Solstice Eve

And so the old sun draws nigh its most southerly point.

And we think of all the old fears.  Of that deepest, most primeval fear that this time it's not coming back.  That maybe it's gone to the Lands of the South forever, and we face Fenris the wolf alone in the dark.  Persephone the Fertile sojourns with her infernal lover - and will she ever return and bring with her the spring?  Must fields forever be harsh and white?  The sky cruel and cold?  Will we reach the point where the sun rises not again - and plunges us into the dark?

And we think of warrior sages of old, crouched around a turf fire as Grendel's brood slink again across the fens of ancestral homelands. Of the hag-woman-girl Brigid, devouring mortal life as she strives to be young again.  Of 2000 years of wrong, hung on this circling world like evil glitter on a tawdry Christmas-Tree bauble.

And so we light our bling, we blow up the inflatable santas.  We light our fires and fairy lights.  We hang the shiny tinsel in tacky locations.  We douse our plum puddings with brandy*, and heat the mead on the wood-burning stove.  And we strive to drive away the cold.  And the dark.  And the fear.

But the good news is, UK Gold are showing a whole series of Last of the Summer Wine Christmas specials.  And tomorrow night, after the Act of Darkness Fear, we'll be enjoying the Solstice Panto.  Hnaef is really looking forward to dressing up as Widow Twanky.  To be honest, we don't know why he's doing that because they're performing Mother Goose.  But no-one seems to have the heart to stop him.  And on 22 December, assuming the sun rises again, we'll be holding a 6-hour 70s-retro marathon homage to the Wombles.  Don't forget to bring your furry noses!

* Except in certain counties in Wales, where this is illegal.  Certainly on Sundays.
**  Image - Solstice at Cranfield, 2005