Mab of Dream

2005-07-15T09:48:00.000+01:00

I'm going to move semi-permanently over to here:

Mab of Dream

now that I've learned about the private and public versions.

yours
Mab
xxxxx

Wandering and Dreaming...

2005-07-11T06:27:00.000+01:00

*runs in to grab a drink and spots the thick dust hereabout* Ooops, I haven't been telling of any of this in here for a while, have I?

I was going to tell you of Branny's initiation; and the final days of Pixie and Dirk being in Britain. I haven't yet mentioned Yoko Ono and a beautiful garden; Barrow Hill and the Maiden; Glastonbury Festival; the conference; London bombs; two REM concerts; nor my MA. I'll tell you of them in a minute, perhaps in ink polaroids as the mood takes me. First I want to tell you of last night's dream.

I dreamt that Kate and I were about to buy a cup of tea on the HP. Kate questioned this logic, asking why we can't just pay for them outright. I responded that I couldn't, because I'd just bought a field of amethyst. I turned then to show her and the dream went into glorious technicolour, like Dorothy opening the door on Oz. As far as the eye could see, there were slabs laid in perfect symmetry, with equal spaces between them. If they were supposed to be amethyst, then they were the wrong colour. They were a milky green, almost blue; their colour gave them gentle depths, which swam like something serenely alive. It was awesome. Then I awoke. In waking retrospect, I wonder if it was a field of Flourite.

I mentioned two REM concerts, that I've been to in the past few days. The first of these has been reviewed for Bob's Between Planets. Here's the link to save the retelling here. That was July 6th, the birthday of the beautiful Georgia Langley. *runs to hug Georgia*

The other was today, July 10th, birthday of another great Cancerian in my life, Eric. *gives Eric the little nod of respect - not too much, in case he gets ideas - that silently says, "Did you do that or was it me?"* So yes, I celebrated both birthdays having absolutely amazing days... without the birthday people. Though I did 'phone Georgia, while the concert was on, and let her listen live to two songs. I couldn't cant at her, because it was too loud for me to hear; and it's taken me until today to phone her properly. At this rate, Eric will get his birthday phone call around the 14th.

As REM were playing in Cardiff today, Kate and I got up relatively early (for a Sunday) to make a day of it. I love daytrips where the journeys are great in themselves and both of these were. Us singing and bopping around to the like of the Kaiser Chiefs, Killers, White Stripes, The Strokes etc, through that pretty countryside, with the sun blazing. (By the time we reached there, the temperature was 25 and rose to 30 during the day. I have no idea what those temperatures mean, because I think in the one that goes up to the 80s and 90s. It was bloody hot though and I regretted the jeans.) Kate drove, because Steve (mechanic) told me emphatically several times that I can't drive Rebecca. Normally he says things like, 'You'll be ok, just take it steady and I'll pick it up Friday night.' This time it was DO NOT drive that car. Honestly, Jo, you can literally move that back wheel a foot! Don't drive the car. Ok.

We meandered around Cardiff the leisurely way (ie stopping at every other bench/cafe for a fag break), which was great, because while the pair of us had been there loads of times for concerts, neither one of us had seen the rest of the city. Cardiff feels like Wolverhampton. You know how, regardless of what you can see, each place has it's own 'feel'? This is the first place I've been to where a) the place in question feels the same as another place; and b) that place is my 'hood.

We got into the Millennium Stadium ten minutes before the rest of the audience, because Kate is a member of the fan-club and got us wristbands. It was fascinating to watch the interactions thereon. Though all of them wore nun smiles, canting to fellow fans as if they were all friends together, the competitiveness for the best views was fierce. Once held, their positions were not to be lost, even if it was more sensible for a little shuffle around. Pairs would create a pincer movement, in an attempt to squeeze an interloper out from where a friend could be standing. The person who had, minutes before, offered you an Opal Fruit, would now be 'accidentally' elbowing you in the face.

Kate was at the very front, leaning on the barrier, and I was just behind her. As the stage was only about 20 foot away, we were close enough to see and hear every tiny gesture by or amongst bandmembers; and be seen and heard ourselves. Kate spotted a member of the crew, whom she'd canted with in Birmingham, and managed to talk him into giving us both backstage passes.

I think that that corridor, tucked away in the innards of the Millennium stadium, and our walk down towards a VIP Room and the REM aftershow party, will stay with me always. It was surreal. Kate looked at me and I looked at her halfway down, and she murmured, 'Tell me that this is really happening.' 'It is.' I don't think that my mind had even registered as far as 'by the way, you'll be having drinks with Michael Stipe in a few minutes', except in the vaguest understanding. It had happened too quickly. Instead, I was enjoying the down the rabbithole sensation of it all; partly drifting onto the realization of how big this is going to be for Kate; partly pondering in astonishment, glee and thankfulness, that me and Kate don't half find ourselves in some bizarre situations.

It has a dreamlike quality. A security guard holding open a door with VIP Lounge written on it and some of our 10-20 strong group of seemingly random people with passes going on through. Me, in a bikini top and my jeans rolled up to my knees with my unshaved legs exposed; glistening, drenched with sweat after the hottest day in the history of the world in Cardiff, followed by six and a half hours standing in a mosh. Recalling all Georgia and Andrea have told me about gentile, Southern gentlemen... The ghost of nerves across Kate's face as I say, 'I'm just popping at the loo'; momentarily, both of us almost like children looking for an adult to tell us what's best to do. If we miss them being in the loo... if we meet them smelling so offensively... and Kate has no lipstick. After drinking a couple of pints of water, and not having been to the loo in over six hours, I'm mildly surprised to find that I don't piss my own version of Niagara Falls into the toilet. I must have sweated it all away in that searing heat out there.

We wash (but no deodorant nor perfume...), then walk from the toilet to the VIP Lounge next door, entering the room as if we always belonged there. The pair of us oozing confidence, taking a glass each of red wine and talking to strangers. It was good to be sitting down, on those large settees; and we seemed more self-possessed and comfortable than 90% of the people in there. We made some friends. Then the news came, about a hour on, that REM were unable to attend. They were dispersing to three different locations, after all, this should have been the end of their tour, but for the Hyde Park concert cancelled on Saturday because of the London bombings. Now there's a week twiggling their thumbs, until they play again on the 16th.

Kate admits her disappointment, but is still in awe that it nearly happened at all. I'm still in that state of half glee, half gratitude, generally with no focus, that I'm me; and we get to live these moments. So we walk back, through the quieter streets of Cardiff, still hot, though it's gone 1am; back to the car park by Bute Park, where I rub sycamore leaves on my feet and in my pits, so I can travel home shoeless without Kate wanting to throw up at the smell of me. Singing and dancing, laughing and canting in the car all the way home, with the night sky so clear that you could see the Great Bear accompanying us all the way.

I mentioned the London bombings above. That was Thursday. The first thing that anyone should know about my Thursday is that I'd only had about three hours sleep. Leaving Nottingham the night before, we'd hit roadworks. Not just a hole with some cones around and we're off; I'm talking about roadworks stretching the entire length of an A-road, while 30,000 people are leaving a concert. It was 1am before we'd even left the county and gone 3am before I went abed. At 6am, Kate woke me with a cuppa. She'd managed to pass through the room where I was sleeping, then boil a kettle in the next room without waking me, bless her. She went back to bed, while I caught a train to Stoke. We had our annual conference there - the most high-profile event in the Aimhigher West Midlands calendar, full of directors, partners, heads and other influential people. And me, surviving on Yaruba, coffee and willpower.

You know, I'm really proud of myself for Thursday. The feedback from people who can tell it as it is suggests that the day progressed like a swan; full of grace and impressive from the outside, but underneath the water, the little legs are going like the clabbers. The feedback from other delegates, who perhaps have to be a little more diplomatic in their dialogue with us, is gushing. I dealt with such a lot - from fielding messages about unaccounted for loved ones down in London (and clearing the decks of duties for the person who had a whole community, family and friends, to account for, as she hailed from Aldgate, where one of the bombs went off); to a fishbone stuck in a throat; to creating a selection of credible questions to be asked of a student panel (one of the main focal points of the day), because I'd left the ones written by the regional director in the office; to dealing with the reception and registration of a huge number of the delegates alone, because my colleague had disappeared, and getting them through professionally and quickly, so that I'm certain that none, if any, actually knew that I couldn't hear a word any of them said to me, because I'm deaf in one ear and they were all talking at onceto successfully blagging my way through the working of a lap-top and projector (though I hadn't encountered either before), because the workshop leader looked to be on the point of nervous collapse; to covering any number of potentially big fuck-ups on the day... and there were a lot.

If someone is afretting, I become calm. For most of Thursday, I was in a dead calm, which gives you a barometer for the sheer level of utter panic going on amongst some of my colleagues. The others just faded into the background and were practically delegates. I want to record this here, because for the consistently smooth passage of that conference on the day, despite all that happened, I take the credit. I'm proud of how brightly I shone that day and one day I may need to remind myself of this. I record it here because it probably wasn't evident to the rest of my colleagues who, if they witnessed any of it at all, would have seen bite-sized pieces of it each; but mostly, they would have entered serene waters all unknowing of the rapids that had been there only minutes before. I could ensure that it's known in the office, but others need the glory more than me. I wear my own crown, one which I'm going to do my damnedest to keep from blinding me in spotlights. There is one person who deserves the largest share of that credit. I've already had a quiet word with Viv, ensuring that she knows how invaluable she was, but carefully worded so she wouldn't (in theory) know the rest of the picture.

We knew there about the bombings in London. There was a television on in the bar area showing Sky News all day. You'd be amazed at how many delegates had someone in London, be it family, friend or close work colleague. I'd creep into the back of workshops and whisper to the delegate to step outside, then pass on the messages - such and such is safe; such and such needs you to call them urgently, they're stranded; the Summer School has 30 children to return to the Midlands tomorrow, but they've closed down the entire London transport system, what do we do?

What struck me was how remarkably unfazed everyone was. People went on to workshops and lectures, fully participating, like London gets bombed every day with *insert name of spouse, family member, friend or colleague* down there. Only two people had stronger reactions - one from Aldgate, who looked shocked to the core, but was already rallying by the time I discerned the rant, '*****'s supposed to be helping with this, but she's just come and gone straight in there to watch the telly and make phone-calls on her mobile phone', but actually heard, through the filter of my mind, 'The wench from London, who's normally highly efficient and professional, has chosen telly and phones over the conference. I wonder where in London she's from...' Her expression, when I found her, was stricken, but she wasn't crying. She was trembling, but she had dialled a number on her mobile. I reassured her that I'd cover everything work-wise; she should sort out her people then, when it was time for the waiting game, she should join me. She did. Then I listened as she told me about them all, and their status on the missing/ok stakes, and who was contacting whom. Within half an hour, that dark, British sense of humour was peeping out with her. She's too down-to-earth to have wobbled far off her centre; her panic manifested as practicalities and what can I do about this... I suppose that I was part-colleague, part-friend, and covertly part-dark priestess for all the time we talked, but fundamentally, all I was, was there.

The other was already so stressed that there was no discernable difference, saving the focus, when her brother phoned to say that her Dad had caught a train to King's Cross. That was a relatively quick panic. Within the hour, he'd checked in. In the meantime, I calmed and reassured, preparing to cover her role in the conference too, though ultimately that wasn't needful. It was after she'd gone away relieved that Val Yates, sitting across on one of the bar settees, caught my eye as she watched me. "You are a really calming influence, you know. You have a really serene aura about you." Right then, I silently agreed with her; then meandered away to the next bit of fire-fighting musing on the fact that, in some specific incidents from the past, if I'd been half so calm as I was that day, then things would have been much better in the end. I forgave myself the learning that necessitated those mistakes; then let them go.

On the way home, I had a few telephone conversations or exchanges of texts, mostly with some of my dear American friends. They'd known I'd been galavanting the night before, but didn't know where. They just needed to know I was safe. I was on three stations during that journey, Stoke, Wolverhampton and Dudley Port. In each of them, there was a noticeable police presense, two officers on each platform; and railway workers, three at each station, each of them with hand-held equipment that I didn't recognize. I wondered if they were for searches of some description.

I was so exhausted once I reached Dudley. I drove to Kate's, had a brew with her and watched BBC News (more measured and less sensationalist than Sky. I saw a snippet from the American CNN too; that made my jaw drop. Their reporting made it all look like a trailer from a film, complete with a spikey, terror-enducing soundtrack. I half-expected their reporter to finish his ricochette voiceover with 'starring Brad Pitt and Angelica Jolie...' This wasn't one of those moments where the enormity, horror and reality of a situation hits, because I could relax, concentrate and see it on the news. I'd already had that, when the London woman, waiting to tick off half of her community from the list of the unaccounted for, had spelled it all out for me. She could envisage only too clearly consequences and complications which simply wouldn't have occurred to me, 140 miles away from London, who still gets excited at the notion of riding on the tube. Plus we'd had most of these images all day on the telly at the conference.

Someone on it said that Londoners were shocked, but unsurprised. I'd extend that to the British full-stop. It was predictable. We've all talked about it as something that's going to happen one day; not in paranoia, but in the resigned, 'this is just the way it is' tones of a nation that's been bombed like this since 1972. It's now Monday and the only people for whom we could justifiably say that the world has stopped, or altered course, or otherwise registered as anything other than a slightly faster heartbeat and sadness, are those still missing and those missing them.

One of these is Liz Daplyn, the 26/27 year old friend of my friend, Ian Anscombe. There was still no word when I last spoke to him and he's starting to get really concerned now. The fat lady hasn't yet sung; she may be lying in a hospital somewhere not knowing who she is or unable to communicate this. Or the Dark Lady could already have her. The not knowing, for Ian and her loved ones, is excruciating, but there's always hope. She's mentioned on the list of 25 people still missing. Ian contacted me to see if I would raise the Grove over it. I have done so and sent energy into the search myself; he's since sent Cerr a photograph to help them focus on her. I just wish I could magic her safe and sound or, at least, located. I wish that for them all.

Birmingham city centre was evacuated on Saturday night. The country is officially on high alert, however 'business as usual' our population is.

