And so, once again, the plucky sparrow of English footballing hope flies into the patio door of mediocrity.
And that's it. The football season is over. Today's dress code for the "Hear Comes the Summer" service is white - for cricket, tennis and flouncing around the garden in the sunshine, drinking a quick Pimms before dinner. There will no bad coffee after this morning's Occasion: instead we shall be drinking Earl Grey from bone china tea sets and limbering up for a quick round of croquet. Boaters will be worn.*
I am hoping that, this summer, we can conduct ourselves as befits English gentlemen and ladies. The pints of ale of winter will be laid aside for the gin and splash of soda. And while the lower ranks of Beaker Folk will sing the traditional songs of Lark Rise and Candleford, and feed the threshing machine with whatever it is poor people used to be required to put into threshing machines (some kind of cereal-based product, I would think), we will gather together the last of the corn straw to make dollies.
And a gentler, more skilful sport awaits. Willow will hit leather - or leather hit ash, if the guile or pace of the bowler exceeds the skill of what Alec Stewart so vulgarly calls the "batter". Poets will lounge around the boundary, blades of grass in their mouths and daisy-chains round their next. Evening walks will meander into the eternal twilight of even as late as 11 o'clock on a good day. The punts will be launched, and the clink of ice will be heard in the land.
It's about three weeks until Fulham kick off in the Europa League, in case anyone was missing football already.
* In the Marquee, if wet. Or do I mean the Marquis? I can never remember which is which.
Sunday, 5 June 2011
Saturday, 4 June 2011
St Petroc, patron saint of Pet Rocks
We've expanded our pebble-related activities. People have been nagging us for ages. They've never really been happy with my ban on pet animals, although I've had to explain that the Earless Beaker Bunny would see off anything smaller than a rhino.
But the pressure has been too much. So today, being the Feast of St Petroc, we had a Service for the blessing of Pet Rocks. Petroc himself is unusual among saints in having been a pet rock, but was canonised for his services to Hobby Horses. Petroc is of course associated with town of Padstow in Cornwall - a place that makes Balamory look run-down and unromantic - and I feel deeply jealous that he got to watch the Atlantic breakers making their way up towards the Doom Bar, and was called to bring light to wild, storm-tossed and romantic Cornishmen. Whereas I get to live in the middle of England, trying to keep control of a number of people whose intellects are out-shone by their own pet rocks.
But in any case. We had a lovely blessing service. Each pet rock was dragged in on its piece of string, and brought up to the Worship Focus (a lovely piece of Markyate plum-pudding stone) for a blessing. The people of the Dunstable area used to think that all the stones in the ground were given birth to by plum-pudding stone. Although I'm talking the old days here - certainly no later than 1998.
Many people told us that they'd had trouble keeping the stones under control. Gwladys said that her "Gretchen" was trying to pick a fight with Hierome's "Tibbles", but I thought it was best to just stick to being slightly patronising. "Tibbles" is a piece of feldspar, so I told Gwladys that it just wasn't gneiss. And I had some lovely words in the liturgy about "cementing the friendships we have made today".
We sang "Rock of Ages", and off they all went, dragging their pet rocks behind them. Yes, they're a bit sad. Yes, it's a bit insane. Yes, they need to get lives. But a number of them have paid up for the Obedience Classes, so I'm not going to try to talk them out of it now
A dangerous exercise in Democracy
I'm afraid this morning's "Say what you think" session was rather spoiled by those who think things I'd rather they didn't. Or people who don't think very much, but do like to talk.
I'd hoped that the invitation to clear the air would bring about a polylog in which all would enter into a spirit of constructive progress. Let us clear out the cobwebs of the old, I thought, and bring in a new era of openness. Where we can learn from one another.
Of course, early on it was all a little tentative. Somebody suggested - hesitantly - that we should perhaps open the roof windows in the Moot House on sunny days. We all agreed that this was a good idea, as it might stop all that fainting going on - which we have learnt was not people being overcome with emotion and/or spirituality. It might also reduce the infestation of banyan trees we've been suffering from.
