Hitchin a Ride

The so-called "Archdruid" who lives next door to me claims to be an expert on Dunstable. Before I set off this morning to bring the True Light to those who live in the darkness of the shadow of the Vale of Aylesbury, she told me that Dunstable is a place more associated with the Protestant Faith than most. At least, she says that due to the divorce there of Henry VIII at the Abbey (which he rewarded by dissolving), the Dunstablians are closely associated with the English Reformation. They have traditions that Oliver Cromwell's soldiers shot bullets at the church doors. The Methodist Church dwarfs the Church of England equivalent. And in the 80s it was the home of the New Covenant Church - now reduced, she believes, to renting time from the Methodists while their old home has reverted to being the West Street Baptists. But in its day, the New Covenant Church was a true beacon of the Protestant, Charismatic, Baptist faith.

And so one might have thought that the people of Dunstable are ready for one more in a stream of the holy homecomings that have clearly marked their history. But it seems not. Instead, the inhabitants cling to one of the other local  traditions.

In her more mellow moments, the Archdruid talks of the old Luton tradition whereby people suffer a moderate form of kidnapping. In  short, they used to grab their unsuspecting victim, thrown them in a car and throw them out a little later in Hitchin. "The long winter nights used to fly past", in Eileen's words.

But I never dreamed that this was how I would have to suffer for my faith. Imagine the scene  outside a boarded-up shop in the Quadrant, as the people of Dunstable call their shopping centre.

"Friends, I bring the words that can save you from Perdition!" I shouted.

"What petition's that, then?" asked a local, "is it to get rid of the bus lane in Church Street?"

I explained that Perdition was a state of endless torment in a joyless, dark, half-alive state. They said they would not sign a petition in favour of that, and said that to avoid things like that they voted Tory.

Changing my tack - for I am all things to all men - I moved straight to the Good News "Your iniquities are expunged!" I cried. "Righteousness imputeth he unto you, like unto the oil that runneth down the beard of Aaron."

A young listener was asking if she could have subtitles, when a group of large men in hoodies appeared. I was dragged down the ramp, shouting that "His intercessions are sufficient for your sanctification." I was bundled into a car, and spent half an hour with a couple of the ruffians sitting on my chest until I was thrown out in Hitchin.

The Baptibus was in Dunstable. I never travel on my evangelistic pilgrimages with money, in strict accordance with Matt 10:9-10. In that passage the Lord did not forbid us the use of mobile phones, of course. But when I called people to come unto my aid, my deacons were at work. Meanwhile Kylie and Kayleigh said they were "working on a tricky diminished chord", while Marjory was watching something that appears to have been called "Jeremy Kyle", and apparently had to wait for the results of a DNA test. Few seem to stop for hitch-hikers these days, and I found myself struggling in a fearful state up the A505. As a women's football team went past in their club minibus, one of them seemed to think it was amusing to throw a bowl of orange peel over me. Such is the result of allowing women to play at such unwomanly activities.

Eventually I was picked up by a couple who turned out to belong to a strange religious cult, and spent the rest of the journey to Luton trying to convert me to believing that Eric Clapton was God. After a four mile walk from Luton to Dunstable, I returned to the car to discover that the operators of the Farm Foods car park had issued me with a parking ticket for overstaying my journey. The irony was that I was parked just outside the little Baptist book shop. Truly, today I have cried out to God from the pit of despair.

It is of course our aim to emulate the great heroes of the faith. But on this occasion I could not help feeling that Paul had things easy in Ephesus. Dunstablians, as Eileen remarked during this morning's conversation, are a tough crowd.

The romance of the open air

Every year we do this. And every year I regret it.

Why do I accept this ludicrous tradition of a day out in tents in the Bedfordshire countryside? I live in the Bedfordshire countryside. And I live in a house. With walls. With space where you can clear off into when the neighbours get on your nerves. Whereas in this dark, down by the river, if you clear off into the open air they could quite likely end up fishing you out in Bedford.

So instead I'm in a tent. Sure, I've insisted on my own tent. Stacey Bushes did offer to share, but she was quite keen on "bringing a couple of guests round" later.

