Ice-blue moon

Can the Saluting the Moon party please note it's blooming taters out there. It's going to be a while till the New Moon appears, so please wrap up warm. There's a load of old firewood out behind the cowshed, so please feel free to fire up the old chimenia. It might give you warm memories of long summer evenings outside, when the weather was more clement. Except that it rained all summer. If it snows again, please keep the ceremonial snow dances until morning. We don't want to be woken up by some bunch of half-frozen half-asleep half-wits.

Creative Worship

I suppose that if I had to use a word to describe today's Festival of Creative Worship, "mixed" would be the word I would employ.
Hnaef's use of the music of lesser-known Ukrainian nose-flute worship music put us off to a melodic, if frankly baffling, start. Likewise Burton's "twenty minutes of yodelling". Burton's explanation that it freed our spirits from the oppression of the Mind seemed highly likely. However whether that is actually a good thing is a matter for some debate. Elwick's creative use of pebbles of course had to be brought to a quick conclusion, as stoning is no longer a legal method of ecclesiastical discipline in this country.
From then on, it's fair to say it was all downhill. Full marks to Birgit on the ecumenical front for using a theme that was entirely in keeping with today's Christian lectionary. And I'm sure there is a creative way to represent Ezra's reading of the Law. I just don't think that liturgical dance is necessarily that creative way. Meanwhile Hrastmir's representational tableau "Death is nothing at all", had to be cut short so we could pull him out of the pond and administer the kiss of life.
But in retrospect, I hold myself partly to blame for the final disaster. We were running out of time, and it was my idea to hold the last two items concurrently. Given my Health and Safety background, I should have thought harder. But who could have predicted that Roswell's raffia "Machu Pichu" and Chelsee's "Night of a thousand tealights" would react together so disastrously? The good news however is that although the Moot Hall has now been burnt to the ground, at least the Father Christmas has gone west with it. And hopefully the insurance company is not a victim of the credit crunch. Yet.

Bling in the new

So I know the nights are drawing in. And yes, there's a nip in the air.
And goodness knows, we Beaker Folk are in touch with the seasons. We love to anticipate, experience and celebrate the rhythms of the year. As we pass from Yule to Easter, from Beltane to midsummer, from solstice to solstice and equinox to equinox - our liturgical hi-viz vests change colour from red to green, yellow to pink: marking, celebration, and - let's face it - mourning passing time. We see the new life of spring, and the death of winter - yet a death that still has promise, as the crocus deep below the ground already anticipates the spring in the depths of winter.
We appreciate the seasons.
But I still don't appreciate the giant flashing Father Christmas that has appeared on the roof of the Great House. It's still October. Please remove it.

A case of mistaken Identity

OK, I can see that it was an easy mistake to make. If you're slightly denser than the living gods that the Guinea Pig Worshippers of Stewartby worship.

Álvaro Arbeloa is the right-back for Liverpool Football Club.

Arbor Low is a stone circle in the Peak District. It does not sign autographs, nor is it a friend of "Stevie G". It doesn't overlap Dirk Kuyt. It just kind of lays there, looking like a knocked-over henge monument.

Hope that clears up any confusion.

Shine on Harvest Moon

Since we had that frost last week, I am officially declaring tomorrow's full moon to be the Harvest Moon. Please note the following carefully for this year's arrangements.

The Milton Keynes Single Mothers' club has had to be suspended since the 275 pumpkins that were contributed to them last year just lay there and rotted. This follows on from the previous year, when all those lettuces had wilted by the time we got them to the Rabbit Refuge. And some members of the Mothers' Union got all over-excited by Hnaef's collection of novelty parsnips. So just tins of beans this year, please.

Contrary to the rumour that went around last year, we do not have to sacrifice anyone to the God of the Corn. We are a peaceful religion, and do not sacrifice anyone to anything. Poor Drayton got very nervous last year, what with Young Keith following him around with a tape measure and a frying pan.

Burton has promised to dress up as Jack in the Green. We've explained his costume and duties very carefully to him, as it was rather embarrassing last year when Hnaef, under a misapprehension, got dressed up as Jack in the Box instead. I never want to have to remove a Beaker Person from a spring that size again, as long as I live.

The enactment of Bacchanalian revels last year got a bit out of hand. Perhaps we could go for a tableau of people reaping this year, instead?

And finally the perennial reminder - no matter how tempting or how autumnal, we do not want the mass-release of a horde of woodland creatures into the Moot House at any point in the ceremonies. Somehow every year someone gets over-excited and we end up over-run by panic struck rabbits, foxes and squirrels. Last year was definitely the worst, and I do not, under any circumstances, want to face another badger in a mood like that.

Liturgy for the Nativity of Kirsty MacColl

Introit - There's a Guy Works down the Chipshop Swears he's Elvis

Preparation

President: We come together today to contemplate one of the great mysteries of life. How come Kirsty MacColl's no longer with us, but Shane MacGowan's still going strong?
All: Yeah, you'd have got long odds against that 10 years ago.

President: We pause to acknowledge that we are in the presence of the company of heaven.
All: There's an angel floating round this house. Floating round my house.

Confession

President: Do we always have to be sorry?
Congregation: Why can't we just be happy baby?