Eventually I've come to the politics. The bombings being predictable and us being generally unfazed about it doesn't make it any more acceptable. You have to add disclaimers like that, because so many people see only in black and white or else unquestioningly accept nonsensical equations handed to them by politicians and the media. The example which springs to mind is the giant leap from 'you don't support the war on Iraq' to 'you support Saddam Hussein', which I had to deal with several trillion times a couple of years back. Even now, I'm still hazy on the workings out leading from one to the other, but I'm certain on the point that it bypasses the infinite number of other stances on this issue.

Duncan McFarlane pretty much speaks for me too. If a dam is breaking, it's much better to look at why and repairing the damage, than keep firing at the cracks.

Talking about Ian Anscombe, he and I met in London on June 17th, so we could go and watch Yoko Ono at the Queen Elizabeth Concert Hall (I may have the name wrong). It seems so strange, looking on a calendar, that this was less than a month ago. I feel like a different person and that weekend was when the shift finally made it over to the positive. I remember being a stressed thing that left work that Friday noon to drive down to Hillingdon. A week before, Viv had sent me home from work, because I twice nearly fainted and I'm not the fainting type. The office was cool, I'd eaten and I'd had enough water that day. But I was going under with burn out and stress. The only major difference between that day and going to London a week later was that I was being gentle with myself now. I'd withdrawn permission for me to brutalize my own mind.

I still caught myself red-handed afretting on things or prodding mental wounds on the journey down. I made it down to Hillingdon quite quickly and caught the tube to meet Ian and our friend, Pete Ramsdale, at, I think, Charing Cross. We had coffee and cake, then Pete left us, while Ian and I aimlessly explored London. We found a Corpus Christi Roman Catholic church that was... just there. It was somewhere in the vicinity of Covent Garden, though that doesn't mean much when put beside me and Ian on an epic meander. It was a peaceful, undoubtably lovely place. Whether exposure to the DiVinci Code or my own Paganism is to blame, we spotted a LOT of overtly Pagan symbolism in there, including, inexplicably, a framed picture of Pan on the wall. We blessed ourselves in the holy water, which presumably makes us Catholic now.

Meandering on, we found ourselves in Trafalgar Square and climbed up onto a ledge on Nelson's Column. It was so hot. Really baking us, when I spotted a sign over the road. Ice cream. I was actually pointing it out so we might go that way next, but Ian, bless him, climbed down and ran over to get us a carton each. Nice! After scoffing that, we climbed a lion. Well, more to the point, Ian climbed the lion, then pulled me up after him, because the thing is slippery and much bigger than I am. We must have sat on our lion for an hour or more, playing at Narnia, talking crap or seriousness, cogitating how long we would have to sit on there before everyone who we knew in the entire world would walk by below. It was on that lion when, in retrospect, I crossed that line between resolutely coating everything with a determination to look to the positive to actually living my life in a positive world. I wasn't looking that closely at the time. I just know that I was happy and we were both blissfully content up there. We also knew that a week later, we would be at the Glastonbury Festival. We noted the time, 7.05pm, that's when, whatever we were doing at the festival, we'd look at each other and send a nod back to ourselves on the lion.

(I did remember this. For much of the festival, my phone was switched off. Apart from friends, this is my only source of GMT time, and festivals enduce a sense of the meaningless of time anyway. I was with Loz, and some others, when it occurred to me that it was Friday night. I had no idea what the time was. It could have been anywhere between mid-afternoon or sunset. So I dug into my bag to find my phone, switched it on and looked at the time. It was 7.05pm. I was gob-smacked, but there was no-one with me who'd get the coincidence of that - unless I'd just been whacked in the face by the 'hello' sent by me and Ian the previous week. I phoned Ian straight away, but his phone was off then. When he rang back, I couldn't hear a word he was saying over Elvis Costello. LOL)

We moved with glacial slowness down Whitehall - me discovering some anti-racism wristband, which are £20 in Wolverhampton and £1.99 in London (?); and Ian checking on his cat, Charlie, who's been ill, then negotiating with Kate whether we could stay at her house that night - then down to the Thames. On a previous visit, Ian had found a beautiful garden. A bit of investigating later, we found ourselves sitting on a bench in Embankment Gardens, looking across at the tallest trees I have ever seen in my life. However, I was a little concerned that time was getting on and we had yet to find the place where Yoko was performing.

It was close by, but she started promptly and had no support acts, therefore she was already 20 minutes underway by the time an elderly lady shone a torch to find our seats. To be fair, I was there because Yoko is in Ian's personal pantheon. I bought him his ticket as his birthday present and neither of us knew what to expect. It helped that I'd seen a video of her performance art from the '60s earlier this year; instead of viewing her as a singer, I saw what she was doing as art. Once I'd made that shift in my perception, her performance that night was compelling. I can't say I understood it, but I'm glad I went there. She does something with voice and ambience that takes you somewhere. I know you could say that about any singer with a song. It's different, but I haven't the vocabulary to explain why.

It did spark inspiration for a story in my head though. Next day, I was scribbling away totally lost in it. Kate and Ian haven't seen me like that for a while, oblivious to the world because I'm writing. It felt really good.

We caught the tube from Westminster to Hillingdon, then I put my foot down to get us home at as reasonable a time as I could. En route, we put the world to rights; and talked about spirituality. Ian said that my outlook on life sounds very Buddhist. He said a lot of other things too, which helped put some things in context. Then we were at Kate's, unknowing that the next two days were going to be so amazing.

I won't repeat it, here's how I told the Grove:

Cabochon:

**What's everyone doing this year for the Solstice? :-)**

I'm going to have a thoroughly amazing day, in the sunshine and a wood. Around
sunset, I'm going to lead my two friends into a chasm and spot the ledge we need
to be on at the top of it. I'll then climb up the face of it in order to show
them that it's easy. Both of them will follow me, then we'll walk along the
single-file, overgrown track to find a huge tree stump.

We'll sit on it, facing perfectly to the West. Only then will one of these
people remind us that he has vertigo. Pride will swell in the other two,
because he climbed that chasm and he's sitting now with it underneath him. My
friend will ask him, 'Are you ok with this?' He'll respond, 'Yes, but if Jo
would stop dangling her legs over the side, I'll feel a lot happier.' I'll
point out that there's a tree root protruding and my foot against it, then, when
he's stopped looking, carry on as normal.

The sunset will be stunning, with our view covering three counties and as soon
as the sunset goes down, fireworks will flood the horizon in five different
directions. I'll begin celebrating my solstice a day early. Then, around
midnight, we'll leave our perch and, surprisingly, it'll be the other two (inc
the one with vertigo) who advocate part climbing, part sliding and part falling
down the side of the chasm (I'd prefer to see if there's a path just up here...
it's fine, I have great night vision...).

We'll descend, me last, topless and with a short skirt now riding up around my
waist, not entirely graceful in the darkness! LOL Then we'll reach the bottom
and they, with torches, will meander on ahead. I'll go very, very slowly,
because I can never see anything at night when I'm blinded by torchlight.
Through the trees, harking once something which might have been a badger, might
have been a bird. Then I'll turn a corner and watch my friends standing
canting. They'll turn, see me and both simultaneously gasp. I'll ask if
they're canting or waiting for directions. Kate will breathe, 'Tell me you just
saw what I just saw.' Ian will respond, 'It depends on what you just saw.'
'I'll tell you when we get back to the car.'

I'll lead the way through the moonlit woods, the torches turned off behind me;
down Barrow Hill and onto Vicarage Road. At the car, Kate will say, 'Ok, what
did you see?' 'A woman in white...' 'Me too!' But they saw slightly
differently. Kate saw a dress like Alice in Wonderland, complete with Alice
band, all pure white. Ian saw white robes. An inner light. It came from
me, walked four feet or so in front of me towards them, then sank back into me.
Then I walked towards them as myself and said, 'Are you canting or waiting for
directions?'

And I'll think back to Beltane and me, lost, in Wareham Forest,
'It was Beltane and I figured that this was all part of the Great Universal
Game. Very early on, I was looking up and saw torchlight up a ridge and what
sounded like Kate and Pete. I got my torch out and flashed them. One figure
waited at the top, while the other came down the track. In the torchlight, I
could make out Kate's orange blanket/coat, then, as I watched, the apparition
changed and became a Maiden, all in white, complete with white cloak. She went
behind a tree and never came out again. The torchlight had gone from the top as
well. Later, Kate and Pete told me that they'd never gone away from the fire
together.'
http://mabofdream.blogspot.com/2005/05/isnt-it-good-to-be-lost-in-woodsisnt.html

And decide that the Maiden is definitely after me. *grin*

Then we'll sit on a wall, in the moonlight, talking about our holiday next week.

(PS I'll start it a day early too. HAPPY SOLSTICE ALL!)

yours
Mab
xxxxx

The Glastonbury Festival... it was unadulterated amazingness. *grin*

Pictures!

Yes, there are stories, moments... maybe another day.

And finally, on Friday 8th July 2005, I received word that I've not only passed my Masters degree in History, but with a higher grade B. A-E are passes.

:-D

yours
Mab
xxxxx

From Vera Lisa

2005-07-02T18:53:00.000+01:00

Understanding the energetic human form

Rivers of light

The luminous energy cocoon is a mirror of the Earth's magnetic
field.
Energy streams from the North Pole and circumnavigates the planet to
re-enter again through the South Pole. Similarly rivers of light
travel out of the top of the head and stream around the luminous
body
forming a great oval the width of our outstretched arms. Our cocoon
penetrates the Earth 12 to 18 inches. The rivers of light re-enter
the body through the feet.

Along the surface of the planet run flux lines, similar to
acupuncture meridians, connecting the major chakras of the Earth.
These meridians traverse the globe, transporting energy and
information from one part of the planet to another. Seers can
communicate with each other through the luminous matrix formed by
the
flux lines of the Earth. Trained seers are able to sense and
sometimes see the luminous grid of the universe, extending beyond
the
Earth and into the galaxies.

Like the flux lines running along the body of the Earth, the rivers
of light run along the surface of the skin connecting energy points,
which are in essence very small chakras. These rivers of light are
the circulatory system for the luminous cocoon. Seers can learn to
extend fibers from any of these smaller chakras, as well as the main
chakras. One who 'sees', can perceive these rivers of light and
readily see locations where the light is choked, stopped, or
rerouted. Certain stretching and pressing techniques are quite
effective.

The 10 major light arteries in the luminous cocoon pass through the
fingertips. A profound balance ocurrs when we touch our
fingertips...
thumb-to-thumb, index-to-index, etc. Seers can learn to extend these
rivers as a defense force, first in dreaming and later with the
physical self.

Imprints

The luminous c! ocoon contains information that can kill us or heal
us.
It holds a blueprint of our body just as an architectural drawing
holds the design of a house. But unlike the house, which remains
intact as it ages, our luminous cocoon is continually informed by
the
incidents we experience. Unresolved psychological, emotional, and
spiritual traumas becoming engraved like scratch marks in our
luminous field. The blueprint that shaped and molded us since we
were
inside our mother's womb contains the memories of all of our former
lifetimes -- the way we suffered, the way we lived, how we were ill,
and the way we died. These imprints contain instructions that
predispose us to repeat certain events from the past. We want to
learn where these energy imprints are located in the luminous cocoon
and how to erase them so that the body, mind, and spirit can return
to health. This is sometimes called Recapitulation.

The outermost layer of the ! luminous cocoon is the membrane
or "skin"
of the luminous body. This membrane serves as a defense shield in
the
same way the skin is protective of the body. The imprints of
physical
traumas and diseases are etched onto this membrane like designs cut
into glass. When a person is suffering from a prolonged illness,
there is an energetic imprint that is depressing the immune system.
If the imprint is not cleared, recovery can take months or years,
and
a person not only will be predisposed to a recurrence of the same
condition, but will carry the imprint into her next lifetime. The
imprints etched into the emotional layer of the luminous energy
field
predispose us to live in particular ways and to become attracted to
certain people and relationships. These imprints dictate the course
of our emotional lives. It is very difficult to change our lifestyle
without clearing the imprints in this layer. The imprints stored in
the psychic l! ayer inform and organize our physical reality. The
imprints in the spiritual layer choreograph our journey through life
including the kind of spiritual fulfillment that we will attain.

Imprints are formed when negative emotions that accompany trauma are
not healed. When an imprint is active, it pulsates within the
luminous cocoon. An activated imprint launches its programs, fueling
them from the energy stored in the luminous cocoon. It's nearly
impossible to stop. It's toxic energy spills into a chakra, wreaking
emotional havoc or compromising our immune response. If we are able
to heal the emotional component of a painful situation as it
happens,
an imprint is not created in the energy field. And active imprint is
recognized by the dark energy around it. When it begins to play
itself out, we gravitate to people in situations that will allow us
to relive the circumstances of the original wounding in an attempt
to
heal it! , a subconscious attempt to recapitulate. The imprints can
arrange strange and apparently unrelated events in the world. They
can orchestrate our meeting love partners who have all the same
toxic
personality traits. They can strand us in the oddest places to come
upon someone we are destined to meet.

Seers believe that intellectual cognizance (talk therapy) rarely
scratches the service and is not enough to bring about true healing.
One must clear the imprint or be predisposed to reenact the
situation. And old imprint is activated the through a traumatic or
emotional experience. The seer is interested in draining the toxic
emotional energy around an imprint and then erasing the imprint
itself. This is called an "illumination".

from the talks of Alberto Villodo

A Handfasting is Held!

2005-06-03T09:47:00.000+01:00

The whole group of us, minus Bex, Branny and Aud, set off from the George and Pilgrim to work to the Tor. Pete, bless his socks, had only held my bag (containing all the tools for the ceremony) for two seconds, but refused to give it back. I'm not used to gentlemen, but he carried it up there for me. Most of the other blokes were out of view very quickly, having much, much longer legs than the like of Pixie and I. At one point, I said, 'shit, does Dirk know the way up there? Who's he with?' Froggie. Ok! LOL

It was really pleasant walking up. The sun still shining but lower in the sky, coming up towards the sunset. I was sorted until we reached the Tor itself. I maintain that the Pilgrim's Walk is far worse than the other side. It goes on forever, gradually getting steeper and steeper; the other side starts steep, has two stops, but is over quite quickly. You don't notice the Pilgrim's Walk getting steeper, you just suddenly realize that you want to die or rest, whichever comes first. The other side is bad for those with vertigo, as there's a definite being on the edge of the world sense; but I'd still recommend it over the Pilgrim's Walk. Naturally it was the latter we were climbing.

