The Archdruid's Solstice Sermon

So here we are. The shortest day of the Northern year. On this day in times past the Beaker Folk, sheltered in their coracles from the raging rain, would peer at the howling sky and figure that maybe they'd go Stonehenge next year instead.

The Angles and Danes would take the day off fighting each other, to kick a Saxon's head around in no man's land and sing the peaceful old hymn, "You're going home in a Valkyrie Ambulance".

And today, with the benefit of electric light and central heating, what do we see? An isolated, isolationist America President condemning the Middle East and his own country to chaos - condoning domestic gun ownership and slaughter while pointing the finger at Europe. Nazis harassing British politicians in the street. The British Government making the most ham-fisted imaginable attempt to put a bad decision decision into operation since Captain Smith thought he'd try his hand at iceberg slalom. And Liz Truss their own justice minister assuring the Commons that drones are scared of dogs.

While the seas are full of plastic, the rivers of pesticides, the bees are dying and the climate changes.

The year dies in screaming darkness as the world burns.

Happy Solstice everyone.