A suggestion that the King James Version of the Bible might be deprecated, in line with Google's policy on browsers that aren't fit for the modern world, was resisted by our guest, Reverend Drayton Parslow, who'd come along to get some ideas for his own congregational meetings - and particularly how not to get sacked by them. Strictly speaking, Drayton shouldn't have spoken. Not because he is not a member of the community, but because he's an idiot. However on this occasion had to agree with him. Thing is, when it comes to reading of spiritual texts, sometimes the lovely sound of the words is far more important than the actual meaning. What would we do without the King James Version at Christmas? And where would Hnaef be without those words of Ps 106 coming up every now and then in the KJV - "They went a-whoring with their own inventions"? Fact is, it makes him giggle so much it's the only Psalm we ever read.
But then, encouraged by Drayton's expostulations, everyone started to get a bit bold, didn't they? Morgwyn thought that Pouring out of Beakers was too early, as the time conflicts with her hangovers. Whereas Young Keith thought it should be earlier, so he can get to work on time.
Then Milton Ernest brought up the question of my election last week. Wanted to know if it was healthy for a community to have an election for Archdruid with only one candidate, because the other 16 candidates had all been suspended while the Probity Committee (i.e. me and Hnaef) considered whether or not they were infiltrators from the planet Squob. Well, as I explained, rules are rules. And he'll have the chance to stand himself next year, assuming he's not barred under Rule 67*.
Tilton suggested we put Muriels on the white walls in the Moot House. I asked did he mean murals, and he said no - "Muriels". Apparently he's taken a number of artistic photos of his wife, and though they might brighten up the place. Well, we saw a couple of photos of Muriel, and even a community as open-minded as ours isn't putting that kind of "art" on the wall. In one of them, she even seems to be on holiday in Russia. And we're having nothing to do with a place that's banned our asparagus.
Then Burton suggested that I might consider making my talks more interesting and shorter. He had been at Spring Harvest, he said, and had noticed that the preachers were engaging, funny and spiritually challenging. I pointed out to him that at Spring Harvest the congregations were also more engaged and more interested in what the preacher had to say - and probably more attractive to look at, en masse, than people like Burton - and asked him which came first, the chicken or the egg? This caused an enormous argument. Drayton claimed, on Creationist grounds, that it was the chicken - while Young Keith insisted, on Evolutionary ones, that it was the egg. Eventually I had to introduce some serious conflict resolution. In other words, we threw Drayton in the pond.
Ethyl asked whether, once in a while, we could have Gregorian Chant in an act of worship. Which was just the sort of intelligent, constructive idea I had been wanting. But then Marston spoilt it by asking whether the "ordinary" Beaker people - as opposed to the Druids - could have an increase in rations.
But it was Elbert's suggestion of a Community Newsletter that really caused the trouble. Some of us asked why anyone would want a Newsletter when there is the Internet and we could create a Beaker Folk Facebook page - but others got all excited, and started offering constructive criticism of the "first edition" that Elbert had brought along. Young Keith suggested that the font was all wrong - being Gothic - and maybe a more modern one would be appropriate? But Marston, who'd only been half-listening to the discussion, thought Keith was talking about the font in St Bogwulf's chapel and went up the wall. That font, he informed the community, wasn't Gothic - it was Perpendicular. It was hundreds of years old. And he would fight to the death anyone who tried to remove it and replace it with a modern font - which would probably be all high-tec and perspex, and flow running water into the adult baptistery which Drayton has had dug. And if that happened, said Marston, people with weak bladders would be rushing out of St Bogwulf's every few minutes and racing back to the Facilities in the Great House. And then we would have to leave the Facilities open, and remove the signing-in book for the key, and where would be the end of it?
That's the trouble with letting people speak their minds. Sometimes all you get is a kind of hollow, echo-y noise. Next Saturday we're going back to people being told what to think.
