All night, out in the cold, for the traditional Beaker Festival of an Aurora.
Nothing. Not a glow - apart from the one over Milton Keynes, natch. Not much to be done about that. We were out there alone with the roaring sounds from the M1, no wondrous glories of the Aurora to see.
The ancient Beaker Folk worshipped the goddess of the Aurora. We reckon. To be honest, I mostly made this stuff up to fill in the cold hours standing outside looking northwards. However, since it's rarely seen in our southern climes, the average Beaker Person would be dead before getting a view of the Aurora.
As, indeed, will I be at this rate.
That's the trouble with once-in-a-lifetime, sciento-religious experiences.
They only ever happen to other people.
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