I am afraid I have been absent from the Beaker Community today. Although by using the word "afraid", dear readers, I may be implying that I was sad to be absent. Not so. There is nobody that likes Enya as much as I do - apart from everybody else in the whole world. I say there is a lack of mathematical rigour about her - and Eileen says I am a philistine with no soul.
Be that as it may, I have just returned from a pilgrimage to Royal Leamington Spa, to watch the inestimable G2: Definitive Genesis. A marvellous re-creation of the later early years of the wonderful original, G2 do an excellent job. Well worth a visit to their next concert, and I always try to watch them at Wavendon as well, when they are just on our doorstep - accounting duties permitting.
Before the concert I took the opportunity to avail myself of Mr Wetherspoon's very generous offer - £5.99 for a curry and a pint. I always appreciate good value, and this was indeed. However you can take prudence too far. Seeing that the korma only had a one-chilli symbol, while the chicken vindaloo had six chillis against its description, I assumed that the latter must be better value for money so I went for it. Six times the chillis for my money, I thought. And when it arrived, in the words of the Masters, Peter Gabriel and Phil Collins themselves, I declared "Supper's Ready".
It was only later I realised I was going to Dance on a Volcano.
Friday, 9 September 2011
Thursday, 8 September 2011
Orinoco Flow
Not called "Sail away" at all. "Orinoco Flo" was Enya's nickname as a child because she looked like a Womble...
Lostlorien
Most confusing. I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls. But when I woke up, I realised I'd just fallen asleep in Central Milton Keynes shopping centre again. That security guard grips your elbow very hard as he leads you out into Silbury Boulevard and tells you not to come back.
Elf and Safety
An amazing keynote speech from Aelfride on "The use of Quenyan dialect in New Age Electronic Music". Amazing inasmuch as I've never sat through an entire speech in Elvish before, of any variety. It sounded a bit like Welsh to me, although everyone else swore it was Finnish.
The thrust of Aelfride's argument was a little hard to follow. As in was in Quenya. But I'm sure it was something about elves. And Enya. After all, "Quenya" is a contraction of "Queen Enya". And it did sound lovely. Like water flowing over a waterfall, while a drunken estate agent in a barrel crashes onto the rocks below as a "dare". It's like I always say - if a thing's worth saying, it sounds a lot better in a foreign language. Preferably an invented one.
The thrust of Aelfride's argument was a little hard to follow. As in was in Quenya. But I'm sure it was something about elves. And Enya. After all, "Quenya" is a contraction of "Queen Enya". And it did sound lovely. Like water flowing over a waterfall, while a drunken estate agent in a barrel crashes onto the rocks below as a "dare". It's like I always say - if a thing's worth saying, it sounds a lot better in a foreign language. Preferably an invented one.
Enya Day
Enya Day comes when the nights are noticeably drawing in. And once again you can feel the primeval dread of the dark looming back upon the lands of the North and West. Fenris Wolf stirs, Cu Chulain saddles up his fearful horse, and Herne the Hunter rides around Husborne Crawley until, forgetting that the world has turned many times since his day, he smashes straight into the Abbey wall down on Woburn road.
And so we light up the fire, huddle round, tell strange stories of evacuees and people who live in marble halls, the Celts and Robin Hood and Old Black Shuck. Light a tea light and listen to Enya and prepare for the first bonfires of the Autumn.
And so we light up the fire, huddle round, tell strange stories of evacuees and people who live in marble halls, the Celts and Robin Hood and Old Black Shuck. Light a tea light and listen to Enya and prepare for the first bonfires of the Autumn.
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
All Greek
Good post on the blog of the vicar-formerly-known-as-Clayboy. Giving insight into claims of Biblical inerrancy, while pointing out that translation is of the essence in Biblical studies. I've some thoughts of my own as to how the Holy Spirit might act in the work of translation, especially as evidenced in the use of the Septuagint rather than the Hebrew/Aramaic as a source for the New Testament. But today is Enya Eve, so I'm too busy putting out tea lights to worry about the Bible. Maybe another day.
Enya Eve
Just what is it about Enya that we like so much?
I guess it's the complex mosaic of happy feelings she generates. Singing in languages we don't understand is always a big plus. Frankly, she could be singing the contents of a shopping list and it would sound spiritual if it were in Gaelic.
