St Michael's Eve

Are ley lines affected by bypasses?

Something I wonder as, on this St Michael's Eve, I consider the Icknield Way.

This website suggests that the "Dragon" or "St Michael" ley line, running from St Michael's Mount in Cornwall to Joyland in Great Yarmouth, ran (or runs) for much of its path along the Icknield Way, or what I grew up knowing as the B489 and A505. Husborne Crawley lies just 10 miles from the old track, as it passes through Luton and Dunstable on its way to such hallowed and ancient sites as Hitchin and Letchworth.

But that ancient line has been supplemented now by the Leighton Buzzard and Dunstable bypasses. So what happens to the ley power now? Surging along the foot of the Chilterns does it reach the centre of Dunstable, hang a left up High Street North then round the back of Houghton Regis on what is now both the A5 and the A505? And given that the A505 runs up what was Watling Street when it used to go along the Icknield Way, does it have to switch the SatNav on to find its way to Baldock? Or in crossing the streams as it were, of two ancient ways does all the earth energy just pour out somewhere near Tilsworth?

These are worrying times for those of us who care about the psychic energy that flows through the veins of the earth. And maybe this kind of geomantic confusion explains why Dunstable market is in such a state of decline.

So, reverting to my theme, it would appear we in the Beaker Folk are now only 7 miles as the crow flies from the St Michael's Ley bypass. And accordingly we'll be celebrating with gusto this evening.

As a sign of the defeat of evil, a giant papier mache Michael has been hauled up a crane, ready to throw its serpentine enemy to the depths of the car park.

This of course is not without controversy. The Dragon Protection League have been picketing the east gateway for days. Some of our more theologically minded Beaker Folk are concerned about our plans to burn both saint and devil at the end of the night, having paraded St Michael triumphantly up to the White Horse and back.

But the season has turned. Autumn is here. And if you can't burn massive replicas on the lawn, I don't know what England is coming to.

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.

Liturgy for the Nativity of John Clare (1793)

 First Yokel: It's that John Clare's birthday today then.

Second Yokel: Who were 'e then?

1Y: Some upcountry poet from where they eat eels, drink opium ale, and splash around in swamps.

2Y: Not from Casterbridge then? No relation to Tommy Hardy?

1Y: No.

2Y: Well, shall us go to Peter's Finger for a pretty drap o' summat anyway? I've not been so thirsty since nammit tide last Lammas.

1Y: Wi' all my heart.

2Y: What was that poet called again?

1Y: Can't remember.

Football is Purgatory

Diego Maradona: So I'm still here...

St Peter: Yes.

DM: Outside the pearly gates.

SP: Yes.

DM: Waiting to come in.

SP: Yes.

DM: Yet I can't.

SP: That's right. You have an unexpurgated sin.

DM: Is it the coke?

SP No. It's bad news for your heart. And it damages your nose. And your body may have been a temple. But it was always a short-legged, ugly little temple anyway. It's not that.

DM: Is it the illegitimate child? 

SP: The boss says, who's not had a child where the parentage is a bit... complicated?

DM: So what is it? It's not the hand....?

SP: Hand...?

DM: Of.....

SP: Of...?

DM: Is that it?

SP: Yes, first up, borderline blasphemy. But beyond that, cheating.

DM: Cheating? Is that such a sin?

SP: You know that God really is an English man?

DM: Oh no. 

SP: Yes.

DM: So what do I have to do?

SP: A high ball will be crossing the Miami Stadium. All you've got to do is knock it down to Anderson.

DM: So you're telling me to cheat to change the result of a game?

SP: Well, it's not like you haven't done it before.

DM: But surely people will see it on telly and know that really was the "hand of God"? I thought God refused to show proof of his existence.

SP: Don't worry. They'll blame it on a cable.

DM: So this is it? Just stick my hand out... 

SP: Well done! Nice finish from Bellingham.  Do you want to watch the rest of the game?

DM: Do England lose on penalties?

SP: No.

DM: Miracles do happen then?  Open the gates, Pete boy!

Gifts to the Clergy

You know how it is.

You have an item you no longer need in your house.

And you have a choice.

You could try and sell it on Vinted. But it's old and/or broken.

You could take it to landfill. But that would involve lugging it onto a trailer, or hailing a (wo)man with a van to get it there.

Or  you could give it to your local church or clergy.

It's so easy.

'But I thought St Murgatroyd's could use a sixth out-of-tune piano.'

'Why would St Jude's in the Wold not want a sixth book case?'

'If you replace the broken leg, and deep-clean the cushions, that would be the perfect manse settee. It was great for my great-aunt Angie for the last 60 years.'

Just no. Dear innocent clergy person, who wants to be thought well of by everyone - if you say 'yes' you will be mopping up your settlement's used TV cabinets, filing cabinets, computer desks, Sodastreams and crappy paintings forever.

Just say no. Ignore the siren voices saying 'it's only an old air fryer. What could be the harm?'

Just say no.

Your garage will thank you.

Liturgy for the Day after Summer Solstice

Archdruid: Nights are drawing in.

All: Soon be Christmas.

