What a horrible night for Saluting the Moon. The first glimpse of the crescent moon was completely invisible in the fog; the orange glow from Milton Keynes created a kind of miasma over the whole village. It was so cold that even the Fertility Beaker Folk called off their scheduled dances on Aspley Heath, and joined us in the Dining Room for mulled Irn Bru and cheese toasties.
And then we heard the screams from the Orchard. It turned out that the Church of the Order of the Moon Gibbon had convinced themselves that the fog was the direct result of the work of the Moon Gibbon, and that the Moon would be blotted out forever. By the time we got out there, they were laying on the ground hyperventilating and had to be restored by a series of brisk slaps to the face.
I just pray that we get a clear night some time soon...
Mulled Irn Bru? Think I'd rather stay out on the heath!
ReplyDelete