A Woman as Aslan? Narnia Business.

There has been some terrible theology written by people complaining about Meryl Streep's casting as the voice of Aslan in the forthcoming Narnia films.

And I sympathise to a degree. After all, it would be totally inappropriate for Meryl Streep to voice Aslan.

In case anyone hasn't noticed, Meryl Streep is a woman. And Aslan is a talking lion. Who imagined that a human being should be taking the role? 

Not tame.

I refuse to watch this series of movies until Greta Gerwig casts an actual talking lion as Aslan. Only thus can fidelity to the original books be achieved.

Looking at the cast list for the 2005 Andrew Adamson film, I would also note that Tilda Swinton is not a real witch; Liam Neeson is no more of a lion than Meryl Streep; and Ray Winstone and Dawn French are not even married, let along a mated pair of beavers. It is almost like they think they are actors.

After the Fall

And so, as sure as autumn follows summer (except in Australia where, weirdly, it's the other way round), Hnaef fell into the duck pond last night. 

He was a magnificent sight as he plummeted past Duckhenge, displacing vast amounts of water and several ducks. We can truly say that autumn is now here.

And I'm increasingly convinced that it was the ancient Beaker tradition of equinoctial funambulism that led Autumn to receive its original English name, "Fall".

So Autumn is here, the season of smogs and the smell of rotting apples. And the world - or at least this half of it - spins on into darkness. Rather like Hnaef did last night,

Feast of Equinoctial Balance

Bad luck for Hnaef. As we realised the actual date of Autumnal Equinox is at 1.06 am Husborne Crawley Time. (2 minutes behind BST).

It's the tradition for us to reflect the balance of the equinox for Hnaef to perform his tightrope walk over the duck pond while we chant the Equinox Chant, "Nights are Drawing in - Soon be Christmas". 

But in the pitch black, and given his increasing age (56) we're a bit worried that this won't be the year for Hnaef to don his Equinox Hiking Boots and climb up the Ladder of the Seasons.

Still, we'll give it a go. At least it's a soft landing.

We're all off to play Kirsty MacColl's "Last Day of Summer". What a voice. What a song. What a shame.

Give Us This Day our Daily Beans

I'd like to say thanks to everyone who came to our Harvest Festipocalypse this afternoon. 

Three hours of high-intensity giving thanks for this world, against an interactive, rolling presentation of forests burning, crops wilting, glaciers disappearing, and polar bears looking kind of cuddly but tragic.

I'd like to thank Young Keith especially for his control of the air-con temperature in the Moot House - raising it to 120°F to symbolise global warming, then crashing it to -10°C to symbolise the breakdown of the Gulf Stream, which might freeze the UK and lead us to adopting metric measures.

But amongst all of that, I'd like to thank you for the offerings you brought for the food bank.

As you know, we'd shared the message that the Battlesden Food Bank are looking for donations of canned meat, canned fish, and toiletries. They have been carrying 75 years' supply of pasta and baked beans this last year.

And now, after our collection arrives with them, they will have 76 years' supply of pasta and baked beans. And a large tub of windfall apples.

I know nevertheless that they accept our offerings with grateful hearts.

And I feel secure in the knowledge that, if the Gulf Stream does break down, at least we'll all have cold beans and dry pasta to eat.

Decorum in Druidic Life.

 I need to have a word with the Druidic Synod.

Now, the Druids have positions of responsibility in the Beaker Folk. They are called to be sober, responsible, and upholders of the dignity of their role.

And not to hang around the Beaker Bar drinking pints until they are unsteady.

It's setting a bad example. It gets us a bad name. And it doesn't reflect the high standards to which ye are called.

So please, Druidic Synod, in future.

Stay at home and drink gin. It's why we give you the allowance, after all.

When to Use a Microphone in a Church Setting

We've all been there. A trendy preacher who wanders around while speaking. The nonagenarian organiser of the U3A giving the notices before a talk on "Famous Deaths in this Church". A speaker on natural history, whose forty years of trying not to disturb chaffinches has made them perpetually quiet. And the retired Methodist minister whose whisper could be heard at the back of a central hall.

And we've all gone "what were they saying?"

Now if you're in that situation of wondering whether to use a microphone, in a church or other setting - whether you believe you've the volume of Ian Paisley Sr or the diffidence of a mouse - here's an in depth guide to when to use a microphone.

If they've got a microphone and a PA, use it.

Commendation for a Secular Funeral Where the Celebrant Doesn't Want to be too Depressing

And so we commend Bertie to whatever comes next for him, if anything.

Thanking him for all he was to us, if he can hear us.

And hoping that he may be united with Barbara, if that's the kind of thing that might happen, if they both really want to be reunited cos gosh wouldn't it be embarrassing if she's found someone better on the other side.

If there is another side.

And if finding someone is the sort of thing that happens.

Anyway, [shouts] Cheers Bertie! Bon voyage! At least, if there's some kind of river or sea involved! 

And now we will listen to our exit music, "Imagine".

Celtic Evening Prayer

I think it's generally known that I don't approve of "Celtic" liturgy. The whole thing is totally made up, a way of giving bogua authenticity and a fake patina of vintage to some stuff about puffins or trees that somebody just wrote.

But Burton Dasset nagged and nagged. And he'd just bought a set of Northumbrian Pipes. So I gave in. But I did say last night's Celtic Evening Prayer would be a disaster.

And it certainly was.

A load of Rangers fans turned up.