The Beaker Collect for the World Cup

Inspired by the Church of England's prayer, the Beaker Folk of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (but not Epsom) has released its own World Cup Prayer. I am delighted to share it with you.

Nativity of Thomas Hardy (1840)

(two besmocked yokels lean over a gate)

Yokel 1: It be that Thomas Hardy's birthday then 

Yokel 2: That it be.

Y1: Shall us goo and wish en well?

Y2: Mortal craters like us voäkes can't do that.

Y1: Why's that?

Y2: Because he's dead and gone, as we all shall be.

Y1: Shall us wish en "Happy Heavenly Birthday" then? Like on Facebook?

Thomas Hardy: No. For an afterlife is but a human invention, to make the modern life more bearable for us as we walk the shaggy heaths below the empty Wessex skies.

Y2: How come you can talk to us then?

TH: Because I am but the personification - the anthropomorphization, if you will - of your hopes for what comes beyond the grave. Incidentally, any chance of getting my ashes back from Westminster Abbey? I'm weary of people treading on me, and never wanted to be there.

Y1: If this is our imagination how can you say words like anthroponilification which we unlearned yokels don't even know?

TH: Bugger. I knew I'd get caught out if I got sucked into the discussion.

Y2: Art coming to Peter's Finger for a pretty drop of tipple?

TH: No. I've got tea and crumpets with TS Eliot.

Y1: And Peter's Finger has been turned into a trendy suburban house.

Y2: The Convivial Rabbit then?

Y1 Wi' all ny heart. It's more expensive than the Royal Oak, but a much nicer place.

When Trinity Sunday coincides with Brian Harvey Day

It occasionally happens that Trinity Sunday coincides with Brian Harvey Day.

On 31st May 2005, Brian Harvey of the boy band East 17 ran over himself with his own car after eating too many jacket potatoes.

And I looked into the history - sometimes troubled, it has to be said, of Brian Harvey and East 17. And I noticed that after many line up changes, only one original member of what is called E-17 now is still in the band. I'm not even convinced that they're all from Walthamstow.

And this isn't unusual, of course. People of a different generation will remember Syston's finest, Showaddywaddy. Still touring. Only one member left from the good old days though.

Or Genesis fans will argue that Genesis weren't Genesis when Peter Gabriel left. Or Steve Hackett. Or Phil Collins. And were Take That still Take That when Robbie left? Or when Jason did?

We don't apply the same criteria to other groupings of course. Nobody claims Liverpool aren't the same football club because the original line-up aren't still playing. It's the club that matters. Nobody says the London Symphony Orchestra aren't the same organisation as when they were founded, or Marks and Spencer fundamentally changed when Spencer left the band.

And I think we can learn a lot about the Trinity from that.

Melt Down in the Moot House

And so as the temperature passed 90°F in the Moot House this afternoon, we had to face a terrible fact.

Not that the world is becoming increasingly hot, though that is disturbing.

Not that the most powerful men in the planet are engaged in a ceaseless flurry of activity to stoke up the warming. Through "drill, baby drill," and endless unnecessary data centres, churning out pictures of trolls carrying badly-rendered Union Jacks and American flags in the cause of "patriotism". Because what says "authentically Ingerlish" more than trolls with bizarre fingers and back-to-front Union Jacks in a computer-generated image that costs the earth?

No.

Worse even than that.

The tea lights have all melted.

So we have spent the afternoon combining them into a giant tea light in the shape of Andy Burnham, "King of the North". Whose puzzled looks and puffing cheeks are now topped by a flame rising from the top of his head, as we celebrate the Feast of St Andy. So we will eat us black pudding pies this evening, and prepare for the liberation of England from something undefinable by a bloke we'd half forgotten. Or, at least, its liberation until in 2 years' time the Labour party panics at the state of the polls and installs Angela Rayner, Jess Phillips or Nigel Farage.

Still - I hope all the Beaker Folk enjoy the Northern Pie Experience. We've packed plenty of tripe in with the black pudding. You can't get much more authentically northern than that.

Trinity Sunday Sermon - pre-release

Every year we get the stress from the people preaching on Easter Sunday. The illustrations that are blatantly heretical. The crying because the vicar has gone away and left the curate to preach (mostly the congregation crying rather than the curate).

So I'm saving you the trouble.

Before you even get near Trinity Sunday. 

It's a traditional three-point sermon, based on insights from three theologians:

1. 'Tis mystery all (Charles Wesley)

2. It's a mystery (Toyah Wilcox)

3. A mystery it is (Yoda)

We may have the wrong Yoder.

St Walpurga's Blight

That's the trouble with such a dry spring.

We lit the Walpurgisnacht / Beltane Wicker person. Next thing we knew the Moot House was surrounded by flame. All the dry grass was just asking for it.

Thankfully the Moot House is safe. After its repeated explosions in the Noughties, we built it fire proof. 

But the potatoes we put in for baking at the bottom of the Wicker Person are probably not fit for consumption.

Looks like it's large fries from McDonald's in Kingston again.

Doored Ash

Why do Anglicans talk about "Communion by Extension" and "(Care) Home Communion"? 

When they could just  call it "Delivereucharist"?