* Rule 67: "No-one with broken knees is allowed to stand as Archdruid".
I'd hoped that the invitation to clear the air would bring about a polylog in which all would enter into a spirit of constructive progress. Let us clear out the cobwebs of the old, I thought, and bring in a new era of openness. Where we can learn from one another.
Of course, early on it was all a little tentative. Somebody suggested - hesitantly - that we should perhaps open the roof windows in the Moot House on sunny days. We all agreed that this was a good idea, as it might stop all that fainting going on - which we have learnt was not people being overcome with emotion and/or spirituality. It might also reduce the infestation of banyan trees we've been suffering from.
A suggestion that the King James Version of the Bible might be deprecated, in line with Google's policy on browsers that aren't fit for the modern world, was resisted by our guest, Reverend Drayton Parslow, who'd come along to get some ideas for his own congregational meetings - and particularly how not to get sacked by them. Strictly speaking, Drayton shouldn't have spoken. Not because he is not a member of the community, but because he's an idiot. However on this occasion had to agree with him. Thing is, when it comes to reading of spiritual texts, sometimes the lovely sound of the words is far more important than the actual meaning. What would we do without the King James Version at Christmas? And where would Hnaef be without those words of Ps 106 coming up every now and then in the KJV - "They went a-whoring with their own inventions"? Fact is, it makes him giggle so much it's the only Psalm we ever read.
But then, encouraged by Drayton's expostulations, everyone started to get a bit bold, didn't they? Morgwyn thought that Pouring out of Beakers was too early, as the time conflicts with her hangovers. Whereas Young Keith thought it should be earlier, so he can get to work on time.
Then Milton Ernest brought up the question of my election last week. Wanted to know if it was healthy for a community to have an election for Archdruid with only one candidate, because the other 16 candidates had all been suspended while the Probity Committee (i.e. me and Hnaef) considered whether or not they were infiltrators from the planet Squob. Well, as I explained, rules are rules. And he'll have the chance to stand himself next year, assuming he's not barred under Rule 67*.
Tilton suggested we put Muriels on the white walls in the Moot House. I asked did he mean murals, and he said no - "Muriels". Apparently he's taken a number of artistic photos of his wife, and though they might brighten up the place. Well, we saw a couple of photos of Muriel, and even a community as open-minded as ours isn't putting that kind of "art" on the wall. In one of them, she even seems to be on holiday in Russia. And we're having nothing to do with a place that's banned our asparagus.
Then Burton suggested that I might consider making my talks more interesting and shorter. He had been at Spring Harvest, he said, and had noticed that the preachers were engaging, funny and spiritually challenging. I pointed out to him that at Spring Harvest the congregations were also more engaged and more interested in what the preacher had to say - and probably more attractive to look at, en masse, than people like Burton - and asked him which came first, the chicken or the egg? This caused an enormous argument. Drayton claimed, on Creationist grounds, that it was the chicken - while Young Keith insisted, on Evolutionary ones, that it was the egg. Eventually I had to introduce some serious conflict resolution. In other words, we threw Drayton in the pond.
Ethyl asked whether, once in a while, we could have Gregorian Chant in an act of worship. Which was just the sort of intelligent, constructive idea I had been wanting. But then Marston spoilt it by asking whether the "ordinary" Beaker people - as opposed to the Druids - could have an increase in rations.
But it was Elbert's suggestion of a Community Newsletter that really caused the trouble. Some of us asked why anyone would want a Newsletter when there is the Internet and we could create a Beaker Folk Facebook page - but others got all excited, and started offering constructive criticism of the "first edition" that Elbert had brought along. Young Keith suggested that the font was all wrong - being Gothic - and maybe a more modern one would be appropriate? But Marston, who'd only been half-listening to the discussion, thought Keith was talking about the font in St Bogwulf's chapel and went up the wall. That font, he informed the community, wasn't Gothic - it was Perpendicular. It was hundreds of years old. And he would fight to the death anyone who tried to remove it and replace it with a modern font - which would probably be all high-tec and perspex, and flow running water into the adult baptistery which Drayton has had dug. And if that happened, said Marston, people with weak bladders would be rushing out of St Bogwulf's every few minutes and racing back to the Facilities in the Great House. And then we would have to leave the Facilities open, and remove the signing-in book for the key, and where would be the end of it?