I was going up cursing (not seriously) Andrea for over-estimating how cold it is in Britain. My robes are beautiful, but very, very hot going up that Tor. Pixie and I were more or less together, stopping every three seconds for a rest, particularly towards the end. St Michael's Tower was in close sight, the path had been taken up for relaying and I'm crying out, 'I need a rest! I'm a smoker!' Pixie the asthmatic was several steps ahead! LOL But eventually we were up there, fighting for breath inside the tower.

It might look from photos that the tower affords some shelter from the elements. Nope. Two open arches to the north and south ensure that any wind from those directions whistle straight through. There's no roof. The only thing you are protected from in there are the direct hits of east and west winds. That was enough. I sat on one of the slab blocks (are they tombs or benches?) and got my breath, with the help of a bit of water. I soon recovered and stepped out into the wind to work out where to hold the ceremony. Pete and Froggie were with me. The place were I would ordinarily have done it was fine, but the work on the path would have been in the background of photos. Two alternatives were to the side of the tower, which was sheltered from some of the wind or on the open plain to its north/north-east. In the end, I fetched the bride and had her decide. She went for the latter, which would have been my choice too.

Then it was backwards and forwards getting the tools and working out where everyone would be. Cabochon joined me and the nerves were showing on his face. I took his hands and was able to do the calming/bonding thing. I'd already done my panicking half an hour or so before. The wind was as blowy as it always is up there. We gave up on the pouring of water etc into the chalices, giving Pete a bottle to hold instead. Then it was time.

Everything there had something to do, be it hold an element, hold the cake or mead, photograph/film or get handfasted. We quickly all got into position and raised the circle. That was stunning. Cabochon did the actual spoken calling, but it was a joint effort raising it. Perhaps we should think on that in future - me, Cabochon and whomever was holding the element ALL concentrating on it, on the Tor... Bex held Air. Soon as we'd called Air, I could feel the wind picking up. I just figured that it was how the wind was rising anyway.

Three times round with Bex, then we're in the South with Aud. I'd lit the candle inside a lantern to give it a change of surviving (Bex had created candles for everyone, with ribbons in case wind stopped flame. They all held them and the ribbons did the job. They were really beautiful!). Aud's candle-flame survived the calling and the first lap, then went out. It wasn't needful. As Scott had called, there was a pause, then behind Aud, on the Levels below, I saw the world get lighter. It was a brief second, as if the sun had come out over the site of the Glastonbury Festival, but definite, and around we went. I whispered to Aud on the second lap not to afret on the loss of the flame. She is fire, concentrate on the flame inside her. She did, you could see it in her. (She was singing 'we shall not, we shall not be moved' when it came to take the circle down later! LOL)

Onto Ian. The rain is spotting and we call water... We got water! Look at the picture, no discernable rain there. When it came to take it down again, the back of Ian's coat was drenched, while the front wasn't too bad. We all knew that the rain was coming from the west when we tried to leave the Tor, but the back of Ian's jacket was my clue right there. *grin*

Still each of these were made to feel hard to raise in comparison to Earth. Bex, Aud and Ian were air, fire and water sunsigns respectively. The only two earth signs there were myself and Branny - one HPS-ing and one to take the pictures. Froggie, an air sign, was happy enough holding earth, so he got the job. Normally you feel the subtle up as the element is raised, not so here. Cabochon and I went, pulled and it was like tensing yourself to lift a heavy box only to discover it's light. I nearly did the energy-raising equivalent of falling backwards. LOL

The ceremony itself was beautiful. For the first time ever, I had the words colour-coded and bullet-pointed into a book (which Aud had bought me), but the vast majority of the ceremony was improvised right there and then, as these things should be. Then a beautiful moment of synchroncity...

Earlier, as Froggie and I had left his shop, he'd picked up a staff. He asked if I wanted to use it in the ceremony, but I had my stang for that. He opted to bring it anyway and was holding it during the handfasting. Cabochon and I managed to handfast Pixie and Dirk together, then I turned to find the stang... I'd left it in the tower! I was just about to cut myself a door to run and get it, when Froggie chucked me his staff. I laid it down, the couple, handfast, leapt over it, and there! They were Bride and Groom. I loved it! I loved the pure synchronicity of it! Loved it!

The food and mead were blessed by Bride and Groom, then taken around to share with all. By now, the wind and rain are really starting to lash down. Pixie and Branny look frozen to death, but most everyone else have huge grins on their faces. Once they were back, I announced,
'For those who think that they may die of hypothermia, I'm about to cut a door in the circle. Everyone else, all that's left is to take the circle down.' Branny left quickly; Alan left after Aud kicked him out for 'farting about', everyone else stayed. Pixie and Dirk both looked so cold that I expected them to run too, but Pixie told me later that she didn't think it was right with the rest of us stuck out there.

Me? I was perfect. I was dry. The elements threw their worst at me and my robes kept me completely dry. Afterwards, I was to walk into a room of sopping wet people and announce, 'Ladies and gentlemen! Twin Rose Designs!' as only I and Dirk (in Cabochon's cloak) were dry. Only the people who had been wearing clothes made my Andrea. Aud and Bex both told me later that they never wanted to leave that circle ever, for all the weather. Cabochon was downright intoxicated on the energy by now as well. Ian was running around like a wild thing soon as he was able too. There must have been something in holding the elements or being clergy that got to us. It was such an amazing feeling. Still, I didn't know that right then and I know my own capacity for loving wildness doesn't always translate, so I ran to close the circle as the rain thundered down. Three times round, as Cabochon led those holding the points. I was high as a kite on the energies by then.

We hurriedly packed up, Cabochon asked me what to do with the last of the cake and I suggested that he crumple it up as an offer to deity and the spirits. He went outside just in time to see forked lightning on the horizon behind where fire had been raised. He came back even more hyperactive. People 'fled' (insofar as they were able, with the wind so high and the rain lashing down into our faces), but Ian and I were the last to leave the summit. Even though we just overtook Branny and Cabochon (poor wench had a torn ligament and Cab was helping her), we were only ever a few paces in front. I was only halfway down when I saw Aud go arse over tit near the bottom. She did her knee in, but was apparently on the floor for so long because she was laughing so much.

Laughing about covers us too. In truth I wanted to stay up there, which sounds strange to say, given the weather right then. I was just high, really high. No actual chemicals had entered my body, nor was I drunk. I was just loving every second of this. Beside me Ian was running wild too; behind us, Cabochon was bouncing around and in our little gang, only Branny was being cautious, though that may have been ankle related. She couldn't afford to slip!

Partway down, the path snakes around to face the south-east and I couldn't move! The wind was so strong that I couldn't walk against it. I held out my arms thinking that I could start flying in reality, riding on the wind. Ian and I did that in Wales once, during a strong wind on Cader Idris and I wanted to do it from the Tor; but I must have been too heavy to lift up, even though it was too strong for me to walk into. Like a solid wall, that wind, until Ian grabbed me and pulled me through and us laughing our heads off.

We eventually reached the bottom, getting to just by Dion Fortune's house before Branny went over on her ankle. She just went pure white and you could tell she wanted to cry, but she didn't. I was expecting to learn some new Dutch swearwords, but she was very restrained. Very slowly, covered in two Cancerian males and me, she breathed out and her colour came back. There was nothing we could do, short of her waiting while I fetched the car. That could have been up to half an hour in that rain. She braved the walk over the pneumonia and we went on, swigging mead and whiskey; me and Cabochon being told to slow down every 100 yards, as we got over-excited and started Tigger-ing up the road. Ian kept pace with Branny, with us running backwards and forwards. It was so much fun! (Obviously not for Branny...)

Back at the George and Pilgrim, Froggie was in the bar, but everyone else had gone upstairs to dry off or get changed. We got Branny sat down and I ran to get a stool to put her foot up on. I can't really remember much else, I think I was just way too hyper. I know that I raced up to Pixie and Dirk's room and Pixie asked me to gather everyone up there rather than in the bar below. I did that then, running up and down stairs, trying to get the message to everyone. That took some time! In the finish, I was in the bar gathering Froggie, when Bex and Pete arrived down. I was trying to shepherd them upstairs, when Pixie and Dirk turned up. I was just bouncing around, happy to have a drink anywhere.

We did end up upstairs again. By now, even the outer coating of my robes were dry. I was in shock, because they had no right to be. I had to call Andrea! I did so and the phone went around the whole room, with Pixie trying to intercept it because it was running my phone-bill up. It came to me, I said hello and passed her to Branny. I think Pixie gave up around then. Bless her.

The standing, half-serious joke of the evening was Pixie, every 20 mins or so, hushing us all up. She'd read the blarb on a sheet which came with the room. 'This is a 700 year old building and, as such, has no soundproofing...' Pixie would get us told with that line and everything would go into low voices for all of 30 seconds, then rise and rise. I had no hope of hearing. I was lip-reading and bouncing around a lot.

The call went for food at around 11. No restaurant in a small town is going to let you in at that time, particularly 11, reasonably drunk people. You'd get fed in a city, but not somewhere like Glastonbury. However, Aud and Bex managed to wing something over at the local Italian restaurant, but only if we seated now. I turned to find no people behind me. I wrapped my shawl around me and headed off back into the rain and night, so loving that rain! (Really, that's not sarcasm, that's why I volunteered to go!) I found the Bride, Groom and assorted stragglers in their room, still in the George and Pilgrim. Then Alan appeared behind me, they were refusing to feed us unless we went NOW.

Off we toddled for a beautiful meal there. Came to pay and found that Cabochon had paid for us all. He's such a wonderful man.

We were up until the early hours, making way too much noise for a 700 year old building with no soundproofing; drinking mead, wine and whiskey, eating cheese. I felt like I could stay up all night, but married couples might need to go to bed... Crank calling people... probably on my phone bill, but I was way too drunk by then to notice. ;-) It's still cool, if it was.

Branny and I had us a cup of tea in our room. I offered to read her a bedtime story from the free Gideon's Bible, but she declined. Almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.

Five children questioned after boy, 5, left hanging

2005-06-02T10:23:00.000+01:00

'Kin hell...

Journeying to Avalon

2005-05-30T14:08:00.000+01:00

Saturday 21st May 2005:

We were setting off in several cars, but had it all worked out beforehand. I got off really lightly, as I didn't have to pick up anyone, just take Pixie and Dirk from the house I was in too. Everyone was leaving at 9, except Aud and Alan, who were setting out earlier in order to pick Scott and Ian up from Birmingham, that way we'd all meet up in Glastonbury at roughly the same time.

It was a great journey down. Last year, I'd learned to detest driving. This was three-fold - I had whiplash, which made driving really painful; also I was one of only a few drivers in a large group, which meant that I had to drive if we were all going somewhere. In the past, Kate's been one of any group we're with, so we've taken it in turns, but she wasn't part of this group; and also by the latter half, Rebecca wasn't a well car, so I lived in fear of her breaking down or worse. I spent a lot of last year driving along, in a lot of pain, stressed over the car, really wishing that I wasn't driving. This journey down to Glastonbury, with Pixie and Dirk, reversed all of that. I thoroughly enjoyed not only that journey, but all the others too. (Even the final, mad journey to Gatwick on the Wednesday, I didn't dislike for my own part. If we hadn't been battling against the clock, it would have been a good journey too.) This is one of the huge gifts that I brought out of Pixie and Dirk's visit, this renewed okayness with driving again. Plus Dirk and Branny between them identified the two remaining noises that Rebecca is making, so I can get them sorted.

I've never known the journey to Glastonbury pass so quickly (excepting the time I did it in the middle of the night at 100mph). It was almost a disappointment to reach it, almost, I say, because then the excitement of being in Glastonbury took over. We stopped at Froggie's shop for ages, before meeting Bex and Pete at the Blue Note.

There were still minor stresses though, because we'd all managed to keep Branny's arrival a secret until now, but things didn't quite go according to plan. We sat in the courtyard of the Blue Note, Bex and I purposefully sitting side-by-side at the other end of the table to Pixie and Dirk, so that the text messages between Aud and Branny and us could be kept away from them. Aud and Alan had dropped off Scott and Ian, who'd joined us, then gone for Branny at Castle Cary. I'd have gone, but my absense would have been too noticeable. At first, Ian said that they were 'parking up'. Then time stretched out and out. The texts said that Branny had hitch-hiked to Shepton Mallet, while Aud and Alan were at Castle Cary. They were going for her. By now, Pixie was getting very suspicious. I ended up lying through my teeth, saying they'd gone up Clarke's Village for flares for on top of the Tor. Behind Pixie, Ian was giving me that 'you lie way too well, Harrington' look, so I was ignoring him. *grin* Then I remembered that I hadn't bought the pay and display for my car. My mind had been so full of the Branny situation that it just passed me by. My job was to get Pixie and Dirk into the Blue Note and keep them there; somewhere along the way I simply forgot about buying the parking. Pixie and I ran back to my car, but there was a parking ticket on it. (Oh! Shit, I still need to pay that!)

There was no way we could stay together at the Blue Note any longer without giving the game away. A glance at the time showed we'd been in Glastonbury nearly 2 hours anyway, so it was nearly time to check in. Off we all went to the George and Pilgrim, each of us (except Pixie and Dirk) watching entrances and waiting on the next text messaged progress report. If we'd split up now, then we didn't know how we'd spring Branny on them. Then, as Pixie signed for her room, Branny turned up. I remember looking at her, thinking, 'there's Branny'. No reaction. Looking again, 'yep, Branny'. Then the third time, 'SHIT! THAT'S BRANNY STANDING THERE!' Dirk saw her and she put her fingers over her lips. I surreptiously got my camera out. Pixie turned and it took a second to register, then she screamed and ran to hug her. LOL Two seconds later, we had an Aud and Alan too and all the surprises were over. We'd all nearly slipped up as well. The night before I'd said to Pixie, Dirk and Kate, 'Shit, I didn't get myself some pyjamas and I'm going to be... sharing a room...' Then covered it with reaching for my drink. It had sounded well suss to me, but no-one had picked it up. I'm just amazed that Pixie hadn't counted on her fingers and wondered who I'd been sharing a room with!

