Spiritual Awakening

It's been a while since the last records of life in Husborne Crawley. To a certain extent this omission is down to myself.

In mid-October, Bernie suggested I investigate the contents of the coal cellar. He said he thought there might be a certain amount of flooding down there. However, once I had ventured down the first step, I felt a firm shove in the small of the back, and heard the sound of the bolt being pushed into place.

After a moment of panic, I remembered my self-powering torch (always useful in East Anglia - climbing fire escapes is so difficult in pitch darkness). Shedding light on the situation revealed a long-forgotten stash of "Archdruid's Comfort" - a particularly potent batch of herbal mead that we laid down in the late 90s, back when the bees were in mid-season form and Daddy was still growing the lavendar and thyme borders.

Since this was the only available sustenance, I tried a few swigs. I'd forgotten the spiritual depth that could be revealed by an Old English beverage like herbal mead. To be honest, the subsequent month has passed in a bit of a blur. However this morning Young Keith, dressed in his best Beds Constabulary outfit, broke down the door and released me. At first the light was quite painful on the eyes, but after accustoming myself to the sensation I realised that the garden was full of Beaker Folk, taking part in the traditional feast of not realising it was Thanksgiving yesterday. The pumpkin throwing ceremony was particularly moving, although the "lynching of the Yank" may not have been totally suitable.

I'm not sure where all these Beaker Folk came from, but certainly it's nice to have them around the place. Particularly on the second Full Moon before Christmas - or, as the Extreeme Naturist Beaker Folk call it, the "shivering moon".