Hunter's Moon

It was, as always, with a certain trepidation that we set out onto the patch of grass over by the little pointy hut (does anyone know what that's for?) to celebrate the Hunter's Moon (or, according to Hnaef, "Hunters' Moon").

For we know Husborne Crawley to be an eerie, slightly on-the-edge, thin place. And it is said locally that, of a Hunter's Moon, the form of Herne the Hunter, having lost his way in Windsor, is to be seen looking for his lost wolves or whatever it is he does. Or maybe one can see the sight of Edith Weston, cruelly burnt as a witch by the 2nd Duke. Or it could be the sound of the Gabriel Hounds, as they hunt for lost souls over Aspley Heath. Though let's face it, they'd be better heading off for Milton Keynes, or maybe hovering over the lost souls in the traffic jams on the M1.

So as we made our observations of the moon, it was with no little surprise that we heard the howling coming ever closer, through the cool of the night, under that Hunter's Moon.

It was even littler surprise that we discovered it was Young Keith and his mate Drayton Parslow, heading back from an evening at the White Horse.

Somehow the world is a little less scary, a little less mysterious - and yet a little less interesting.