The George and Pilgrim had fucked up. I triple-checked since first booking the rooms months ago. Two twin rooms, two doubles and a four-poster bridal suite. Yes, yes, yes. Then, last week, I'd checked again, suddenly all of the rooms were doubles, but being charged at twin room prices... There was nothing we could do about it. Branny and I shared one double room, while Scott and Ian shared another. Branny and I originally had the four-poster room (charged at the price of a twin room.... mmmm...), but we took one look and went to find Alan. This should be his and Aud's room, as this amounted to their second honeymoon. Aud herself was over the Blue Note. She needed food urgently (medical reasons rather than plain hunger) and a breather before coming out to play. Branny and I were in the Nun's Cell. LOL Alan and Aud got the Henry VIII room, where he'd stood to watch the desolution of Glastonbury Abbey. Pixie and Dirk got the huge Abbot Selwood room, which is the room you always stand on Glastonbury High Street looking up at and wondering what it's like to be in it. Ian and Scott got the Priest's Cell, I think, or it could have been called the Confessional. It was directly above me and Branny anyway. Bex and Pete were in a newer part of the building, so their room was called 'number 10'.

Afterwards, we all split up. I nipped to the loo and discovered that I'd come on, so I went hunting Glastonbury for sanitary towels. It started really raining, in defiance of the Grove spells on the subject. Every so often, we'd all meet somewhere, like the time when most of us were crowded in Froggie's shop, buying him out of stock. Now Branny was here, my mind was onto the handfasting, which was the next biggie. I'd got all of the tools for that, but Scott was getting cake and wine. I'd walk about and think, 'Shit, I needed to ask Scott that...' twice I did that, looked up and he was in the shop as I was walking by. I did that once with Aud too. I was beginning to suss that I could call people to me, so I turned into the alley by the Blue Note and called Ian with my mind; walked out the other end and heard the word, 'Wolverhampton'. I looked across and there were Branny and Ian sitting having a brew. :-D

We largely sat there for the afternoon, with folk coming and going, which is how we usually do it. Usually I do more running off and coming back though, though there was a bit of that too. Bex asked on the arrangements for the evening and I arbitarily said to meet at the George and Pilgrim, dressed up, at half 6. Pete, Alan and (I think) Dirk were in the King Charles watching the FA Cup final, though Dirk may have been with Pixie looking around. Glastonbury is tiny, so we always tend to split up. If you need folk, you only have to stand by the Cenotaph and look around, soon enough you'll have everyone. LOL But on this occasion, soon enough everyone had passed through our bit of courtyard, so had the half 6 thing. We needed a definite time, because some needed to have a head start, as that climb is extremely steep. For a start, Branny had a torn ligament in her ankle.

Around five, I went up to Froggie's shop to see if he was joining us. I ended up staying in there until closing, canting with him, then we meandered down to the George and Pilgrim for a pint with Dirk, Ian and Aud. Time was getting on and I realized that I still hadn't had ten minutes to quiet my mind before the handfasting. It was still full of - has everyone got their room? Do Scott and Ian want to move rooms because of the leak? Is Branny sorted with her ankle? Are Pixie and Dirk having a good time? Have Aud and Bex chilled into Glastonbury? Did Pete and Alan get to see the match? Have I got everything for the ceremony? Is everyone happy and alright? Why am I stressing? Am I happy and alright? etc etc. The usual internal dialogue of a Virgo who's accidentally vaguely 'in charge' insofar as anyone is. This sounds like I was stressing far more than I actually was. In reality, I was having a great time, just very conscious that I was supposed to have a quiet mind in a circle very shortly. I'd meant to pop into the Goddess Temple for all of this, but by the time I was ready, the place had been shut ten minutes.

So I went upstairs and found Branny in our room. Got my robes on, which felt beautiful, and, though I knew the bag had everything needful, I double-checked it. It didn't have the oil that Aud had made from Chelle's recipe. I slid into utter panic attack. I thought I'd been doing well. At one time I'd said I'd never do another handfasting, Wiccaning etc because of how panicked I got, but that was so last year. I crouched by the side of my bed in utter terror, mind just flashing with random shit; Branny walked out of the bathroom and I said, 'Branny, I'm panicking now.' She said, in her precise English accent, 'You'll be fine', and disappeared back into the bathroom. I just laughed. I got the Bach Rescue Remedy and the Quiet Life down me, picked up the bag and called that I'd meet her downstairs.

Once downstairs, those who were going early hadn't gone. There was talk of calling a taxi, so I volunteered to run them up, then walk up with the others. Aud, Bex and Branny wanted the head start, so I drove them to the Tor, then turned around in Wellhouse Lane feeling the panic really rising again. I was getting well disgusted with myself. I knew that Ian has dealt with a million panic attacks of mine, so he could sort this one; I knew that Pixie has dealt with them on the phone, but this was her big day. Aud could mother for England, when it comes to it, but I'd just dropped her off. I put on some jingly, jangly Celtic music and drove back to the George and Pilgrim. By the time I got there, I was very calm. The final panic was all over. I'd just needed that five minutes alone with Celtic music. I abandoned the car, joined the others and we walked up to the Tor.

*to be continued*

Pixie and Dirk Came to Britain!!

2005-05-30T13:02:00.000+01:00

Thursday 19th May:

I'd set my alarm clock for 9am, but woke up at 20 past 7 and bounced out of bed so excited. I didn't have to be at Aud's until eleven, so there was time to kill. It had been noon until the night before. I tatted on the computer; cleared all my e-mail folders; watched a bit of telly. By 9, Aud was worn down by my incessant bouncing around via e-mail and said I could go to hers at half 10. I made a cuppa, I did a few repairs on the Witchgrove website. I wondered if there were spells for making time go more quickly.

Apparently there are. The clock was out on my computer. I only sussed when an e-mail arrived from the future! It was 40 minutes later than I thought it was and I was already late for Aud. Arrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!

Aud and I abandoned my car at FT Kate's house, while Alan and Harriet came for us in his 7-seater mini-bus. I'd chucked my keys through Kate's letterbox before I realized I'd left my handbag, in full view, in my car. I retrieved my keys with frightening ease, even for a Wulfrunian, which caused me to poke them halfway across her floor with a piece of wire I found in the gutter. I then took the wire with me in my handbag, in case any thieving Black Country dude had witnessed it all. And off we went on our adventure.

It was well cool being chaffeured down the motorway. I got to see lots of pretties that I wouldn't have ordinarily seen. Aud pointed out Chilton in the distance, where she grew up; then we stopped in Rugby, which was her 'hood before she moved into my 'hood. I got to see the field where William Webb Ellis committed handball and deserved a penalty against his team picked up the ball during a football game, thus inventing the game of rugby. I also saw the church where Aud was married to her training husband, before she married Alan. Then it was off to Heathrow to pick up Pixie and Dirk.

We only just got there in time. Roadworks and all kinds of things held us up, but we'd just parked up, had a fag and crossed the road to arrivals and there was an almighty Pixie-like screech. They had just that second arrived too, so we ran, hugged them, and Aud and I put Wolverhampton Wanderers scarves around their necks, like Hawaiian people put flowers around the necks of their visitors. Of course, until then, it had been red hot. I'd taken my jacket off in the car and was still boiling, so I didn't expect the scarves to see much wear. But soon as we left the airport, it started raining. Only showers, but the sun had just disappeared while we'd spent those five minutes in Heathrow Airport.

We drove around looking for somewhere to park up, that was reasonably secure (because of the luggage), but also on the tube line. That became a magical mystery tour and I saw parts of London which I've never seen before (which isn't that hard...). I'd originally jumped in the back, on the basis that Aud knows London to direct Alan, but the further we went the more my stomach was turning. I got to the part where I thought I'm going to throw up any second now, when Aud noticed and got Alan to pull over. I was mortified! But I suppose it would have been far worse if I'd vomitted all over Pixie in Alan's car. Once I'd had a few gasps of air and gagged a bit, I was fine. I got into the front then. It was safer.

We parked up in Hammersmith and was walking to the tube station when Cerr 'phoned! Dirk had just been speculating on what Yoda's penis looks like, which amused Cerr greatly. LOL I handed her to Pixie for a short cant, but we were nearly at the tube station, so was going to lose signal. I got to say goodbye, then ran after the others. Alan paid for all of our tube tickets and refused point-blank to have any money off me for petrol. I did try to sneak him a twenty via Harriet when he later bought a round in the pub too, but Aud caught us and sneaked it back into my pocket. Git.

The voice on the tannoy didn't say 'mind the gap' to the disappointment of me and Pixie. ('Neverwhere' by Neil Gaiman...) We landed at Westminster, which was strange. Every other time I've landed at Westminster, I've had a banner or a candle and I'm about to protest something. It was bizarre seeing it minus thousands of people chanting! We had us some crepes from a stand beside the Boudicca statue, with Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament over the road; then headed towards Westminster Abbey, which was closed. It had started to really rain by now, so we sheltered in the Abbey shop. I nearly bought an American-English dictionary, but Pixie and Dirk assured me that they'd never heard of half the American words in it.

We walked in the rain to Regent's Park, then under the sheltering canopy of trees to Buckingham Palace. The flag was up, which meant that the Queen was in, but we didn't ask to go in for tea, because the rain was belting down. Instead we found the nearest pub and went into it. That was fun AND surreal. Pixie and Dirk, wearing Wolves scarves, sitting with us in a pub... but also like old friends just nipping over for a visit, which was precisely what they were. But, for me, there wasn't that 'stepping out of a story-book' feel that there was in Vegas, which I reckon was because they were in my 'hood and because I'd met them before.

The rain wasn't about to let up, so Pixie and Dirk decided they'd seen enough of London and we should head back. On the tube was a woman who looked completely wrecked. You could smell the booze a mile off and the businessman holding her up looked so embarrassed. The only space in the carriage was around her, as folk were waiting for her to throw. He practically carried her off at their station. Back in Hammersmith, poor Harriet got packed into the luggage; Pixie had a near miss with a toilet stop; and we all bounced around a lot, generally over-excited.

We phoned Georgia once we were back on the road, because it was the anniversary of her divorce and also because I'd written an e-mail before I left (and posted it to mods) suggesting that Britgrovers meet Pixie and Dirk on Tuesday night in Seamus O'Donnells, but I didn't want to plan their holiday for them, so I wanted to ask them before sending it. They agreed, so I asked Georgia to do so. We all loved her up and wished she was there... though where we would have put her in that car... *giggle* I'd have had her on my lap.

We stopped off in Beaconsfield for a meal at the Greyhound pub. We snuggled around a table and that got a little surreal. *grin* It was so lovely to look up and see my friends there, especially Pixie, who I know so well but rarely see. She got a round in and went to pay with her Visa, but it wasn't signed, which is illegal here. She got all American on the landlady and the wench just accepted the card! LOL Pixie explained that no-one signs their cards in America, in case of having their signature forged. Everyone does here, so a blank one would just end up with the thief's signature on it. It's all crossing over to pin numbers anyway now.

There was a no mobile phones rule in there, so I blushed my head off when FT Kate phoned me! The whole pub cheered and catcalled, while I dashed outside. I had no idea how long it would take to get home, so I kept texting her ETAs as I got my bearings. When we got there, she opened the door in costume from her play ('Murdered to Death'). She plays Miss Maple - a spoof on Miss Marple - so was an elderly lady. LMFAO! She kept it on all through making us cups of teas and coffees or getting the beer open, then ran upstairs and came back transformed into herself.

We were up until the early hours then; opening presents; sampling peeps. Pixie's dad had sent me a little Yoda action figure, with a gun, so we executed a peep to test it. LOL Very loud and raucous, we were, but Nick (Kate's housemate in bed above us) forgave us.

Friday 20th May:

There were no real plans, but I woke up at half past 7 and heard voices in the other room. Pixie and Dirk were already awake. I remembered where I was and what was happening to me, so bounced out of bed. Understand that bounced and half 7 in the morning is relative. I bounced inwardly until I'd got two cups of tea and several cigarettes inside me, then I was awake enough to bounce outwardly too!

Aud wanted to play and Pixie and Dirk wanted to sample a traditional English breakfast, so I killed two birds with one stone and added a bonus bird for myself, by picking Aud up and going round the corner to The Lunchbox. I used to go in there every dinnertime until about four years ago. They not only remembered my name, but also the double-decker egg, beans and cheese toasted sandwich that they'd invented for me. :-o Pixie and Dirk had the full English. I thought it would turn out that despite the name it was known the world over. Nope. They had never seen the like before. Americans don't even have baked beans for breakfast. In what became a trademark of British meals, they found it much more greasy than they were used to. Dirk, in particular, was talking very wistfully about American food (and weather) by the end of their visit here. Poor cariad.

We set off for the Black Country Museum, via Morrisons, and it was really good fun. I've been there millions of times, so I thought I would just be going to show Pixie and Dirk, but in the event, I learned things about my 'hood that I hadn't known. It was visiting for my own sake then! LOL Before we went in, I'd told them that they wouldn't find the Black Country on a map, because everyone has their own idea of where it is. When we were in there, there was a short presentation over three screens telling folk all about the Black Country. A professor-type bloke pops up on one screen saying, 'The Black Country is where the coalfields were' and up popped a map of this on the middle screen. On the far screen another professor-type bloke pops saying, 'No, no, the Black Country is where the steel and iron were, the industrial areas...' The map shows a bigger area, then disappears. Up pops Ayli or Aynok, saying, 'Tha' Block Contrees we-ah a Block Contree mon seys ittis...' It became a standing joke after that, with Pixie keep saying, 'Tell, where is the Black Country?' I guess you had to be there...