That's the trouble with letting people speak their minds. Sometimes all you get is a kind of hollow, echo-y noise. Next Saturday we're going back to people being told what to think.
* Rule 67: "No-one with broken knees is allowed to stand as Archdruid".
We're here all week...
Some complaints about this evening's Prog Rock tribute to the future destruction of the world.
In particular they're moaning about Young Keith's performance of that piece by John Cage - using the silence to represent the sound of the sea at Lulworth, after all the water has boiled away into space.
We're making no apologies, though. This is what it sounds like, when Coves dry.
In particular they're moaning about Young Keith's performance of that piece by John Cage - using the silence to represent the sound of the sea at Lulworth, after all the water has boiled away into space.
We're making no apologies, though. This is what it sounds like, when Coves dry.
Friday, 3 June 2011
Putting off the End of the World
Just the most perfunctory of "Pouring out of Beakers" this morning, as we have made a shocking discovery. I say "shocking". My experience of this kind of thing is that once you've heard it, you're shocked into action for a while, then it becomes "Business as Usual" and you forget about it and think things are going to stay as they are forever. And then you remember again.
Between one and three billion years from now, all the seas and oceans are going to boil away, as the Sun expands its size. Which may make you give it a bit more respect, next time you're laying on the beach.
The doom-merchants and "Neigh-sayers" (people who've said "Nay" so many times they've gone a bit horse) say this is it, we're all going to die.
But we say - this just assumes humanity will be powerless to do anything. Which, if they all turn out to be descended from Rod Stewart, may be true. It's no good pouting and singing "Do ya think I'm sexy" when the Atlantic is boiling away into space. But we reckon there's still time.
So knowing that the time is short, we're putting off today's liturgy to dedicate ourselves to collecting all the plastic bags we can find. We reckon when the time comes, we'll be able to build a giant plastic balloon to hold all the water vapour in. There is the slight problem that this might make the earth even hotter, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. It's the least we can do for Mother Gaia.
So knowing that the time is short, we're putting off today's liturgy to dedicate ourselves to collecting all the plastic bags we can find. We reckon when the time comes, we'll be able to build a giant plastic balloon to hold all the water vapour in. There is the slight problem that this might make the earth even hotter, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. It's the least we can do for Mother Gaia.
Thursday, 2 June 2011
Marcuse / Mark Hughes / Confuse
Metal Vicar (who blogs here) recently tweeted a pun on the similar sounding names of Mark Hughes (the Fulham manager, as of date of writing) and Marcuse (Herbert) (The left-wing German/Jewish philosopher). She then mused how many people would get the joke.
Well, this is your chance to let her know. Please vote for which (or both) of these people you've heard of.
Until today I'd never heard of Marcuse. So at least I'm being honest...
And the Poll is Here (and over there on the right, now it's working).
Well, this is your chance to let her know. Please vote for which (or both) of these people you've heard of.
Until today I'd never heard of Marcuse. So at least I'm being honest...
And the Poll is Here (and over there on the right, now it's working).
Burton lets Everybody Down
Dear Readers, it has been a bitter, bitter day. I have cried many sad salt tears into the dust. I would repent in dust and ashes were it not that my tears have made the dust all damp. I have let everybody down. That this should happen on this holiest of holy days - Thomas Hardy's birthday - is at one and the same time further tragedy, and yet strangely appropriate.
Yet it was the most innocent of unpremeditated remarks. I merely told Eileen that her sermon, on the theme of the last chapter of Tess of the D'Urbervilles, had one of her highest theological point densities in ages. She asked me what a theological point density was, and I explained that it is the frequency of valid and useful theological points in a sermon.