And what is it with religious types? Only put them in a tent and immediately the sounds of "Kum Baya" and badly-played acoustic guitars start to fill the air, wrecking the peace and quiet of the gentle countryside. Over in the Hnaefs' tent there's a fight breaking out - something to do with pour Daphne having discovered one of Hnaef's knitting needles in an unexpected corner. But Marston and Goldwort were getting very friendly earlier - which beggars the imagination, gives you a new respect for the effects of country air, and fills that same air with smooching noises. While the sounds coming out of Burton's tent - I tell you, the whole experience reminds you just how awful human beings are. I mean, they're OK in the mass - I love humanity - but the actual, flesh-and-bone real ones are another matter. The individuals - what a shower.

Anyway. I've put my headphones in now. It's Enya's calmest. And I've the cricket bat handy just in case. It's gonna be a long night.

The unbearable lightness of Anglicanism

I was shocked at first, of course. But I'm just glad, really, that Hnaef has admitted to his secret membership of the Church of England.

To tell the truth, I'd had my suspicions something wasn't quite "right". And at least that it explains why he's so unaccountably posh. And tolerant of differing opinions. And why he's so fond of sherry. And jumble sales.

And, of course, why he never goes to church.

Guinea Pig Cake Service Fiasco

Just tunnelled out. By shouting "Oooh - isn't that a big cat?" and running the other way while everyone panicked about the guinea pigs.

Should have thought, shouldn't I. Guinea pig worshippers, it turns out, eat seed cake.

Mission-Based Pastoral Reorganisation

Our neighbours the Windmill Hill Folk of the Chilterns have asked me to publicise the changes to their pastoral organisation, and their resultant changes to the times of services. The Chiltern enclave claim to have preserved their form of worship intact since pre-Anglian times. The type of claim I would typically cast doubt on, but it's fair to say that Blodwyn and Gwladys, who sit on the back row of the Pepperstock Moot House, still spit at any mention of "that swine Hengist. Not to mention his horse."

The La Tene People of Leagrave and Luton and the Corded Ware Folk of Caddington will now be looked after by Archdruid Earnest. Personally I'm not impressed by these male "Archdruids" - it's all very well them putting on a pointy hat and pretending to be Archdruids, but I can't see how you can be the real thing if you've a "Y" chromosome. I mean, we're all about balance and gentleness and rounded edges and cosmic symmetry - and how can you manage that if your chromosomes are different shapes?

• The Leagrave people will meet at the Little Moot House by the Lea, vandalism permitting, every Tuesday at 8pm (7pm on alternate 3rd Thursdays in the month, and 6.40pm when the sun sets before the moon on alternate first Wednesdays). The first Sunday in each quarter will be a "Songs of Praise" service, where everybody watches videos of Harry Secombe's finest hours instead.
• The Luton Folk will generally hide, quivering, in the bunker of their Moot House on Sundays at 3pm. The first Sunday each month this will be an all-age service at 7am, which adults under 40 won't attend because it's too early and they're still hung over from Saturday. And anybody over 40 won't attend because it takes them too long to get ready for that time of the morning. And children won't attend on account of there's nobody to take them. Archdruid Earnest, who is exactly 40, will be turning up but probably won't be trying too hard in the circumstances.
• The Corded Ware Folk of Caddington can't be bothered to hold weekly meetings at all these days as it all seems like too much hard work. But they can be found at the Cricketers every Tuesday night at 8pm (first Thursday in the month at the Sun Inn, Markyate).

Archdruid Alice will now be taking on responsibility for the Beacon Folk of Ivinghoe, the 5 Noels of Dunstable and the Iceni Folk of the Aylesbury Vale. Since Alice is now 95 years of age, she is strictly Moot House for Duty, and will be assisted by Assistant Archdruid Eric. As Eric has a job as a teacher (inevitably) and can only help on alternate Fridays and during school holidays when he's not at his Caravan in Hunstanton, Eric is officially listed as a NAPDLE*

• The Ivinghoe Beacon Folk will meet on top of the Beacon, at 8pm on Tuesdays except during the winter (too cold) the summer (too hot) and the autumn and spring (too dark). At all other times they will meet in the Moot House in Tring Woods on 1st and 2nd Wednesdays from 7-8pm. On 3rd Tuesdays they will meet from 8-9. On 4th and 5th weeks of the month, they just lose all track and stay at home making doilies.
• The Iceni Folk of the Aylesbury Vale meet in the Aston Clinton Moot House on first Sundays at 10am. In Whipsnade Tree Cathedral on alternate 2nd Satursdays at 11am. Except when there's a Full Moon, when they meet at 9pm instead. On the 5th Sundays between Good Friday and All Hallows they hold a joint service to which all the Chiltern Folk are invited. Although they never turn up, on account of an argument over sheep stealing dating back to the 14th century.
• The 5 Noels of Dunstable meet every Sunday, at 10.30pm at the Noel House. Everybody is invited, provided they are called Noel. They currently have six people called Noel, so to be honest they're not really looking for any new members.