But when a thousand multi-tracked Enyas sing as a giant Enya choir, in a celebration of Enyaism, it just makes us feel so serene. What else could we want? It's the perfect Beaker religious moment - a one-ness with a spiritual something. You feel uplifted. You feel close to nature - close to the earth - close to the divine. And the good news is, you feel no responsibility to change anything in the world. You just feel better about yourself. All it needs is a scented tea light to make you feel perfect.
I guess it's the complex mosaic of happy feelings she generates. Singing in languages we don't understand is always a big plus. Frankly, she could be singing the contents of a shopping list and it would sound spiritual if it were in Gaelic.
But when a thousand multi-tracked Enyas sing as a giant Enya choir, in a celebration of Enyaism, it just makes us feel so serene. What else could we want? It's the perfect Beaker religious moment - a one-ness with a spiritual something. You feel uplifted. You feel close to nature - close to the earth - close to the divine. And the good news is, you feel no responsibility to change anything in the world. You just feel better about yourself. All it needs is a scented tea light to make you feel perfect.
Assembling
There's been some talk around the Moot House of late as to whether assemblies - religious assemblies - are worthwhile for children. The Archdruid has been, well, less positive about them than she might have been, and I feel that it is only right that I should add my tuppence (€0.02 if you're in Germany - €0.05 if you're in Greece, Spain or Italy).
I have, from time to time, volunteered my services for primary schools to allow them to have some variation in their religious input to their assemblies. I went to a nice Church of England school in rural Somerset as a child, and I have fond memories of trooping off to the church for assemblies held by an aged vicar who talked down to us - often literally, as he tended to use the pulpit - and of singing songs like "Morning has broken" in a ragged way in pews which were too big for us, but, being Anglican, too small for any normal-sized adult. This until my parents noticed that I had a decent singing voice and packed me away to choir school at the age of 8, where, oddly enough, I almost never attended school assemblies because I had music practices at 07:30 and 08:30 (with half an hour in the middle for breakfast, which was always porridge followed by toast, except on the weekends, when we had a fry-up, and there was no fruit juice, but you had to have either tea or coffee).
Anyway, as I was saying, I have fond memories of school assemblies, and I wanted to allow the local children to have similar ones when they grow up (unless their parents send them off to boarding school, of course, at which the memories are likely to be significantly more brutal, if mine are anything to go by).
Anyway. I offer my services, and after rather a _lot_ of checks, a couple of schools have taken me up on the offer. I tend to keep quiet about the Beaker bit and concentrate on the "Morning has broken" side, to be honest, and then to give a dramatic representation of whatever topic is on the school calendar for that week. With a religious overtone. Sorting the teachers into different piles, dropping lots of waste paper onto the floor: you know the sort of thing.
And I have to say that I've always received lots of gratitude from the schools. Well, the teachers, anyway.
But I think it is good for the children to have some quiet time in the day, where they can reflect on something together, within an ethical framework. And they seem less scared of me round the various villages now. The children whose schools I have visited seem much happier to approach me, and even talk to me. I remember a particular example where a child saw me outside the village shop, and approached me.
"Do you remember me?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied, "you're the funny one who did the assembly." Which I think proves my point.
So, there is something special, and community-building, and character-forming, and ethics-framing, about school assemblies - religious ones. And there's nothing wrong with "Morning has broken", either: I turned out to be a nice, Anglican-leaning Beaker folk-person, and that Cat Stevens didn't do too badly for himself, either.
I have, from time to time, volunteered my services for primary schools to allow them to have some variation in their religious input to their assemblies. I went to a nice Church of England school in rural Somerset as a child, and I have fond memories of trooping off to the church for assemblies held by an aged vicar who talked down to us - often literally, as he tended to use the pulpit - and of singing songs like "Morning has broken" in a ragged way in pews which were too big for us, but, being Anglican, too small for any normal-sized adult. This until my parents noticed that I had a decent singing voice and packed me away to choir school at the age of 8, where, oddly enough, I almost never attended school assemblies because I had music practices at 07:30 and 08:30 (with half an hour in the middle for breakfast, which was always porridge followed by toast, except on the weekends, when we had a fry-up, and there was no fruit juice, but you had to have either tea or coffee).
