Lighting the Imbolc Fire

Well, naturally we had to light another one. After all, it's a festival, is imbolc. Whatever it's all about.

I always reckon you can never have too many bonfires. Although, to be honest, this is one of the coldest bonfire days for ages. The Beaker Fertility Folk were hoping for the first rites of spring, but took to wandering around moodily wearing hoodies and thick coats.

At least at this time of the year there's a good reason  for lighting fires. They keep you warm. When the broken pallets started to run out we switched to any old brushwood we could find.

But then Young Keith got all over-enthusiastic. I suppose, in retrospect, that cutting down that leylandii to throw it on the fire was deeply appropriate on this, the last day of the Christmas/Epiphany cycle. It was like the last remnant of Christmas had gone. But fresh leylandi, even in the depths of winter, doesn't burn that well. The smoke was horrendous.

So we're back inside now. We've celebrated something - whatever that something was. And we all smell like car air-fresheners. I've had better celebrations.

Setting Fire to Things in the Autumn

As our Hindu and Sikh friends celebrate Diwali today, we at the Beaker Folk are happy to see the start of the Setting Fire to Things in the Autumn season. It's a joy every year as Diwali, Samhain and Bonfire Night go past - followed shortly after by the Lighting of the Bling as we celebrate the 3-month Beaker season of Yule (starting November 6 and then carrying on to Candlemas).

There's something beautifully elemental about setting fire to things in Autumn. Good things, that is - bonfires, fireworks, wood-burners, that kind of stuff. Tea lights, of course. As The Man said, "Black chaos comes and the fettered gods of the earth say, Let there be light." Or - as Graham Kendrick put it - "Like a candle flame, flickering small in our darkness."

It's an act of resistance - and we all need those. A statement of defiance. A clinging to the hope of new things. And, lest we forget, it's a convenient way of keeping warm and seeing where things are. So this year we're introducing our first "100 nights - 100 bonfires" season.  As big as the Great Fire of London, and more risk-assessed than a council-organised conker competition. We'll keep it up till the first snowdrops, or until the pallets give out.

Fire engine excitement

Mrs Hnaef and the Archdruid have had a lovely morning. There's been an awful fire, but luckily noone was hurt, so the ladies of the Community got to watch burly firefighters shift hoses round all morning, whilst I was sent off to provide hot drinks for everybody and "keep out of our way".

I'm sure that I'll be asked to launch a full investigation into the conflagration (I usually am): I just hope, for Burton's sake, that the expenses receipts and accounts haven't been affected this year.

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