Archdruid Alice, "Archdruid" Earnest and NAPDLE Eric hope that the new, simplified structures and service times will make a strong contribution of the Windmill Hill grouping, and will enable them to move with confidence and faith into the 4th century. They believe that, this time, they have achieved a structure that is truly mission-focussed.

* Not a Proper Druid like Eileen.

Tricky Theological Judgements

There's nothing quite like debating deep theological questions over breakfast. Which is why, on the whole, I prefer to eat in my own Morning Room these days, and join the punters later on.

This morning threw up one of those interesting theological conundrums, however. Golwordf has become convinced, from the beauty of the world and the inherent logic of mathematical physics, that God is a kind, loving left-brained character who will welcome us with open arms when we die into a world of cool, pure mathematics.
Whereas Solbert has been investigating the Ichneumon wasp, the threefold rotational symmetry of the Influenza Haemagglutinin protein and the terrifying power of the gamma-ray emissions from the Crab Nebula. Somehow from all this he has derived the belief that the universe is ruled by a divine gang of vicious killer monkeys who, after the universe has been consumed in gamma-ray fire, will resurrect us simply to torture us all. Then kill us with gamma-ray fire. And then resurrect us. Forever.

Naturally with this kind of disagreement they came to me to share my wisdom. And I told them what I always say. With truth of this kind it's not just either/or but both/and. All truths are the same - there are many routes to the top of the same mountain (although I don't normally recommend the south face - there are some terrifying avalanches going that way). So the Divine is both a divine and loving mathematician, and a gang of vicious killer monkeys.

They went away confused, but at least they've stopped hitting each other. I tell you, I don't know how much longer I can keep this sort of thing up.

On Germanic neo-paganism

Often people ask me, given my obvious interest in the relationship between God and nature - why do I persist in holding this fusion of Trinitarianism and meditating on tea lights? Why not consider something like the Germanic paganism that our ancestors once followed. (I say "our" assuming I am having this debate with a fellow descendant of the Norse, Angle and Saxon people - and, if you insist, the Jutes. Celts and others can go and sing something from Iona if they prefer). Why not look at the stories of Thor, Frigga, Loki and the rest in the light of the joys and terrors of nature?

But my response would be that I find Trinitarian Christianity encompasses the great truths of monotheism as well as the vibrancy and diversity of polytheism. It embraces universal myths while having a rooted, historical base in a real, historical human life.

Also, for me religion has to engage not just with the intellect. It's got to chime in with the affections. If I'm going to follow a religion I have to feel the truth as meaningful to me. And I don't have a Woden heart.

Longlived, Unstable

A little shout out for a new website devoted to that nursery of all the best people, wherever they end up, Dunstable.

The website is http://www.longlivedunstable.com/. Which you could read as "long live Dunstable".
Or you could read it as "long lived" "unstable".
If you consider it's on the crossroads of Icknield Way and Watling Street, and has been inhabited since that crossroads first existed, yes it's long-lived.
And if you walk the length of High Streets North and South on a Friday night, you may decide it's unstable.

But it's old, historic,in the beautiful Downs, the people have a certain strength of character, and it's resolutely not Luton. God bless them.

The accusations mount

There's been a lot of rubbish talked about Drayton Parslow and the so-called "kettling".

I'd like to make it quite clear. When Drayton came to see me yesterday and bored me silly after ten minutes, I did not throw a kettle at him. It was a tea pot. And it didn't even hit him that squarely. I believe he's got away with a mere flesh wound.

ἐν τούτῳ νίκα

I was all set up for our Festival of Religious Tolerance (and Irony) today.