Commination

President: "You scumbag, you maggot"
Congregation: "You cheap lousy faggot*"
President: "Ooh, I forgot that line. That's not very good is it? We didn't really ought to have included that."
Congregation: "Well come to that, you've not exactly been that kind to maggots**, have you?"
President: "Not in the same league though?"
Congregation: Maggots are people, too!

The service ends in a brawl. As usual.


* The Beaker Folk of Husborne Crawley would like to apologise to any punks, bums, people on junk, or anyone else that may have been offended by this liturgy.
** No maggots were hurt during the making of this blog post.

Late result - England 2 - Colombia 0

Michaelmas Moonwatch

I can now declare the Moonwatch over. The ceremony of Saluting the Moon will be held this evening, whether we can see it or not.

Thanks to the Worship Team for the special Michaelmas celebrations last night. A real alt.worship feel, with Hnaef dressing up as a Michaelmas daisy to sing "Supper's Ready" as a tribute to Peter Gabriel. Nice to see that the Dragon Slaying dance has come on well since April, with fewer burns and only the odd sword wound to deal with. But I think Burton chucking Young Keith out of the tree to symbolise the fall of the Serpent from heaven was a bit rough, especially as he landed in the duck pond. Still, as the book says, it was certainly "woe to thee" to assorted parts of the community as he crawled out covered in smelly mud and went in search of Burton to take his awful revenge. I think Burton reckoned his time was pretty short last night...

Waiting for the Moon

This month's "Waiting for the Moon" will commence at sunrise tonight, and continue until we see it again in a few days' time (or until we know it's new again if it's cloudy). Now you don't have to stay up for all three days of waiting so whoever bought that pallet of Red Bull, please take it back. But it is important that at least three people are watching at all times, and that the Eternal Flame is kept alight throughout. It went out last month, and how embarrassing is that? So keep the charcoal going on, please, kiddies...

The Market

Contrary to complaints you may have heard in other places, I would like to reassure Beaker Folk that the Market is not some bear-pit of bankrobbers, fly-tippers and bear-baiters. Obviously greed is not a good thing, and it is wrong that people's lives are made worse by the short-term actions of speculators who are happy to take the upside while expecting the Government to bail them out when things go wrong.

On the other hand, we made an absolute fortune over the last months thanks to the demise of Mrs Whimsey's Doily Shops Ltd. You may remember that we took Mrs Whimsey's over at a knock down price, on the grounds that we could keep this traditional and much-loved British industry in action, and incorporated it into our own doily production supply chain - thus achieving what I believe is referred to as "vertical integration". We then carried out a sale-and-leaseback of the shops to a separate limited property company, then watched and grinned as the value of the land crashed and the property company went bust. The property company had borrowed the money from Abbey, but fortunately since it was held at arms-length by an offshore holding company, the bank can whistle.

But being good stewards, we were not simply going to bury this money as in the parable of the talents. Oh no. We put it to good use taking short positions on HBOS. We're absolutely rolling in it now, and we can use a small portion of the money to pick up the chain of now-disused doily shops for a song.

Equinox Eve

Preparations for the Equinox are now well under way for the Beaker Folk. The traditional Blackberry and Apple pie, over fourteen feet in diameter and six deep, is baking in the interior of the giant Pie Mound just beyond the orchard. (Please can people not jump up and down on the top of the Pie Mound? People got awfully scalded after they fell through last year). However Hnaef could do with some help with the baking - he's been stoking for the last three days and now is now both shattered and short of firewood.

Note that the Solstice is 13.04 tomorrow afternoon British Summer Time. So you all get a lay-in. However starting at 11 am, the proceedings will be as follows:

Donning of the hi-viz (pink, from the Solstice to Samhain, with steel toe-capped books for Oblates and Assistant Archdruids)

Lighting of the Autumn fire

Ceremonial processing of the druids (clockwise around the bonfire - mind the sparks, those hi-viz vests were a job lot, and aren't guaranteed fireproof)

Scattering of the maple leaves (Hnaef to organise finding some maple trees)

Racing around the orchard trying to get away from the burning maple leaves

Collective cry of "nights are definitely drawing in. Starting to feel a bit nippy in the evenings...

Buglers and Tabla Drum players perform the ritual hymn ("March of the Druids")

To celebrate the sheer equinoctialness of it all, Burton will then perform a liturgical tightrope walk along a rope strung across the duck pond. He's feeling a bit nervous at the minute, so please can you all stop sneaking up behind him and shouting "splash"!

The service will conclude in utter chaos, as is traditional, and the handing out of portions of apple and blackberry pie that, if last year's is anything to go by, will either be freezing cold or burnt to a crisp.


Tonight's anthem at Howling at the Moon will be "Last Day of Summer" (K MacColl)

Full Moon

Please note that in honour of James Fenimore Cooper's birthday, for the ceremony of Howling at the Moon tonight the haircuts are Mohican.

Hnaef has kindly offered to cut everyone's hair into the appropriate style, and set himself up in the Woodshed with a pair of electric clippers and a manic grin. Small pieces of tissue paper will be handed out to put on any nicks.

Please note that we had a misprint in the recent newsletter when it said that I had been on pilgrimage at Lourdes. I'd actually gone to Lords, for South Africa game.