Tolerance and t-shirts

Given all the excitement of Being In Charge[tm], you might have been forgiven for not noticing that it was my birthday this week. To celebrate it, Mrs Hnaef encouraged me to buy a t-shirt from Stonewall UK - a most worthy charity, I am assured by all. It is most excellent, and as it arrived yesterday, I am wearing it today. It has an important message: that if people wish to be happy, then you should not bother yourself about it. The text is "Some People are Gay. Get over It." I cannot understand why Young Keith has been tittering to himself ever since I came down to breakfast this morning, proudly sporting this motto.

Anyway, as the Archdruid is due back soon, and in the spirit of the Parable of the Talents, I have designed a new version: "Some People are Beaker. This Should not Present You with a Problem." I think it is relevant, catchy, promotes tolerance, and looks good in pink. So I have taken advantage of a bulk order discount and put 75,000 of them on the Community Amex card, which the Archdruid seemed to have left under some unrelated papers at the very back of the locked money box within the second safe, behind the picture of her (dear, departed) parents in her locked office. She will be overjoyed with my spontaneity, I'm sure.

A deep concern

Pausing only to wipe the froth from his mouth occasionally, Ludwick managed to cause great concern in the Moot House yesterday with his speech, "Why you can all get out".

We have always been an accepting Community, happy to allow anyone to believe anything they like as long as they have the same attitude to everybody else.  But Ludwick has concerned us.  His argument is based on a claim that I strongly suspect is erroneous - that his people ruled the entire glacier that lay above Husborne Crawley 17,000 years ago and therefore the Great House and all the associated  farmland belongs to him.  He has issued us with a document explaining that, in accordance with his inheritance, he gives us three days to get out.  To help him in this he proposes to employ Bloodwort, who until a few days ago we regarded as one of the dimmest Beaker Folk and useful only for banging holes in doilies, holding up cross-bars when the goalposts are broken and claiming the dole.  Now he is dressed in a bomber jacket and with his new number 2 haircut and tattoos, we realise he is in fact, when directed, a force to be reckoned with.

You see, we have a lot of people with different views around the place - the Moon Gibbon Folk (currently trying to work out whether reduced wages and doing what you're told is a price worth paying), the Kirsty Worshippers and so on.  And we deal with them by telling them that all viewpoints are valid as long as you keep paying your "voluntary" contributions.  But Ludwick insists that in fact we're all wrong, and what are we going to do about it?  When people we consider may expose us to undue argument try to join our community from the outside, we just don't let them in.  But with Ludwick who's already here, it's not so easy.  Even sticking your fingers in your ears and shouting "la-la-la I can't hear you!" doesn't work when Bloodwort is poking you in the ribs with a pointy stick.

It's all very upsetting.  We must consider what to do. 

A Clash of Ideologies

It's been a disappointing weekend for our latest group of pilgrims, as they pack their weekend bags into their Shoguns and head off in the rain for Junction 13.

This was our fourth "Encountering the Silence of the Night" weekend.  Friday night they were to be standing in awe in the Orchard, feeling the quiet and the darkness and receiving them as balm to the soul.  This was ruined by the sound of wailing from the Gibbon Moon people as they mourned the possible death of their god in the landing of the NASA moonshot.  It's hard to feel that the universe is beneficent and friendly when all you can hear are cries of "It's so unfair!  He was only 4 billion years old!"

By 3am the Gibbon Moon people had finally gone off for some sleep.  Silence fell, I am told, for 5 minutes.  Then the place started to resound to the sounds of the Wiccan Drum Ensemble, trying to scare off evil spirits.  Not a good first night all round.  And not the best double-booking we could have made, in retrospect.

The following day, our pilgrims should have had the chance to get some sleep after their long night.  Instead they were kept awake by a worshop* that Hnaef had organised - "The Spirituality of Brass Bands for the Tone Deaf".

Last night, a group of sleep-deprived and generally grumpy pilgrims headed out to the Moot House for what they hoped would be a quiet yet challenging meditation on "listening to your inner owl".  And what did they get?  Drayton Parslow and Siousie doing a three-hour set with their Kirsty MacColl tribute concert, "Electric Landmine".

We are in favour of respect between religions, mutual discourse and learning from one another.  But maybe in future we'll keep everybody apart instead. 

* Worshop - a Worship Workshop.