And what a day for it. Just consider:
312 - Constantine has his vision of the Cross before the battle of Milvian Bridge, with his instruction "in this sign, conquer".
1553 - With Calvin's agreement, Michael Servetus is executed as a heretic. If he'd lived anywhere other than Geneva, it would have been Calvin with the fire-lighters around his feet.

1659 - Execution of Boston Martyrs, William Robinson and Marmaduke Stephenson - who'd gone to New England to find religious toleration.

1838 - The Extermination Order demands that all Mormons leave the state of Missouri

So we were going to light some tea lights in honour of the victims of religious persecution, regardless of their faiths - and also of the irony that, through Constantine's victory, a persecuted faith eventually became a persecuting faith.

But Drayton Parslow wouldn't join us as, in his opinion, they'd all deserved it. The House of the Holy Hedgehog refused to join in unless we accepted that Mrs Tiggywinkle was a little spiny deity. The Moon Gibbon Folk were busy fighting the Marsh Gibbon Folk. And although we invited the Guinea Pig Worshippers of Stewartby, they replied that they weren't talking to us after we accidentally ate their gods thinking they were starters last year.

By the time we'd added up all the people who weren't going to celebrate International Religious Freedom Day, there were only five of us left. So I poured us each out a nice large glass of Jack Daniels and we toasted Michael Servetus.  It's what Calvin would have wanted.

The Beaker Venn Census Diagram

Cranmer has brought up the subject of the religion question on the forthcoming Census.

I believe he's right that religion isn't simple, and the census has far too few options. And so I offer you the draft Beaker Venn Census Diagram. All you would have to do, were the Beaker solution to be adopted, would be to  put an "X" in the diagram and just hand it over to the census collector.

A few caveats - this is definitely draft. And to have three (or even four) dimensions to represent overlaps would be useful. The position of Sikhs, and the need for Christianity to exist in a hypothetical, paradoxical overlap between monotheism and polytheism, need to be clarified. And Unitarian Universalists are so hard to categorise - so hard even they probably can't do it. Rather than come up with a 4-dimensional hyper-Beaker-venn, this will probably have to wait for our follow-up Entity Relationship diagram. And please don't get upset about the word "invention". It can just mean "discovery" - as in "the Invention of the Cross". Or there again, it does mean "made up" as well.

Stone Age Burial Rites in Central Bedfordshire

Based on a cursory glance at the Time Team Stonehenge Special, I've discovered that the ancient Beaker People of Stonehenge, when they died, were left on mortuary platforms for the birds to peck off the flesh, and then the bones were buried in a sarsen tomb.

Sounds a bit messy, but if it's authentic...

Obviously, in these days of lightweight and convenient building materials, it's a lot easier to erect these ritual constructions than it used to be.  So tomorrow morning we're off up the Builders Merchants for some breeze blocks for the round barrow and some decent 2x4 to build the mortuary platform.  There's nobody in the Beaker Folk actually planning on dying in the near future, but best to be well-prepared.  And  it's probably better we get in early as we're going to have to try and get this form of burial past the Mid Beds Council planning people as well.  And you know what those people are like.  It could take weeks to get permission.

Changing times

We have agreed to change the rules on eligibility to be Archdruid of Husborne Crawley.

You will be aware that previously, in order to be Archdruid, you had to be me. Well, that's not going to change. However I am aware that one day in the distant future, it will be time to hang up the hi-viz and steel toe-caps and take it easy. Indeed, one day I will slip over the brook that is crossed but once, to reside in Avalon, the blessed isle of the apple trees. Obviously, don't get your hopes up. We're not talking imminent here.
However. The Foundation Garments of the Beaker Folk (we drew them up in the White Horse late one night, and having run out of beer mats we wrote them on an old vest) state that the Archdruid cannot be married to a member of the La Tene Folk of Luton, without forfeiting the right to be Archdruid. This of course came about through a tiff I had previously had with one of the aforesaid La Tene Folk. Celtic toe-rag.
In any case, there is a small but hypothetical chance that a future Archdruid might want to yoke themselves - albeit unevenly - with one of these heretical booners. And who am I if not a supporter of tolerance and compassion towards those with alternative religious views? Therefore we're going to change the rules.
In future, it will be perfectly acceptable for any member of the Beaker Folk to marry or otherwise consort with a La Tene person.
Provided they convert.

I hope that tolerance is now clearly established.