Drayton was no source of sympathy when I met him. He merely referred me to James chapter 3 and told me I should watch what I say. I knew this already. I should be more careful.
Yet it was the most innocent of unpremeditated remarks. I merely told Eileen that her sermon, on the theme of the last chapter of Tess of the D'Urbervilles, had one of her highest theological point densities in ages. She asked me what a theological point density was, and I explained that it is the frequency of valid and useful theological points in a sermon.
In fact, I told her, her theological point wait ratio was perhaps the shortest since her "Are we all a figment of Richard Dawkin's Imagination" sermon, at about one theological point per four minutes. While her theological word density was a little on the low side - probably because she was speaking quite quickly, due to her fear at being up in that cherry picker at the time.
How, she asked me, did I know how today's sermon compared with others from the past? And I realised I had said too much. By the time I returned to my room it looked like it had been burgled. And my Book of Sermon Recording had been found.
My fellow Sermon Statistic Recorders of the nation, I have let the cat out of the bag. For so many centuries we have kept the existence of our Guild a secret. We have hidden from the preachers, that source of the food on which we eat - the raw statistics of sermons. They have been unaware that every congregation contains a man - for it is normally a man - who keeps at home a Book of Records of Sermons, in which we have kept the details of every talk given. We have passed the secrets of our guild, as strong as sealing wax and as deep as the sea, from all preachers. And now I have let a church leader know.
For the rest of you, I may as well explain. A Book of Sermon Recording does not contain the sermon itself - where is the interest in that? Instead it contains the facts around the length of the sermon, the number of theological points, the average time that you have to wait for a valid theological point and the strike rate, as described above. Eileen snatched my current book, but she missed my earlier version - and I am glad, now secrecy is pointless, to share the first few entries with you.
Fellow members of the Guild of Sermon Recorders, our life in the shadows is over. Our cover is blown. Our time is at an end. We must pass to the Gray Havens, where we will spend our time evaluating Gross Domestic Product figures and comparing London Black Cab registration plates. I have let everybody down.
Or, of course, you could all just lay low - and pretend I've made all this up?
Ascension Day and the Lowest Common Denomination
Sometimes in this diverse, multi-cultural (obviously we're all white and middle-class, but a few of us are Welsh or Scottish) and undenominational community, we have to agree to differ. Or, when I say "agree to differ", what I really mean is "believe the same as me or shut up". The basic rule of the Community is that of the Lowest Common Denomination - that is, that in the interests of all, everything is kept believable, and achievable, by everybody. The same policy adopted by many ecumenical churches - and indeed many Anglican ones, I believe. Which is why when we found that the Bible was too hard for some post-literate types, we replaced it with the X-Box version which everyone could play. Albeit some of the older members of the community can't get past Level 4 due to their slower reflexes. And I'm still annoyed with Young Keith, who found what he called an "easter egg" that enabled him to equip King David with a Browning sub-machine gun.
But in the interest of the Lowest Common Denomination we are suspending the annual Ascension Day "Standing on the Roof" ceremony this morning. Poor Ethyl really wanted to come. But we were aware that should she over-react to her blood pressure medicine (or should Morgwn's vertigo kick in) we would be looking at a Descension - or a Declension - or whatever the rapid opposite of an Ascension is.
So for this morning's Beaker Ascension Day Event, please can all members of the Community assemble outside, where you will find a "cherry-picker" each. I'll be operating all the booms by the use of the many remote controllers I will be operating from my safe vantage point. What could possibly go wrong?
But in the interest of the Lowest Common Denomination we are suspending the annual Ascension Day "Standing on the Roof" ceremony this morning. Poor Ethyl really wanted to come. But we were aware that should she over-react to her blood pressure medicine (or should Morgwn's vertigo kick in) we would be looking at a Descension - or a Declension - or whatever the rapid opposite of an Ascension is.