We wondered around the museum then, in and out the houses, down on the tram, and taking a tour of the ironworks. The bloke doing the door really couldn't cope if something went off-script. At one bit he picked up a length of iron and Pixie jumped forward to touch it. The look on his face! LOL I actually thought he was handing it to us, but evidentally not. He told us some interesting things though. Like how the workers used to punch in their presense on a huge dial, which looked like a clockface, hence 'clocking on'; and how they used to be paid by their wages being poured from little pots into their caps, hence 'coming cap in hand'. We also nipped into the little cinema and watched a Charlie Chaplin short film, before going into the pub. We walked back up via the cake-shop - beautiful home-baked cakes, but a bit too sugary for the Americans - and the precious stones shop. I'm sure that hadn't been there last time!

We dropped Aud off then went via the garage to fill up on petrol for the next day. Dirk and Pixie had gone into the shop by the time I finished. I walked in to find that they'd paid my petrol! :-o (Pixie did this again on the Tuesday night, plus bought me Red Bull etc for the journey down to Gatwick.) That was so lovely of them.

We made our way back to Kate's and caught a taxi into Stourbridge, eating at Chicago Rock (apparently it didn't look like Chicago, even if you closed your eyes. LOL), before walking down to to the Stourbridge Rock Cafe to see Chumbawamba. We were well early, so watched Bleeding Hearts doing their soundtrack. They were quite good! Kate's brother, Andrew, and all the Stourbridge posse joined us, including Stefan, who I hadn't seen since 1993. Bleeding Hearts were brilliant, but had got us all ready for dancing, when Chumbawamba came on - minus Alice Nutter and Danbert - performing a largely accoustic set. It took a while to adjust, because we kept thinking that they'd start on the more raucous songs. They were still good, but completely at odds with the mood in the place.

It was all way too smokey for Pixie in particular as well; Dirk told me afterwards that he was shocked at just how many Britons smoke. By that point, every single person he'd met smoked, which was proving to be hard on their lungs. He mused that it might be that Americans are more educated about this, until I showed him the cigarette packets, all telling us just how bad for us they were. Branny was there when we had this conversation and she confirmed that the Dutch are also well informed. It seems that all three countries have the anti-smoking adverts too. Maybe there's something more fatalistic in the European mindset, I don't know.

Back to the Friday night, we caught a taxi home and then partied on at Kate's house. This was her night out after a long, long hard stretch of working every weekend and rehearsing for her play every night. She'd been gutted when she'd realized that the dates clashed (thus she'd had to drop out of Glastonbury, which had really upset her). I knew that she wanted to party on all night long, but Pixie and Dirk were wilting, Nick was asleep upstairs and I had to be driving a car at 9am. I felt really sorry for her, but by 1-2am, we had to call it a night and go abed, which was a shame, because I was loving it too!

I'm....

2005-05-18T17:22:00.000+01:00

ON HOLIDAY! ON HOLIDAY! ON HOLIDAY! No more work for a week! And I'm meeting Pixie and Dirk tomorrow! And I'm going to London! And it's so exciting!

*bounce bounce bounce*

yours
Mab
xxxxx

"So it's not so much look back in anger as look back in a slightly bad mood."

2005-05-17T00:06:00.000+01:00

The heading quote doesn't relate to anything. I just heard it in a trailer for 'Coronation Street' and giggled my head off. Ian McKellan is in it. Gandalf canting with Ken Barlow... on-screen druid with off-screen druid. Looks like fun!

Our David and his girlfriend have had a son! Owen Edward Peach Miles, born on May 12th. *happy dance*

I have been such a productive wench this weekend. I figured that I ought to muck out Rebecca and my room just in case Pixie and Dirk come and visit here. That escalated as these things do. I've got my life on an even keel again, except at work, where I'm never going to have all my jobs done by Wednesday afternoon. Oh well, what gets left, gets left.

Major excitement this end though. I've had a bit of a breakthrough with my Prangnells. I've been looking for them in Middlesex, then I was looking on Dennis Prangnall's site and noticed that the Isle of Wight Mark and Louisa have an eldest son of the same name and DOB as my Mark and Louisa. Also he's lost track of the family after a certain time. I looked at the Middlesex Prangnells, and got in touch with a descendent of Robert. She and I were canting all evening, comparing notes. Robert and Mark are same generation, same job etc. Then I looked at my Mark and Louisa's children - the second eldest boy and girl are named for the IOW Mark's parents, though these names are John and Mary, so common enough. However, Dennis thinks the IOW Mark remarried.

What needs to happen next is that I get the 1851 census in Brummagen to see where Mark was born. That's going to be massive. For a start I've got to go to Brummagen Archives and the search could take days. If I'm right though, I've just broken down a massive brickwall in my genealogy AND that branch of my family is back to 1657.

You should see the grin on my face!

I'm feeling generally more settled these days. Really looking forward to Pixie coming. Aud keeps making me go over-excited by sending me e-mails like 'three more sleeps to go'! She's coming with me to pick them up from Heathrow. We're fighting over who gets to be the quiet and shy one; I mentioned this to Pixie, but she also wants to be the quiet and shy one. Looks like it's down to Dirk then. *grin*

yours
Mab
xxxxx

Oh...

2005-05-08T21:43:00.000+01:00

I'm catching up with e-mail and finally made it onto Kindly Ones. I found these comments:

I have recieved several mails the last twenty-four hours supporting
me, telling me they don't want to repeat their support publicly (in
the grove), "because they fear repraisals".

followed by

Well, I am not really attached to "the grove" like many of the
others, so I am not afraid to speak my mind.

I was away in Dorset when the incident this pertains to blew. Since then I've been firstly floating ethereally through a Beltane forest induced state of spiritual bliss; busy at work; then doing dissertation, so I haven't had chance to read all of the ins and outs of it. I skimmed it at the time, realized there was no-one hurting who couldn't look after themself and anything needful was already done. But didn't read through everything properly.

The person saying that was someone whose views I have occasionally shared, while other times totally disagreed with.

That hurt.

I work so bloody hard on the Grove. I'm often up until the early hours feeling like the last lines of 'Lazarus' were written for me and the other Mods:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

And any who thinks that that is hyperbole should see our inboxes on an average day. Additionally, I sit for hours html-ing away, that the achievements of Grovers would get some publicity, that browsers might buy their wares and those passed over won't be forgotten. All five of us read every single solitary post, so that no-one will ever feel that their posts were missed and their voice not heard. We try so hard to create a welcome, a safe sanctuary just to learn about Paganism and be part of a Pagan community, and to ensure that no-one ever feels themselves outside some bloody clique.

I don't begrudge a second of it. I'm no saint. None of us are. I know that it's not just the mods who get this and the Grove wouldn't be what it is without the members. I'm not afraid of negative criticism, in fact it's welcomed because without knowing what is wrong, it can't be put right.

But to have it just dismissed like this and to be left with the feeling that our carefully crafted sanctuary, maintained through no few battle-scars of our own, is viewed by 'several' Grovers as sanitized crap. Does that mean that two years of bloody hard work on my part (three years on the part of Cerr and Anna) wasn't worth it? And to be told that by someone I'd got pegged as a friend?

Yes, it hurts. I understand a little better now why Cerr felt the need to ban this individual. She's taken the flak for far longer than I have. Anyone who wants to scream 'fluffy' should take their turn at being a WG or KO mod for five minutes, then see how long they still hold that opinion.

Part of me wants to just give up now. Tell Cerr, sorry cariad, this amount of blood, sweat and tears just isn't worth it. But that's never been my way. I learned about torture and joined Amnesty International. That's my way. I learned a long time ago that it 'takes great control to be angry', just as Joolz said. I still believe in what we do there and if that makes me fluffy, then so be it. Name-calling is always the last refuge of those who have run out of defendable arguments and so I've found whenever I hear the words 'fluffy Wiccan'. I look at those spouting such sentiments with pity, because they've reached the end of their imagination.

To those 'fearing reprisals' on the Grove, write to me mab@witchgrove.org. Please don't be afraid. You would never believe the knocks each Mod takes in secret for you, we're not about to deliver one for your insecurity. We're neither Messiahs nor monsters, just human beings trying to do our best; and I'd like to explain just why it is that we try to keep the deep waters of the Grove so calm.

yours
Mab
xxxxx

The Sound of Bodhrans on Rannoch Moor

2005-05-08T20:49:00.000+01:00

*posted to Witchgrove today*

Hi all,

I know you're probably sick of hearing about bodhrans today, particularly when it involves you having to read long chapters shortly afterwards, but I want to tell you something else.

On Samhain, 2004, as I reckon it (ie it was before sunset on November 1st), I started writing up this dissertation. To say I started it then is to bely months and months of reading and brainstorming, which really began around September 2003. Nevertheless, on Samhain 2004, I started writing. On that date, I put on the soundtrack to 'Rob Roy', which has a tune called 'Rannoch Moor Suite: Scorched Earth/Rannoch Moor Retreat/The Mists/Rob'. In amongst the soaring pipes, there is a bit where the bodhran goes beserk. In listening to it, you have to stop everything. Eyes closed and you are upon the moor, or in a forest, or up in the skies flying, running, dancing, anywhere or any place that your Celtic mind can take you. You have no choice, it's in the tune.

Back in November, in my mind's eye, I was back on a stage at a Vegas Ren Faire, dancing while a significant number of Grovers looked on. Just as I did then, I stopped wondering how I managed to be up there, I just closed my eyes and felt the music take me. Something of the substance of the Gwynedd mountains and the wild Irish sea, the old Dolgellau road, and the slate caverns, and the utterly stunning magical assault to the senses that is Uwchmynydd, something of that filled me and took me. I danced and when I opened my eyes again, it wasn't with the shy anxiety of a Mab dancing in front of hundreds of people on a stage, it was with the momentary disorientation of a Mab returning from a purely Celtic flight of spirit. You can imagine that I had a few rude awakening, when my headphones got yanked off my head during November, dancing again in layers - from the bodhran to the Ren Faire to flying somewhere else. Of late, I've just sat still. These past two days, I've closed my eyes and been in last week's Beltane forest, walking the labyrinth, seeing wonders or off on Haworth Moor, drawing down the full moon and being filled with the beautiful Mother of All.

If I was ever asked what kept me sane during the writing of this dissertation, then I'd probably respond 'nothing, I went mad, just ask the mods...' But a few raised eyebrows later, having got 'was I sane to start with?' out of the way, I'd produce a list. It was my friends and family, it was Witchgrove, it was those day-trips out to Glastonbury or Lincoln, it was the certain knowledge that one day it would be over. But if I was to be asked what was an absolute, like little beats of sanity injected into my spirit every hour or so, then it was the 'Rannoch Moor Suite'. In particular, it was the bodhrans going beserk and those little mental flights of fancy which told me, 'Yes, you might be pretending to be an academic here, but witchcraft won't be found in all your research there, it's here, on the moors and in the forests and the wild Celtic dancing.' The bodhran did it. I kept the 'Rob Roy' soundtrack on repeat for the entire writing of this dissertation and the bodhran took me once an hour.

I couldn't have planned it. I guess only fortune, coincidence or the goddess herself could have done so, but just now, after I'd written my last word and was just completing the last of the cosmetic amendments, 'Rannoch Moor' came on. I didn't close my eyes, I didn't fly. I just let the music fill me as I tidied up the page. As the last echo of the bodhran sounded and the pipes brought me back down, I typed in the last full-stop and saved the work.

Unless Cerr, Draig or Laurie have anything to add to what Anna already said about the chapter they are all reading, then my dissertation is finally over.

yours
Mab
xxxxx

State of Grace

2005-05-08T15:11:00.000+01:00

I've just been to Mass. This time I managed not to disgrace myself by adding the extra line onto the Lord's Prayer. I was however shocked to find a prayer starting, 'blessed be...', in the service... It went beautifully and the children all looked so sweet. I ended up with tears in my eyes and I can only imagine what Bella would have been like. Father Pat was wonderful with them, tailoring the entire Mass to an eight year old level of understanding.

After his first Eucharist, while everyone else was receiving their's, my nephew sat next to me. I looked for the state of grace and asked, 'How do you feel?' He grimaced (which I wasn't expecting) and said, 'I really need a wee!' So I sent him quickly to the loo...

Bit that I can't stop tittering about though. After the Holy Communion, all of the children sat around a table to eat their breakfast, with us family members hovering around giving them their cards and presents. Mum had bought this wind up (well I thought it was a butterfly...) dove to put in my nephew's card, so when he opened it, it would fly out with a whammy. Anyway, I'm in position to take a photo of this happening, when the head-teacher announced that Father Pat needed to rush up to St Mary's to hold the usual Sunday Mass, but he was going to say grace first. Then he stood behind our Jordan.

Thing is that Jordan was halfway through opening Mum's card at the time. While we watched on horrified, he carried on opening it and there we (Mum, Nan, Grandma and Auntie) are with visions of this paper butterfly/dove hitting Father Pat in the face at great force halfway through grace. I'm desperately trying to signal him to stop, but we were saved by a Hail Mary. Jordan stops to repeat it and cross himself, Father Pat steps away, Jordan opens the card and the thing whizzs up straight through the air vacated seconds before by the Father and off across the hall. I can't stop laughing.

For my next trick, as Jordan's Godmother (stop sniggering), I'll teach him to do nothing during grace but concentrate on the grace.

Kids!

I have got a gorgeous photo of him though. He's there with his brand new rosary beads counting his Hail Mary. It was supposed to be a video, but when I finished waiting for him staring off into the distance and said, 'You know I'm recording this, don't you? Start whenever, cariad...' He reliably informed me that you say that in your head and he was. So I took a photo instead. It's as close to holy as you're going to get with that one. He's not walking ten feet above the ground with a practically visible halo above his head, like his brother was after his confirmation.

yours
Mab
xxxxx

Desiderata

2005-05-03T10:20:00.000+01:00

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labours and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

'Isn't it good to be lost in the woodsIsn't it bad, so quiet there?In the wood'~'Octopus' by Syd Barrett

2005-05-02T15:35:00.000+01:00

WOW! OH! WOW! OH WOW! :-D I'm still sitting here grubby as hell and badly in need of a bath. It was PeteFest and it was brilliant.

Friday

We stayed at Birchwood Tourist Park for the occasion of Pete's 30th birthday (which gave me the shock of my life when I did the maths there... that means that he was only 18 when I met him! :-0). Folk came from all over the country to pitch our tents in the whole section of the camping park, as Pete had booked for us, though I think that Kate and I came furthest.

