Sermon on the Santa - on the rising of the New Moon

I'm sure you've all noticed that there is an illuminated, inflatable Santa Clause outside the Great House.  It is supposed to sing "Santa Claus is coming to town" whenever anyone passes by.  But due to another unfortunate problem with translation in a workshop (in China, I suspect, rather than Lapland) it actually sings "Bring your daughter to the slaughter".  Oh well, these things are sent to try us.  

And if, like me, you are possessed of a certain ability to string events into a logical series, you'll have noticed that every night, when it is switched on, it is full of light and air, smiling happily at us and singing its entertaining 1980s ditty.  Whereas every day, it lays limp, dark and lifeless.  Unable to raise even the weakest ho-ho-ho.

And I think in a very real sense, we are all inflatable Santas.  When the Spirit fills us we radiate light and energy.  Yet when we are removed from the source of our power, we are sadly let down.  And yet - as Chumbawumba so memorably pointed out - although we get knocked down, we get up again.  And then.... for our natures are as the cycling of th'eternal Moon - we are once again laying on the floor next to the mouse that the cat caught last night.

But it need not always be like this.  Oh no.  For one day, we will in a very real sense be packed into a cardboard box and stuck back in the loft. 

Oh dear.... I really should have thought a bit harder about this one.  

New Moon

They say that it's always darkest before the dawn.
Particularly true, I believe, for Burton and Marston.  They drew the lowest playing cards this evening, and are doomed to the all-night New Moon Watch.
For those unfamiliar with our lunar rituals, let me explain.  New Moon Watch lasts from the last glimmer of the old moon to the first glimpse of the new.  Or, if our Moon Calendar says there should be definitely something to see if it were not for the weather, we bring them in.  We get enough cases of hypothermia round the place that we don't want to go being reckless.
Burton and Marston have to stand on the Watching Step, looking up.  Since the Step is in the middle of the Big Meadow, they're quite a way from the house.  And, frankly, quite a way from anywhere.  It can get rather scary out there.  And since at least one Watcher must remain at all times, it can get even more scary if your companion slips off to answer a call of nature.  In November, Edith went off leaving Boromir all on his own, but just headed off to bed.  He was screaming about the demons of the woods when we found him in the morning, wearing nothing but a pair of flip-flops and a hi-viz vest.  Not a pretty sight.
What makes it worse tonight is that the haze is making it impossible to see anything in the sky, even if there were a new moon to glimpse, and also that it's absolutely - as my niece would say when she's getting dahn wiv da Pearlies Massiv - "taters".  Burton and Drayton are facing the coldest spiritual experience since the  Jesus Army organised a Make Way march round Vladivostok, and without the benefits of their warming buzz of self-righteousness.
Still, the wood-burning stove glows with the apple wood so kindly cleaved by Grandfather William, Tranter Reuben is entertaining us with a selection of West Country ballads on the fiddle, and we're feeling traditionally spiritual ourselves, in a "landed gentry of the 19th century" kind of way.  Life is good.  As long as you're playing with marked cards.

New Moon / 40th anniversary of the first Moon Walk

To commemorate the appalling actions of the so-called "Neil" Armstrong and his co-conspirator against all that is sacred, Buzz Aldrin, we mark this New Moon as a day of repentance and despair.

The Gibbon Moon Folk are of course already in this condition, as they are every New Moon.  On this occasion we have chosen to join them.

You have the choice of a number of worship stations, hopefully a safe distance apart in the Ceremonial Paddock:

"New Moon Moonwalk" - in this area you can recreate the first moon walk, in a manner suitable to a new moon, by bouncing around on space hoppers while wearing bags on your head.

"One small step" - recreate that historic and shameful day by climbing down a rickety ladder out of the Big Oak, in a manner suitable to a new moon, by wearing a bag on your head.

"Lunar Taize" - join in the interminable singing of "O Lord Hear Our Prayer", accompanied by an out-of-tune banjo and a bodhran player with no rhythm, in a manner suitable to a new moon, by wearing a bag on your head.  

"Astronaut Shredder" - express your disgust at the moon landings by pushing pictures of the so-called "Eagle" into a shredder.  With a bag on your head.

"Moon Rock" - consider the beauty of the moon, in its absence as it's New Moon, by looking at small round pebbles of chalk, in a manner suitable to a new moon, with a bag on your head.

"The Game of Trust" - negotiate your way around the trees in the orchard, by obeying the commands of your partner in the game, to learn how we must all trust one another.  NB - no bag on your head for this one, we don't want anyone getting hurt.

For reasons of environmental friendliness and to avoid suffocation, do not use supermarket carrier bags or any other plastic bags.  We don't want a repeat of what happened to Drayton last year.  Well maybe some of us might, but without the resuscitation this time.  Instead we will be using authentic Druidic Earth Love Jute Bags, available for only £10 each at the Beaker Boutique.  We'll ceremonially throw them on the fire at the end of the night's activities, thus guaranteeing what Burton so amusingly refers to as an ongoing income stream

Good news about Burton

We're pleased to announce that Burton Dasset is feeling much better. He's still jumping at sudden noises, and expressed a fear that the Moon Gibbon would get him if he joined in the New Moon Moonwatch. So we've put him back to work in the Doily Shed while he recuperates.