So for this morning's Beaker Ascension Day Event, please can all members of the Community assemble outside, where you will find a "cherry-picker" each. I'll be operating all the booms by the use of the many remote controllers I will be operating from my safe vantage point. What could possibly go wrong?
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
Blog Search Terms
From time to time, Eileen asks me to go through Google Analytics to see the search terms by which people (unsuspecting) have discovered the Beaker Blog. Then we have a good laugh as we try to imagine what they were looking for. But she's terribly conscientious, and hates the thought that there are people out in the Blogosphere worried that they've asked questions that we haven't answered. So she's asked me to go through the search terms, and sort out some answers for them.
If you were the person that entered these terms and found these answers, then I hope I've now enlightened you.
If you were the person that entered these terms and found these answers, then I hope I've now enlightened you.
| Blogsearchterm | Our answer |
|---|---|
| beaker folk gnomes | Why do people keep searching for this? 200 times this year. What are you after? Because we don't have it. |
| apple alarm | Oddly, this search term only occurs at 3am on weekends. We've no idea why. |
| small garden ornaments | We recommend a nice gnome. |
| coronation street gay | Yes. Notoriously. |
| dangerous cyclists | Yes. Notoriously. |
| gurdur boring site:http://cyber-coenobites.blogspot.com/ | Not sure who should be more offended, us or Gurdur. |
| i wish we'd all been ready | Bet you're glad you weren't, now. |
| still got the blues | I'm not surprised. You're typing Blues lyrics into Google. How could you ever be happy? Get out and meet people. |
| a queer thing happened to america | Yes. Independence. But maybe one day they'll see sense. |
| astrology is wrong | It doesn't work, either. It's very bad science. |
| cosmic anteater | We're scared already. Don't make matters worse. |
| i’m no longer an independent baptist fundamentalist but i still love my king james bible | It's lovely. But why not get one in English? |
| "nice things happen to nice people" plato | I'm pretty sure that wasn't Plato. |
| according to the bible where is the land of nod | Up the wooden hill, turn left when you reach Bedfordshire. |
| are there any reports of hauntings in stopsley bedfordshire | No. Or possibly yes. |
| beaker culture matriarchal | Archdruid Eileen says not. And we daren't argue. |
| berkshire smells of smoke | Yes, I believe it did. |
| does the king james bible say no alchohol of any kind | No, of course it doen't. |
| doeswkdbluealcopopsaffectfertility | No, only literacy. |
| has anyone actually done schrodingers cat | Let's hope not. |
| how do we wish michael palin a happy birthday? | "Happy Birthday, Michael." |
| how would i preach at my own funeral | Slowly. |
| is professor brian cox a christian | No. But he's still a nice guy. |
| is rapture good or bad? | Probably both. Depends on whether you've been left behind. |
| is there a sequel to parable of the talents | Yes. The parable where the bloke with only one talent gets voted off. |
| lord of the dance not theologically correct | You said it. |
| ordinariate pay conditions | Let's just say - don't set your heart on the company car. |
| short summary of the three strangers by thomas hardy | One of them's the hangman. One of them is his intended victim. There, I've spoilt it. |
| spring beaker gay mens | There's no answer to that. |
| stavrakopoulou bikini | Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. |
| the benefits of a waxing gibons moon and gender | Look, you really need help. |
| was joan of arc an sinner | Yes. We all are. Except for one rumoured exception. |
Modern Dress in Leading Worship
I'm sorry, the Mini Moot was rather abruptly terminated. And there won't be any official minutes as I threw the laptop at Burton. So a few notes instead.
I mean, what is it with these nerdie types? They go around being all boring and apparently unimaginative. And then the proposal "That this Community requests the use of Modern Worship in leading Worship" came up.