It took us 6 hours to get there. I was supposed to get the afternoon off, but I couldn't get out of a conference. That was supposed to finish at half 3. At 4, Kate was in reception waiting for me. It was still 20 past 4 before I fled and the conference still wasn't over. Thing was that we had to get to the site by 9pm and it was about as South in England as you can get without ending up in the English Channel.

We hit rush-hour. We hit road-works. We hit major miscellaneous conjestion (probably brought on by the bank holiday). Kate had contact lense trouble, which looked like conjunctivitis at that point; then got cystitis. A few miles down the A350, we hit fog and very slow cars. By quarter to 9, we were going through Blandford Forum thinking that we couldn't make it, so I 'phoned the site and a very reassuring man on the other end of the phone told us that it was ok. It was raining by the time we pulled up on the site and I told Kate I'd get someone to help me put the tent up (it's a mansion of a tent), but they'd all disappeared. We could see their tents but no people. There was also no 'phone signal. Kate looked ready to burst into tears. We put up the tent and it was mysteriously wonky. (It's only today, after taking it down that was discovered why - the ground underneath was wonky! We've spent days tatting with the tent trying to correct it! LOL) And as we were putting it up, a pole ricochetted off and hit me across three fingers, I thought I'd broken them at the time, but gritted my teeth and just got on with it.

Soon as we were up, Kate had a lie down, then went to war on the cystitus with water. It lessened slightly, but wasn't knocked into touch until the next day, when we got some stuff from a chemist in Wareham. After a half an hour or so, she was in much better spirits. The gang returned from the pub and Pete popped in to see us, but mostly it was a case of getting set up and settled down.

Saturday and Sunday

There were about 30 people there by Saturday. It really did have a festival air about it, we each had to keep reminding ourselves that this was a camping field with families on it. The 30 people came as a bit of a shock to the landlord of the Duke of Wellington pub, in Wareham, when we all turned up within an hour of each other after a full English cooked breakfast.

We basically set off in bits and drabs as another carload of people were washed and dressed enough to go. By the time me, Kate, Pete and two others arrived, the first carload had been there 40 minutes and still hadn't got their breakfast. The group after them were on the verge of saying, 'fuck this for a game of soldiers', cancelling their order and going up the road to a cafe. We'd already ordered by then. The concept of vegetarians hadn't been introduced to the landlord either. Kate had to explain it. We decided not to prosecute, because we're nice. (It's illegal in Britain not to have a veggie option on the menu.) When our food eventually came, two hours later, it was patently obvious that the tomatos had been fried in lard. It was horrible.

The lads who went to the cafe reported that they met the landlord out in the street with a newly purchased toaster under his arm. Kate overheard him on the phone telling someone to get out of bed now and get into the pub to help out. On average, the breakfasts took between an hour and two hours to arrive and got less and less as time went by. Pete had a single mushroom, not a big one, just one single button mushroom. My egg wasn't well-done. People were counting ten baked beans etc. None of the meateaters had the advertized two sausages. My tea tasted like it had been stewing for a week.

Funniest of all though was the Toast Lady. You were supposed to get your toast with your meal. Even after the landlord had bought a toaster, it still arrived an average of half an hour later. The old lady bringing them would put it down on the table, look around nervously, whimper, 'toast' and flee. One of the lads did complain three times, but none of the others did. Usually Kate would be the first up doing it, but I think that we were just having fun and it had become hilarious rather than annoying.

After a mini look around Wareham, we drove back to the campsite to chill out even more. There was talk of going to the beach later, but as time went on, it was obvious that there weren't enough drivers still sober, so we scrapped that in favour of the surrounding forest instead. Some of the others played cricket, while the rest of us sat watching and enjoying the sunshine. It was great getting to know folk like that, because it was a lot quieter than it would be later on, while smaller groups meant less people talking over each other. In short, I could hear them! LOL I also watched an Australian lose at cricket, which I understand is quite rare. Mind you, she did do 16 of those run things, before she was caught and had to come out.

After a while, though, the forest was just too enticing. I'm amazed it took me until Saturday late afternoon to do it, but I went exploring on my own. It was so cool in there, under the green, grey and black shade.I wandered and dreamed. I avoided the beaten paths whenever I encountered one and made my own, even if it involved using a tree as a convolutated bridge over a patch of nettles. I looked at pretties and meditated on Beltane. I got as far as a swamp to the north of the campsite, then came back. Everyone was still at the cricket, but Kate was about to go off to see the forest too. I let her go alone, because it was the sort of place which is lovely to explore alone. Not that I realized then just how big it was.

Wareham Forest, I know now, is 14 square miles. It encompasses marshlands, watermeadows, a fir and conifer forest, heathlands, as well as your bog-standard forest. It is BIG.

I sat another hour chilling out, then went for another adventure. This time I wasn't priestessing, I was out playing. I passed a field (heath?) which was full of rabbits. I mean hundreds of them. I gasped, thus alerting them to my presense, and as I struggled to get the digital camera out, they all disappeared down rabbit holes.
About fifty yards down the track, I saw another rabbit who darted into the forest. I looked to see where he'd gone. Now I don't know what you see on this picture, but I saw a gateway. 5ft 3" people can pass under it just as well as rabbits can and ALL the rulebooks are very clear on the subject of what to do when rabbits run past you... 'Alice in Wonderland', Syd Barrett, Jefferson Airplane... all VERY explicit. So I followed him into densest forest, though I had to stoop quite considerably a little way in. That was worth it. For a start, I saw a hobbit's house and, after a while, came out on heathland to discover a bonfire ready made up but not lit... on Beltane...

Which reminded me. I have a really good sense of direction, given enough clues, and I looked up at the sun to find my way back. I hadn't gone too far out, but the camp was relatively difficult to find. I made it back well before sunset though, so rejoined everyone at the camp to have a little sit down. As we were all present and correct, it was time for the cards and presents. Sue, Pete's girlfriend, had organized a bush survival week for him in Sussex. (Nothing to do with American presidents, a surviving in the wild thing instead.) We'd all put together to pay for it and signed the big card. He opened it and couldn't work out what it was from a brief glance at the list of things he had to take with him. Sue told him and his face was a picture. She knew her man. You could just tell that it was the perfect present for him.

Sunset wasn't far off, so I meandered back to the tent (which has a large central area) and opened my circle. I've never done a circle in a tent before, but one side was open to the west (and therefore the sunset) and the energy within was unbelievable. It was top-of-the-Tor level of buzzing. I sent a bit of it to everyone I knew who needed it, then was halfway through those who didn't need it, but should have it anyway, when Kate came back. I opened the circle to let her into her bedroom area (*giggle*), but she waved it off, saying she'll go at the toilet block as well, but wanted to warn me that folk were getting ready for our bonfire in the forest. I closed the door again and finished off. I'd just closed the circle when she returned. It was a beautiful atmosphere in there and, having seen the bonfire made up on the heath earlier, I fully expected us to run into a group of pagans out there with a fire already going.

It was quite an expedition. 30 people, some with chairs, some with lanterns, some with beer, all heading out into the forest. I kept having to run ahead or behind in order to avoid the torches. I have excellent night vision, which gets blinded by the torches. One torch in particular blinded just about everyone. I couldn't understand why so many people needed their torch when the night wasn't so dark yet, but Kate told me that people's eyes are different and some really do need it. We went quite a way into the forest, way past where I'd seen the bonfire, and I began to get a tiny sense of the size of this place.

A lad named Ben and I were up front when Pete called for a fag break. We stopped and that was proclaimed our place to stop for the night. We each took turns to forage for wood in the surrounding forest, while Pete and Ben created our own bonfire.

I love that picture. At some point during the night, I came across Pete and Ben canting and asked, 'Is Ben your Kate?' (meaning your best friend/partner in crime), Pete replied, 'No, Ben's my Ben, man.' LOL

It was really chilled out. Sitting around drinking, talking, then someone got a portable music system (of some sort, I didn't look closely enough) and all chance I had of hearing was gone. I didn't mind that, I'm used to it, but when Ben was trying to ask me about Paganism and Jim was trying to talk about... something... I had no chance. Also it's very hard to lip-read in that light. I had to keep apologizing, but I was having so much fun. Everyone was. You could see it in their faces and Pete's face was great to watch. He kept looking around and getting this little grin on his face, which I translated as 'look at my people, who came all this way to share this beautiful moment with me...'

Then IT happened. It started with a couple of flashes behind me and Kate, which first I caught and asked what that was. Then Kate caught. By the third, we realized that we were looking at a storm. It grew and it was stunning! Forked lightning, sheet lightning and not a drop of rain... Someone said that it was probably over the Solvent and we could see it because of our vantage point. But later I learned from one of those who'd returned to camp earlier that they saw it all around us, spinning around the sky, but not touching us in the centre. It was amazing enough for them, but for us... WOW! Every few seconds, the trees would light up or forked lightning would zap across an opening in the trees.

One of the wenches next to me was afeared that it would strike us, but Ed reassured her that the trees are taller and it would strike them first. But what if we were under it? I replied that we just don't sit under it. On retrospect, telling her to avoid being under trees while in a forest... She was among the group who left shortly after that. Then there was Jim, very drunk and wanting to talk to me. So he sat on a chair right in my view of the storm. I ended up talking to him like a three year old. 'Get up... move your chair there... here!' *picking it up and moving it for him* 'I can't hear you... I still can't hear you... there's a storm, music, people talking and I'm deaf... I can't hear you... I'm just going to watch this storm... I can't hear what you're saying. Shut up.' Bless his cotton socks. I met him for the first time this weekend and he was generally lovely.

I was so energized by it. Downright high! The place, the setting, the company, the storm AND it was Beltane. As the storm died down, I wanted to run wild. I did a lap of the little bonfire and was about to tell Ben about the leaping over it, when I realized that he was missing. Looking up the track, I could see the storm still going on further up and a little incline in the track, which I could only tell by silouette in the lightning. I asked Kate if she wanted to come a walk up there, but she was too comfy. I was wanting the walk and two seconds of silence just to kiss the goddess's skirts for letting me be me and be there.

I wondered on up the track, being careful not to deviate from it, because it was dark and even I recognized that I could get lost. A little way up, I found Pete and Ben collecting wood. Ben was considering the walk too, but he needed to take the wood back. I told them that I'd only be five minutes and walked off along the track, transfixed by the lightning in the distance, the moment and the forest all around. Very careful to stay in a straight line along a single track... the irony...

I reached a gate and from there could watch the storm in the distance. As I sat, I heard a scuffling and a little yelp. I strained in the darkness to see and made out a fox about ten feet away. OMG! I just stared and as I did, it came towards me, right at my feet as they dangled from the gate. I barely breathed, but I could hear it panting. It came to me suddenly to wonder if foxes would attack... you'd think that I'd know by now, wouldn't you? But no... then, as I watched, it seemed to become transparent then ran away. I sat there half in shock. It was either an hallucination (I wasn't entirely sober...); a real fox (this was the early hours and everything in darkness pixelates greatly with all the buzzy, golden lights (phrenozones?); a ghost fox; or it was my totem/familiar showing itself. I didn't know then and I still don't know.

I thought I'd consult Kate or Pete on the subject, so meandered down the track again. Partway down, a track forked off and I nearly took it, then remembered - Stay on the straight line, so you don't get lost. I looked down and the track very distinctly led one way, but there was a slight curve which made it look like a fork. That other was a track going off it. I walked on. What I failed to notice was that I'd never once, on the way up, walked around even a slight curve. That had been my track and I was now walking along another track which led at right angles away from both where the others were AND the camp-site. We reckon that was around half 2. I made it back to the campsite, utterly exhausted, at around half 8 the next morning after spending the entire night walking around the forest trying to find my way back.

The first question anyone asks, if their look of horror hadn't already asked it, is 'weren't you scared?' No. I was never once scared, even after it became obvious that I was lost. I trusted myself and I trusted the Goddess. Besides I had enough cigarettes to last me. It was Beltane and I figured that this was all part of the Great Universal Game. Very early on, I was looking up and saw torchlight up a ridge and what sounded like Kate and Pete. I got my torch out and flashed them. One figure waited at the top, while the other came down the track. In the torchlight, I could make out Kate's orange blanket/coat, then, as I watched, the apparition changed and became a Maiden, all in white, complete with white cloak. She went behind a tree and never came out again. The torchlight had gone from the top as well. Later, Kate and Pete told me that they'd never gone away from the fire together.

I didn't have time to contemplate that, because just on it there was an almighty shrieking howl very close by. I still had my torch in my hand, so swung around with it on. There was a huge electrical pilon and I wondered if something had been electrocuted. I moved over there and the howl continued. I remembered that sound from the Wyre Forest - foxes! It moved away, getting quieter, which is how I know it's moving away. Putting my witchy, hippy head on now, would that have been my animal guide warning me that I was on the wrong track and to follow now? Seeing that pilon was the first time I wondered if I was on the right track, because I didn't remember seeing it on the way up. Then I pointed out to myself that I wasn't sober AND I'd been watching the storm in the other direction at the time. I kept going.

Eventually I arrived at the camp-site. Now I knew that I'd taken a wrong turn, but serendipidously, because there were a couple of things we'd forgotten which I could pick up and fill up with water. I did the latter, went to the loo and then looked for the tent. Or any tent would have done. There were no tents. I walked all the way to the main gate having spent about half an hour in there and discovered that this was the wrong campsite. Being so late, there was no-one around to ask directions, so I set off again. I didn't know then but that site is separated from ours by a thin wall of trees. It was about 10 mins away from Birchwood site, but, as we'd approached each time from the other side, I had never seen it.

As I said before, I have a good sense of direction. I usually only have to go somewhere once to memorize it. Folk find this hard to believe after Saturday night, but it's true. What my downfall was was that it was cloudy, therefore I had very little to go on; I didn't know either the lie of the land or the forest, as I'd never been to Dorset before, let alone Wareham; and I was in a totally different part of the forest from where I'd been earlier. The few clues I had, I utilized. I looked up and found the Plough and the Pelaedes. I remembered staring at them before the storm and where they were in the sky, then I faced them and headed in that direction. I also thought I'd seen the pilons to the north of the campsite (no, they were telephone wires, I learned later), so I kept them to the north (the pilons were actually to the south of the site...).