Anyway, as I was saying, I have fond memories of school assemblies, and I wanted to allow the local children to have similar ones when they grow up (unless their parents send them off to boarding school, of course, at which the memories are likely to be significantly more brutal, if mine are anything to go by).
Anyway. I offer my services, and after rather a _lot_ of checks, a couple of schools have taken me up on the offer. I tend to keep quiet about the Beaker bit and concentrate on the "Morning has broken" side, to be honest, and then to give a dramatic representation of whatever topic is on the school calendar for that week. With a religious overtone. Sorting the teachers into different piles, dropping lots of waste paper onto the floor: you know the sort of thing.
And I have to say that I've always received lots of gratitude from the schools. Well, the teachers, anyway.
But I think it is good for the children to have some quiet time in the day, where they can reflect on something together, within an ethical framework. And they seem less scared of me round the various villages now. The children whose schools I have visited seem much happier to approach me, and even talk to me. I remember a particular example where a child saw me outside the village shop, and approached me.
"Do you remember me?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied, "you're the funny one who did the assembly." Which I think proves my point.
So, there is something special, and community-building, and character-forming, and ethics-framing, about school assemblies - religious ones. And there's nothing wrong with "Morning has broken", either: I turned out to be a nice, Anglican-leaning Beaker folk-person, and that Cat Stevens didn't do too badly for himself, either.
One day till Enya Day
And so it nudges closer. The Beaker people are out tending to the outdoor speakers, checking that they are still weatherproof and transmitting correctly. To ensure we are set up correctly for playing New Age Lite music we're trialling a little light Sting. It all seems to be performing adequately, and for hours on end. Although it's maybe a little dull.
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
Two days to Enya Day
Around the Community, the realisation of the new season is dawning.
It's that time of year - the long days of summer have gone, and now we have Septembre aux grands soirs équivoque, as the French so glumly put it. But with September comes the return of the playing of Enya, suspended since the last Enyathon of spring. Here in Husborne Crawley we like to make these artificial distinctions - keeps us in the rhythm of the seasons, even when most of our punters work in air-conditioned offices where it's the same temperature, and same artificial lighting, all year round.
So the leaves rustle in the gutters, the fire crackles in the grate, the cider is in the glass - and it's only two days till Enya day. Autumn is a time of sadness, and yet of morose satisfaction.
It's that time of year - the long days of summer have gone, and now we have Septembre aux grands soirs équivoque, as the French so glumly put it. But with September comes the return of the playing of Enya, suspended since the last Enyathon of spring. Here in Husborne Crawley we like to make these artificial distinctions - keeps us in the rhythm of the seasons, even when most of our punters work in air-conditioned offices where it's the same temperature, and same artificial lighting, all year round.
So the leaves rustle in the gutters, the fire crackles in the grate, the cider is in the glass - and it's only two days till Enya day. Autumn is a time of sadness, and yet of morose satisfaction.
Evening liturgy for the Nativity of Roger Waters (1943)
Archdruid: Welcome, my son (or as it may be, sons and daughters).
All: Welcome to the machine.
Burton Dasset: I've got a bike.
All: You can ride it if you like.
Archdruid: So ya thought ya might like to go to the show? To feel the warm thrill of confusion - that space cadet glow?
All: Careful with that axe, Eileen. You know you can't play it.
Archdruid: That's not the point. Point is, are you here to worship - to think - to be challenged - to be changed - or just to feel good?
All: Oh, feel good. Every time.
Archdruid: But the worms rotting society; the judges sh.... showing contempt for the common man or woman. The forces of oppression. The hammers that beat us down. Will you exchange a walk-on part in a war for a leading role in a cage?
All: OK, Eileen. You're scaring us now. Can we please get back to the space cadet glow?
Archdruid: No doubt about it, the lunatics are in my Moot House.
All: And also with you.
Archdruid: OK, if you don't care about society, fairness, creativity, what is right or the ordinary people, there's only one thing for it...
All: Bring on the wall!
Far away across the field, the rhythmic sound of cash registers can be heard. All alone, or in twos, the bleeding hearts and artists sigh, and go off to jump in the lake.
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