Burton's argument is that the Beaker Folk are getting out of touch with modernity. Sure, we no longer wear the animal skins of our forebears, reasons Burton. But the leadership are still clad in chunky cableknit sweaters, safety boots and hi-viz vests. That's so out of date, says Burton - anyone would think we lived in a country where people still had outdated things like jobs in the fishing, building or distribution industry. What we want, taking a leaf out of Badminton's book, is something more modern - more glamorous.
Burton suggested a frogman's outfit, a cowboy suit, and - for the all-age worship - a giant squirrel and a rabbit costume. I mean. I know I got annoyed. Apart from the thought of standing at the front of the Moot House, as a quarter of a group looking like a cross between Wind in the Willows and the Village People. How many times do I have to tell him? It's frog-person and herdsmanager.
I mean, what is it with these nerdie types? They go around being all boring and apparently unimaginative. And then the proposal "That this Community requests the use of Modern Worship in leading Worship" came up.
Burton's argument is that the Beaker Folk are getting out of touch with modernity. Sure, we no longer wear the animal skins of our forebears, reasons Burton. But the leadership are still clad in chunky cableknit sweaters, safety boots and hi-viz vests. That's so out of date, says Burton - anyone would think we lived in a country where people still had outdated things like jobs in the fishing, building or distribution industry. What we want, taking a leaf out of Badminton's book, is something more modern - more glamorous.
Burton suggested a frogman's outfit, a cowboy suit, and - for the all-age worship - a giant squirrel and a rabbit costume. I mean. I know I got annoyed. Apart from the thought of standing at the front of the Moot House, as a quarter of a group looking like a cross between Wind in the Willows and the Village People. How many times do I have to tell him? It's frog-person and herdsmanager.
June Folklore - sponsored by KetaVision
And so welcome to June. Or, as we must all now learn to call it - The Month of June, sponsored by KetaVision.
Meanwhile, the BBC programme "Springwatch" has just started. Even as the BBC's weather forecasters have started claiming it's now "Summer". I'm trying to work out if this is a cunning plan on the part of the "Springwatch" producers to make it look like Global Warming is happening - and whether future series will be broadcast from a beach in the Med in August, to further increase the "oo isn't Spring warm this year" effect.
I thought hard before choosing KetaVision as our sponsor - or, as I prefer to say - Reputation Co-Edifier. But their slogan - "The Entertainment System that anaesthetises you from reality" - was the kind of image I wanted the Beaker Folk to project in this hardest of early twenty-first centuries. And I couldn't really imagine anyone else giving us such large amounts of money, either.
June as a month is of great folkloric significance - and this June in particular is particularly stunning. For example, this June starts on the 1st of the month - which is traditional - with a New Moon! And, somewhere in the world, a Solar Eclipse! This hasn't happened since quite recently, which we think is terribly imporant.
Meanwhile, the BBC programme "Springwatch" has just started. Even as the BBC's weather forecasters have started claiming it's now "Summer". I'm trying to work out if this is a cunning plan on the part of the "Springwatch" producers to make it look like Global Warming is happening - and whether future series will be broadcast from a beach in the Med in August, to further increase the "oo isn't Spring warm this year" effect.
Back to solar matters, and in June each year we have a Solstice, at which we of the Beaker Folk fail to get up because it's so early. Although the following day, we greet each other with that traditional blessing "Nights are drawing in", to which the correct response is "Soon be Christmas." People in the Southern Hemisphere should note that, since it's December* down under, this response is optional.
On St John's Eve, all the young people of country areas would, until the Victorians stopped it, go out into the woods and fields to celebrate Midsummer. This was normally followed by that other great rural tradition, a baby-boom in March.
On St John's Eve, all the young people of country areas would, until the Victorians stopped it, go out into the woods and fields to celebrate Midsummer. This was normally followed by that other great rural tradition, a baby-boom in March.
This June is also brought to you by the colour green, the number 3, the Letters A and B and the belief that Sesame Street is produced to you by a bunch of lefty pink-liberals. Although we suspect that this belief may only really be held by Muppets.
* Only joking.
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