UK and lead us to adopting metric measures.

But amongst all of that, I'd like to thank you for the offerings you brought for the food bank.

As you know, we'd shared the message that the Battlesden Food Bank are looking for donations of canned meat, canned fish, and toiletries. They have been carrying 75 years' supply of pasta and baked beans this last year.

And now, after our collection arrives with them, they will have 76 years' supply of pasta and baked beans. And a large tub of windfall apples.

I know nevertheless that they accept our offerings with grateful hearts.

And I feel secure in the knowledge that, if the Gulf Stream does break down, at least we'll all have cold beans and dry pasta to eat.

Decorum in Druidic Life.

 I need to have a word with the Druidic Synod.

Now, the Druids have positions of responsibility in the Beaker Folk. They are called to be sober, responsible, and upholders of the dignity of their role.

And not to hang around the Beaker Bar drinking pints until they are unsteady.

It's setting a bad example. It gets us a bad name. And it doesn't reflect the high standards to which ye are called.

So please, Druidic Synod, in future.

Stay at home and drink gin. It's why we give you the allowance, after all.

When to Use a Microphone in a Church Setting

We've all been there. A trendy preacher who wanders around while speaking. The nonagenarian organiser of the U3A giving the notices before a talk on "Famous Deaths in this Church". A speaker on natural history, whose forty years of trying not to disturb chaffinches has made them perpetually quiet. And the retired Methodist minister whose whisper could be heard at the back of a central hall.

And we've all gone "what were they saying?"

Now if you're in that situation of wondering whether to use a microphone, in a church or other setting - whether you believe you've the volume of Ian Paisley Sr or the diffidence of a mouse - here's an in depth guide to when to use a microphone.

If they've got a microphone and a PA, use it.

Commendation for a Secular Funeral Where the Celebrant Doesn't Want to be too Depressing

And so we commend Bertie to whatever comes next for him, if anything.

Thanking him for all he was to us, if he can hear us.

And hoping that he may be united with Barbara, if that's the kind of thing that might happen, if they both really want to be reunited cos gosh wouldn't it be embarrassing if she's found someone better on the other side.

If there is another side.

And if finding someone is the sort of thing that happens.

Anyway, [shouts] Cheers Bertie! Bon voyage! At least, if there's some kind of river or sea involved! 

And now we will listen to our exit music, "Imagine".

Celtic Evening Prayer

I think it's generally known that I don't approve of "Celtic" liturgy. The whole thing is totally made up, a way of giving bogua authenticity and a fake patina of vintage to some stuff about puffins or trees that somebody just wrote.

But Burton Dasset nagged and nagged. And he'd just bought a set of Northumbrian Pipes. So I gave in. But I did say last night's Celtic Evening Prayer would be a disaster.

And it certainly was.

A load of Rangers fans turned up.

Liturgy for the Nativity of John Clare (1793)

 First Yokel: It's that John Clare's birthday today then.

Second Yokel: Who were 'e then?

1Y: Some upcountry poet from where they eat eels, drink opium ale, and splash around in swamps.

2Y: Not from Casterbridge then? No relation to Tommy Hardy?

1Y: No.

2Y: Well, shall us go to Peter's Finger for a pretty drap o' summat anyway? I've not been so thirsty since nammit tide last Lammas.

1Y: Wi' all my heart.

2Y: What was that poet called again?

1Y: Can't remember.

Football is Purgatory

Diego Maradona: So I'm still here...

St Peter: Yes.

DM: Outside the pearly gates.

SP: Yes.

DM: Waiting to come in.

SP: Yes.

DM: Yet I can't.

SP: That's right. You have an unexpurgated sin.

DM: Is it the coke?

SP No. It's bad news for your heart. And it damages your nose. And your body may have been a temple. But it was always a short-legged, ugly little temple anyway. It's not that.

DM: Is it the illegitimate child? 

SP: The boss says, who's not had a child where the parentage is a bit... complicated?

DM: So what is it? It's not the hand....?

SP: Hand...?

DM: Of.....

SP: Of...?

DM: Is that it?

SP: Yes, first up, borderline blasphemy. But beyond that, cheating.

DM: Cheating? Is that such a sin?

SP: You know that God really is an English man?

DM: Oh no. 

SP: Yes.

DM: So what do I have to do?

SP: A high ball will be crossing the Miami Stadium. All you've got to do is knock it down to Anderson.

DM: So you're telling me to cheat to change the result of a game?

SP: Well, it's not like you haven't done it before.

DM: But surely people will see it on telly and know that really was the "hand of God"? I thought God refused to show proof of his existence.

SP: Don't worry. They'll blame it on a cable.

DM: So this is it? Just stick my hand out... 

SP: Well done! Nice finish from Bellingham.  Do you want to watch the rest of the game?

DM: Do England lose on penalties?

SP: No.

DM: Miracles do happen then?  Open the gates, Pete boy!

Gifts to the Clergy

You know how it is.

You have an item you no longer need in your house.

And you have a choice.

You could try and sell it on Vinted. But it's old and/or broken.

You could take it to landfill. But that would involve lugging it onto a trailer, or hailing a (wo)man with a van to get it there.

Or  you could give it to your local church or clergy.

It's so easy.

'But I thought St Murgatroyd's could use a sixth out-of-tune piano.'

'Why would St Jude's in the Wold not want a sixth book case?'

'If you replace the broken leg, and deep-clean the cushions, that would be the perfect manse settee. It was great for my great-aunt Angie for the last 60 years.'

Just no. Dear innocent clergy person, who wants to be thought well of by everyone - if you say 'yes' you will be mopping up your settlement's used TV cabinets, filing cabinets, computer desks, Sodastreams and crappy paintings forever.

Just say no. Ignore the siren voices saying 'it's only an old air fryer. What could be the harm?'

Just say no.

Your garage will thank you.

Liturgy for the Day after Summer Solstice

Archdruid: Nights are drawing in.

All: Soon be Christmas.