I found the A35 four times, but the first time didn't go near it because there was a van parked at the gate of the track and I didn't want to have to hurt anybody. The second was when I was at the gate of the first campsite. I decided that a main road would be better than a forest, insofar as I could get a clue to where I was, phone a taxi to take me to my campsite and then find the gang from there. I walked up it, pondering where I was going to find the taxi number from, when I saw the van at an entrance to the forest. I remembered that! I wasn't long lost when I first saw it, so I still must be close! I walked further up and re-entered the forest (I was actually moving in the opposite direction to both campsite and gang here.)

I passed a hillfort and noted it for returning and taxi purposes, then went on walking. It was around this time that I texted Kate to announce that I was lost. I didn't want Pete to think I'd disappeared in a huff or something. There wasn't much network coverage, so it took a while to send it. She didn't get it for an hour or more later. By then I'd been as far as a sign to Bloxworth (one and a quarter miles away) and a sewage works. This gave us later the scope my walking - probably a three and a half mile square of forest. Along the way, I saw definitely three foxes, none of which disappeared and all of which started howling at me.

It was around this time that Kate got my text and phoned me, but her battery was going. The moon had just come out and she just had chance to tell me where the moon was from her view from the fire, when her battery cut out. She didn't think I'd even heard that, but I did and it was crucial information. Thank you Kate and thank you Lady. I had been walking towards the moon, now I knew that I had to walk away from it. This was all going well until I found the hillfort again. My spirits sagged then for the first time. I knew that the hillfort was near the wrong campsite... I just didn't know that the wrong campsite was next to ours, so I turned around and walked back to another main track. This still kept the moon behind me and, I reckon now, would have taken me near to the fire.

I stood at a crossroads and I could hear a car on the road. I listened and I could hear music and voices. In short, I could hear my friends. This hadn't been the first time, but it had been the first time in a couple of hours. Unfortunately, I can't tell direction of sound. I was also getting tired by then. I was seeing wondrous things and having quite an adventure, but I wanted to be with the others celebrating Pete's birthday. Frustrating, to me, is wanting to punch something. This wasn't frustration, but some kind of milder cousin. I figured it would give folk a laugh back at the fire and it wasn't my fault. Pete would understand that (and he did and they laughed after they'd got the being concerned over with). I had no concept of time, I didn't realize how long I'd been gone. I looked at the moon; I discounted (foolishly) the road as not being ours; and, as it was getting lighter by then, I looked around at the landscape - the first time I was able to over any distance. Across two fields was a bit of forest which looked like ours and it kept the moon in the right place. It never occurred to me that even though I couldn't tell sound direction, there was a fireside gang of people who could. Why didn't I just shout? I thought of phoning Kate and getting her to shine a torch into the sky, but her phone battery had just died.

I headed over the fields, then saw a flash of yellow - gorse bushes. Our campsite was surrounded by gorse bushes. From the gorse, I could find the fire! I walked over to find a beautiful sight, a massive stretch of gorse, a maze of it. I had a toilet break, but had already noticed the main road behind it. I knew it to be the road that I should be dismissing... and didn't trust my sense of direction AGAIN. So I turned around and made my way across some bracken and wetlands, then, climbing up onto a bank of a brook, I felt something slip from my pocket. Looked down and couldn't see what, checked fags and lighter... checked 'phone... shit. I ended up with everything out of my bag looking for it. It was gone. Thing is, nothing else was missing, so I don't know what the slipping sensation was. I even climbed down into the brook and peered through bracken and ground nests looking for the Ddraig Goch of my mobile.

Decision time. I knew I had it when I spoke to Kate. I knew where I'd been since and it was light enough to retrace my steps while searching. I only had vague clues as to where 'home' was. I decided that the sensible thing was to see if I could find the phone on the basis that if I got injured or collapsed that might be my salvation. Also, if I gave up and went for the road, then I'd need it for a taxi, unless I wanted to add 'finding a phone box' to my list. If I'd thought that I knew where I was for definite, I'd have said sod the phone, it's replaceable. So I retraced and found it in the gorse-bush place. It must have slipped out as I squatted for a wee.

I made my way back across the wetlands and across the bracken. As I crossed a heath, I saw a patch of forest turn into the most magically beautiful colour. I turned and welcomed a glorious dawn. That's when I stopped walking for the first time, sitting on a rock at the edge of the forest, thanking the dawn for coming. You see, I'd celebrated Beltane in a circle during which I'd watched the sunset. I now knew precisely where east was and I knew where west had been in relation to the camp-site. I walked, and walked, and walked.

I stopped. Deer! Remembering the lesson of the rabbits, I didn't fumble for my digital camera, I just watched and loved it. There were four of them, so graceful. Each froze and watched me, so I did too. It seemed to go on for an interminable amount of time, until my legs screamed to sit down, so I moved and they fled. They weren't like deer as I imagined, either grey or red with white spots. They seemed dark grey to black, very small with white, broad, stumpy tails. I entered a forest trail and ended up on that same damn road.

The really stupid thing is that each time I'd followed a clue, I'd ended up back in the vicinity of the campsite, but upwards of ten mins walk further south-east. Had I just trusted that, or got the message, and persevered, I'd have got there, but each time I turned around and ended up approximately three miles too south at one time. This time I was too tired, I decided to stick with the road on the basis that it had to lead somewhere and if I collapsed from exhaustion, then a passer-by would see me. I stood there and looked up and down this forest road. No clues. I looked at the sun, I chose north-west. :-D

After about 20 mins walking, and wondering if you could call 999 over being lost or report yourself as a missing person or something, I got so despondent for the first time. I knew Kate's battery was dead, but I'd half-sat, half-lay on a grass verge at the side of the road and just wanted to pretend I could call her. So I did. Her phone had been off long enough to get some charge in the battery. Looking back, I was so pathetic a figure there! LOL I didn't cry and there was nothing she could do to help me (I knew that and told her), but I just wanted to hear a friendly voice. Why the fuck I didn't phone one of the Americans, I'll never know... but then it was good canting with Kate, because if something did happen, she'd know that I was last on a proper road somewhere in the forest.

It gave me heart enough to get on my feet and carry on walking. A few minutes later, I saw the van at the end of the track and knew that the wrong campsite was just up the way. They would be open now. I could get directions or a taxi. I walked in there and just fell onto a bench. I got my phone out to tell Kate where I was, but the buttons wouldn't work. I figured it had been damaged lying in the dew, but it worked before and since.

A man came by with some dogs and I asked him where Birchwood was. 'Just there, through the trees'. I stared at him. 'Pardon?' He gave me directions, but I couldn't take them in. I wrote them in my book and just blurted out, 'I've been lost in the forest all night!' He said, 'All night?' 'Yes, I got separated from my friends.' I was losing my voice and I could hear the knackerness in it myself. He replied, 'You should get better map-reading skills.' I nodded and got up, thanked him and followed his directions. I still managed to take a wrong turn, but within sight of the road. I decided against his short-cut beside the sureity of the road.

Within five minutes, I was at the entrance to our campsite. That was such a beautiful moment! As I walked down the driveway, I saw my guide from the other campsite coming out of the short-cut he'd sent me down. I waved and called 'thank you' again, touched that he must have followed to see me alright, but carried on walking towards my tent. There was no sign of anyone. (They were all sitting IN tents, I found out.) I was too tired to think what this meant. I opened our tent and Kate called out, 'Who's that?' She sounded really scared. 'It's Jo.' I mustered. 'Are you alright?' 'Exhausted, but sorted, ta.' She didn't say anything else, and I thought she was gone to sleep. Moving as quietly as possible, I removed my sopping wet DMs and socks, revealing white, wrinkled feet. I sat down and had a fag. My phone told me it was half past 8 in the morning.

I needed fresh water (a cup of tea would have been better, but there was no easy access to one) and the loo, before I lay down. I found Sue in the toilet block and told her what had happened. She'd been abed and didn't know. She looked at all my cuts and scratches and said to wash them. I told her I could deal, I have a first aid kit in the tent. I asked her if there was a cafe on site, because I was desperate for a brew. Nope. I went back to the tent, opened my bedroom section and just crashed. Then heard a beep, beep from Kate's half. 'Are you awake?' 'Yes' Kate opened her section and we canted for a bit. I'd just got to the 'and I could die for a cuppa', when the tent-flap opened and there was Sue with a huge beaker of tea. I nearly cried.

2005-04-26T14:19:00.000+01:00

I've up-dated my book blog.

yours
Mab
xxxxx

'Your mind, your mind, is so full of it...'~ 'Somebody to Love' by Jefferson Airplane

2005-04-24T01:19:00.000+01:00

Rare moment here. I've slept - 11 hours last night - so for the first time in memory, I'm not half-exhausted, running on whatever there's to run on or imbibing something to run on.

I've been so behind on my e-mails. Ian said earlier, 'Why don't you just block delete them like I do?' I could... *smiles thinking of the conversation that Griselda Tello and I had about responsibilities, and that our responsibilities are only to survive and then only what we accept*...

During the course of last night and the 12 hours I've been awake today, those e-mails have involved a handfasting; an initiation; a Grandad at death's door, another two whose Grandad has just passed through, and now another whose father has passed through too; a possible pregnancy; a disappeared girl in Korea; a trip to Britain; a celebratory meal in Wolverhampton; a distressed daughter in London; a five-year-old's visit to Disneyland; three people who feel that they are losing their minds; a haunting; a recommendation (and conversation) about Pagan books which a publisher is considering reprinting; dyslexia and the Pagan academe; the deployment of a friend to Afghanistan and my cousin to Iraq; the birth of a daughter for one of the Kindly Ones; information about Fair Trade vital to a GCSE exam for another friend, and news about her future; and information I held vital for contacting a lawyer in Spain for another friend.

Some responsibilities I'm happy to accept. I'm a different person to who I was this time last year, or maybe more of the person from then. Much calmer, much less easily rattled, but also with far less patience and compassion with those who're just taking the piss.

I have an empty inbox, an empty Witchgrove folder and an empty Kindly Ones folder. How often can I say that?

What's really exciting is that there's a wench on Witchgrove, who Georgia's spoken really highly of, who says she'll teach me. *shivery grin and happy dance*

I'm off to bed with Pratchett's 'The Thief of Time' feeling very accomplished.

yours
Mab
xxxxx

Stolen from Georgia's Blog

2005-04-23T22:39:00.000+01:00

You scored as Celtic Pantheonic Pagan. Your answers leaned very close to that of the Celtic Pantheon. Very popular now among pagans, the Celtic Gods seem to draw those who are sensitive and insightful, but also very passionate about their beliefs. Many Pagan Holidays are named for this pantheon and here is where you'll find many stories on Horned God, Green Man, and Druids. You likely either have been or want to visit Stonehenge one day. Many Arthurian legnds include references to the Celtic faith, as well.

Celtic Pantheonic Pagan

100%

Ecclectic Pagan

70%

Zoroastrian Pagan

65%

Egyptian Pantheonic Pagan

55%

Roman Pantheonic Pagan

45%

Shamanic Pagan

40%

Greek Pantheonic Pagan

35%

Catholic (Pagan?)

30%

Kabbalistic Pagan

30%

Sumerian, Babylonian, and Mesopotamian Pagans

25%

Norse Pantheonic Pagan (Asatru)

25%

Eastern Pagan

20%

What kind of Pagan are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

'And ah, when you work out where to draw the lineYour guess is as good as mine...'~Coldplay

2005-04-22T10:31:00.000+01:00

My Wolverhampton is looking so beautiful today. The trees in blossom, white and pink, and so many trees now green with their leaves opening up. There's still a chill in the air, but the sun is trying to shine. I take visual deep breaths of its beauty and dive back into life again.

Life is going on at the speed of knots. Yesterday I kicked ass in different settings, different ways, different skills, from 20 past 8 in the morning until half 1 the next morning. Though there was one situation in the middle of it where I really wished I could have done more - like live half a planet away, within hugging distance of a friend.

There is so much going on right now. Someone I'm particularly proud of is Aud. She's standing up in front of college students, on Tuesday, speaking about Fair Trade. She's getting to the final stage with her GCSEs right now, which is such hard work. I wish her all the luck in the world, though she doesn't need it. She's going to sail through.

Oh and last night I went to see Derren Brown! He was brilliant!

yours
Mab
xxxxx

2005-04-19T13:07:00.000+01:00

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Some trade justice and a cup of tea please.

2005-04-17T14:37:00.000+01:00

Hiya,

This is what me and FT Kate did on Friday night-Saturday morning: Protesters call for trade justice. There's also a video link on BBC News, but I can't find the URL to it now.

We asked a policeman in Whitehall how many people he estimated were there, he told us 20,000. The news reported 7,000. We haven't heard from the organizers yet. The rule of thumb is usually to go for the halfway point between what the police say and what the organizers say.

It was a disheartening start. I'd had a bad, draining day at work and just wanted to sit quietly somewhere and either find some energy or go to sleep. I walked into Kate's after having listened to the situation in Longbridge on one station after another for an hour. I listened to workers and their families being interviewed - 20,000 people are going to lose their jobs in my area - thought on the miners' strike and had just wiped my eyes when Kate pulled up. She had just been to see her Grandad, who is extremely ill and incoherent. He was begging her to take him home, though he was home, and wasn't rational enough to tell her which home in his personal history he meant. She was upset, fleeing into the house to sob her heart out. On top of this, it was raining. Not just raining, tipping it down, can't see four yards in front of the car raining.

We dallied. We had something to eat, had a cuppa, canted, looked out of the window. Thought about it. Would the world actually end if we didn't go? But we went. Complicating it all too was the fact that I had a family party on the Saturday night. This involved getting to London, staying up all night, driving home after staying up all night, trying to grab some sleep, driving home, going to a party. Kate offered to drive. By Warwickshire, the weather was so bad that we even very briefly considered the idea of turning back. Extremely briefly, more unsaid than said, but what if it was washed out and hardly anyone went... By Oxfordshire, the rain stopped and the night became a little better.

