Please note that the Imbolc celebration this year is going to be held separately by the group that believes Brigid is an Irish saint and the midwife to Our Lady, and those that believe she is a Celtic goddess of goodness, life and whistling in the dark.
There was a "third way" proposed by Burton Dasset, that she is both the saint and the goddess. But everybody else just threw bricks at him till he went away.
The giant statute of the goddess that the believers built out of unread copies of the Labour manifesto was condemned by the saint believers as a "dumb idol". So they've built an even bigger statue out of lists of Boris Johnson's broken promises. Which is not an idol, apparently, it's just a statue.
Meanwhile we continue our rescue efforts for the Brexiters whose overnight party in the Orchard so unfortunately overlapped with the Rites of Spring that were conducted at dawn. Shouting "isn't it great we can send the foreigners home" was never going to go down well with Magda. So she threw them in the Groundhog pen. And when I say Groundhog, since the loss of our beloved Earless Beaker Bunny, I do of course mean badgers. So nobody wants to go in there.
Want to support this blog? Want a good laugh? (or to shudder at death at any rate? Then here's two ways you can keep the Archdruid in doilies...
If you want someone to share the terrors of death while making you laugh, we have "A Hint of Death in the Morning Air" - 97 poems to make you wonder, laugh or shake your head sadly. At only £1 on Kindle. Or if you want to know what the people in the pews really think, and you prefer your words printed on paper, why not try "Writes of the Church"? The letters to the Church magazine the vicar really didn't need.
I have a niece named Brigid and a daughter named Bridget, which is somehow linked, although I can't make a connection.
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