We parked at Hillingdon and caught the tube into Westminster. We'd set out at quarter past 8 and didn't reach Westminster until nearly 11pm. I'll not forget the sight that met us. As far as the eye could see there were people with candles. Young ones - babies in arms, toddlers on shoulders, teenagers - and the elderly, young people, middle aged people, people who look like your parents, people with plums in their mouths and tailored suits, people who look like they could be at the Glastonbury Festival. Banners were there in English and in Welsh. Everyone you spoke to had travelled quite a distance to be there. I don't know where the Welsh lot were from, otherwise me and Kate had travelled the furthest of all those I spoke to. The night was quite mild. It was beautiful.

We'd missed the speeches in Westminster Abbey, but that only held 5,000 people anyway. That had been full and so had the area around it and Parliament Square. We marched from there to Whitehall... ish... We actually marched about 50 yards up the road, because we were so late and the sheer number of people meant that that was as far as we could go! There was an unbelievable moment at midnight. Big Ben chimed at the end of the street and we had a minute's silence. I stared into my candle's flame and channelled all the energy around into the cause with goosebumps up my arms.

I'm trying to get pictures of myself in my Fair Trade top outside famous landmarks. It was extremely cold when I took my jumper and coat off for this one outside Downing Street (behind the row of policemen and the black gate), in Whitehall, after the crowds had mostly gone back to Parliament Sq, Leicester Sq or Trafalgar Sq for the various events. Kate had the sense to keep her coat on!

After that, it was a case of wandering around, soaking in that amazing atmosphere and doing a bit of sightseeing, like the permanent protest in Parliament Square:

And trying to peer through the railings at Westminster Abbey, which was now closed to the public but had its doors open, so I could just about see the tomb of the unknown soldier and some of the paintings. That was a pity, because I was well up for going in there. There was a huge queue outside St Margaret's Church, mainly of families with children, going in to catch some sleep before the dawn march. The Sanctuary Square was full of people with their candles, staring out over Parliament Square at the Houses of Parliament, or trying to queue for coffee outside the Methodist Chapel (huge place) or the Women's Institute. Kate and I gave up on that one when we discovered there was an hour's wait just to get in the door. We decided to go up to St Martin's in the Fields, by Trafalgar Square, where coffee was being served in the crypt.

But first got another famous landmark in my Fair Trade top pic:

I was soooooo cold! I'd taken my contact lenses out an hour earlier, because my eyes were hurting. But took my glasses off to get my coat and jumper over my head. I couldn't see my glasses when Kate said to pose (there were lots of people around, so we had to pick our moment) and I'd just dropped my lighter off the curb. That is the smile of a freezing cold, blind person, who is scared of a car killing her lighter. Picture was taken, I started dithering and got my clothes on VERY quickly. Then we set off up Whitehall to track down the coffee at St Martins in the Fields Crypt.

That's Whitehall by the way. And this is me and Kate in Whitehall, as a friendly policeman took the picture:

Whitehall was beautiful. Thousands of votive candles lining the curb right up to Trafalgar Square, though the photo of those didn't come out. The queue up St Martins was huge. Easily an hour and half wait until you even got the inside of the building. Kate and I sat on the steps to decide what to do next, it now being very obvious that we weren't going to get into anything, but pleased by that, because it meant that the event itself was far better supported that the organizers had planned for. Some Londoners joined us, wanting to know what Fair Trade was all about. I took one of them and Kate took the other two. They seemed enlightened as they left. Mine had a candle off me and promised to join the dawn march. Kate and I decided that somewhere mainstream in London HAD to sell Fair Trade. So we walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Every coffee shop between Trafalgar Square and Tottenham Court Road, Leicester Square and back through ChinaTown, was asked, 'Do you sell Fair Trade?' Those nearest had a long-suffering look and tone, 'Sorry, no Fair Trade...' As if 20,000 people had already been in, asked, and left again without buying anything. By the time we got back to St Martins, our legs felt like they'd become short, painful, worn-down stumps, but the queue was slightly shorter. We joined it, having walked about 4-5 miles round trip, and as we waited a man came out. At first, I thought he was the vicar, but as he reached us, I realized that it was just that he had a white shirt and black jacket. He pointed to us (as he had everyone in the queue) and said, 'You are one in a million. You are special.' Then went on. I actually felt the cockles of my heart warm up. Yes, we were prepared to wait for hours for coffee which had been fairly traded and which gave a chance to those producing it, rather than cross the road and instantly get a mug of Nescafe. We were one in a million (well whatever 20,000 is of a million) and we were special. I was so proud of us and it was nice to meet a bodhisavata.

Eventually we were in. Warmth, seats, coffee, soup... do you know how precious these things are? 'kin Hell. So much taken for granted but right then, right there, I knew their worth. There was even a toilet. My back was so stiff that when I sat down, it wouldn't give. I had to lean forward in my chair until the pain went away, rubbing vigorously until I got feeling back. Slowly, but surely, unthawing and unstiffening until I could sit back and relax my muscles slightly. Also, all around London, we'd encountered drunk people, some half-dressed and shivering, but looking lovely, crowds of folk having a good time, but bumping into you because they weren't looking where they were going. We went back to what, in effect, was an area of London taken over by the Trade Justice people, all of whom smiled, were considerate, looked out for one another. The atmosphere was so peaceful and beautiful there, especially in contrast. 'A tremendous sense that whatever we were doing was right...' as Hunter Thompson would put it.

We had soup and a bun, I had latte and Kate had two black coffees. We couldn't finish the soup - beautiful as it was - because there was just so much of it and very filling, so two girls on the next table polished it for us. All around were people wilting, half-asleep or just staring into space, but still that huge mixture of backgrounds, ages, cultures etc. People every so often just thanking each other. By now it was past 4am. We'd missed a vigil out on Whitehall, because we'd just that second got our hands on our coffee when the call went out around the cafe. Kate and I just looked at each other. There are times when you do need to be selfish, that was one of them. We got our seats and did our vigil in them!

It felt wrong lingering in St Martins for too long, with folk needing the seats and warmth as much as we had. So soon as we'd finished our coffee and soup, gone to the loo and warmed up, we went back out to have a fag. We just needed a nice seat. Halfway up Nelson's Column was the place! It took some getting up there, but there was a wonderful view. That was so surreal, like a scene out of 'Dogma' or 'City of Angels' or even 'Charmed', where a couple of friends are perched atop a famous landmark looking down on the city. It was too dark for decent pictures, even by my standards, but I did my best:

The latter is a lion's arse, btw, just in case you're really struggling there. I also took a pic of Kate still sitting up where we were, but it's just too dark. I'm going to have to see if one of the professional photographers can lighten it. Up there though, we came to the conclusion that if we were going to make it home awake, we ought to slowly leave now. So we made our way back to Whitehall and I managed to keep my peace candle alight ALL the way down there! It took some doing, some slow walking and nifty cardboard action to keep the wind off, but it kept alight. I was well proud. There was a queue the size of Bournemouth outside the public ladies' toilets, so Kate and I went in the Gents instead. I've seen a dick before and I'm sure they've all seen ladies.

Then a slow meander into the tube station and back. By slow, I mean slow. There was a tube line down, but we didn't know until we'd been standing on Baker Street platform for half an hour. We had to go to an entirely different station and there was a bus laid on. The bus-driver didn't know the route, so one of the passengers had to stand up front and direct him to Harrow-on-the-Hill. One time, he took a wrong turn and tried to reverse, until a van (whose stupid driver... think nice thoughts about the stupid driver) had tried to get up the side of us. We missed him by inches. I watched from the back-window to direct us backwards, while another passenger opened the door and directed us within the four inch gap beside the van. We got out without further incident, couple of other detours, then onto a train to Hillingdon which sounded more dangerous than my car. All told it took us 2 and a quarter hours to do the 40 min journey back to Hillingdon. Kate then put her foot down and we covered half the country in an hour and 10 minutes, collapsing onto her settee in Brierley Hill with sherry to knock us out.

I had a grand total of two hours sleep. I'd just started to drop off when her housemate woke me leaving the house. He'd forgotten something, so came back. Three times I had a blast of cold air from the open front door, then he was gone, silence reigned and I got those two hours. Up again, and slowly woke myself up with coffee and Pro Plus, before canting with Ian for an hour on the 'phone and then driving home.

EXCITEMENT! I had had two certificates back from Wolverhampton Registrar's. One got me another generation back on my Nan's side; the other FINALLY after ten years told me who my Dad's grandad is. The elusive Thomas Ayres is now definitely Thomas Silvanus Ayres, born in Wolverhampton in 1876. I didn't have time to research it fully before we were out the door and up the TA in Fallings Park, me, Mum and Dad, for my cousin Sarah's 40th birthday. We walked in between an army guard of honour. It was a good night, me practically rattling with Pro Plus. I got to have a look around when my cousin, Andrew, ran at me while I was dancing, threw me over his shoulder and ran the length of two corridors to drop me into the officer's mess. That's one way to see the place, 6ft 5" off the ground, trying not to giggle as you're trying to tell the bloke off. He'd sat in something, so I did get to smack him as I whacked the flour or whatever it was off. Git.

We didn't leave there until quarter to one in the morning. Let's just say I slept last night!

I'd like to thank everyone who was in Whitehall on Friday night; or one of the similar events all over the world. To everyone who refuses non Fair Trade produce, I just want to say that YOU are one-in-a-million. YOU are special. Thank you.

yours
Mab
xxxxx

To All my Friends with AOL

2005-04-15T10:00:00.000+01:00

This has come from the University's IT department and will explain why I can't e-mail you:

Urgent IT Announcement: e-mail to AOL blocked

This problem affects all University e-mail sent to AOL e-mail addresses (@aol.com).

The University domain has been blacklisted by AOL due to receipt of spam e-mail from the University. All University mail is blocked even though the mail was sent from a school server not the main University servers. Emails sent from a University email address (@wlv.ac.uk) will not reach any AOL address (@aol.com) and an error message will be returned.

AOL has been asked to lift the ban but they have informed us that there is a 3 day backlog before they will contact the University. We cannot advise when the problem will be resolved.

Please see the ITS news web page for updates www.wlv.ac.uk/its/news

Purdy

2005-04-14T12:18:00.000+01:00

Glastonbury Festival (tattoo)

Stonehenge

Avebury

Hoover Dam

www.maketradefair.com

Ronan Keating

2005-04-14T11:51:00.000+01:00

Just want to write a big YAY to Ronan Keating. It might be partly my war of attrition on the subject of Fair Trade, but a wench whom I never thought would show the slightest bit of interest in prompting Fair Trade is suddenly very interested.

Why?

Because I was mentioning that I'm not going to get a whole lot of sleep at the weekend, what with one thing or another, mainly the all-night Fair Trade event down in London. But I need to go there, because this is happening and that's happening, and I was going anyway but... somewhere along the way, I must have mentioned Ronan Keating, because suddenly Fair Trade is really cool and 'tell me all about it'. The wench is perusing www.maketradefair.com as we speak.

Should I quit while I'm ahead? LOL

Na... I wouldn't be me else. I'll write about it in my blog instead.

RONAN KEATING SUPPORTS FAIR TRADE!

And so does Colin Firth, and Coldplay, and REM, and Jamelia, and Alanis Morrisette, and Antonio Banderas, and Pete Postlewaithe, and Vanessa Redgrave, and Razorlight, and Radiohead...

Here's some more: Celebrity supporters

Ok, I'll go and do some work now.

yours
Mab
xxxxx

'You're telling me it's in the trees, it's in the trees,It's not, it's inside me...'~ 'Green Cell Grey' by Ned's Atomic Dustbin

2005-04-13T12:49:00.000+01:00

I feel well dodgy today. I feel hungover, even though all I had last night were: one vanilla milkshake, two Red Bulls and one J2O. I got home feeling dodgy and all through html-ing the weekly discussion, I felt nauseaous and faint. I just been in the bathroom gagging, came back to switch the computer off, when TygerCub e-mailed to say that I could use her picture, 'The Reading Room', for it, so I finished it off. But then had to dash an e-mail off to the Mods to ask someone to add it to the blog before I fell over. Anna, bless her socks, did it for me. Then went abed, shut my eyes and got a sudden image of a bloke there with me. He wasn't entirely alive. I did want anyone would do in this situation, I screamed mentally for Georgia.

Poor Georgia. I think that stems from the first day I was back after my car accident, when I hurt my neck outside. I sent an astral SOS for pain relief, then realized that, out of Temenach, only Georgia would be awake. So I screamed for Georgia and felt the pain receding. I think it's now a reflex action - something bad is happening involving astral/supernatural etc and my first instinct is to go GEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGG
GGGIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! The fact that there are dozens of others who could help me by-passes me completely.

Anyway, screamed for Georgia and the sight of the thing disappeared. I was alone then feeling freezing cold, gasping for breath like an asthmatic and wondering if I could make it to the loo before I threw up. And that's the last thing I remember.

This morning, I've woken up feeling exhausted and hungover... despite about six and a half hour's sleep (I overslept) and the fact that I didn't touch a drop last night.

Work is downright yampy. But I think I'm getting somewhere with this website. I've been working on this section for two days.

yours
Mab
xxxxx

"There you stood on the edge of your feather, Expecting to fly."Buffalo Springfield

2005-04-06T12:05:00.000+01:00

I am having SUCH A GREAT LIFE AT THE MOMENT!

*bounces around like a bouncing thing on amphetamines*

Yes I was tired, but as I said last night, that was a busy at work and not sleeping thing. I actually listened to Cerr and went abed about half 11 last night and slept as soon as my head was on the pillow. I've woken up this morning so awake. And greatness happened, first off Mum 'phoned to say my cheque had come! Then she 'phoned again to say that I'd had a big parcel from Twin Roses Designs! Then one of my colleagues went up Wolverhampton and popped into a shop for me to save me the trip (I don't actually work in the centre anymore, so it's a git finding somewhere to park, and expensive too).

All of this ON TOP OF THE FACT THAT I'M GOING TO THE GLASTONBURY FESTIVAL! I'm going, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going... 'kin Hell, I'm going! *happy dances, then just sways in entranced happy, long-sighted wonder* It had only hit me by Monday. I'm driving along, with Celtic music blasting out of Rebecca, and my eyes are filling up.

I'm so chilled out these days. I swear.

yours
Mab
xxxxx