Finally made it to Glastonbury today – the Tor, not the dopey festival. I travelled through the ridiculously beautiful villages of Somerset. I’ve been wanting to visit the town after a lifetime fascination with the Once and Future King. If you haven’t read any of Stephen R. Lawhead’s books, you have a treat in store. Ynys Afallach and all the myths surrounding the Knights of the Round Table. What’s not to love? I was expecting the town to be the usual tourist trap and was quite surprised to be charmed by it. Yes, it does have more shops selling resin dragons than is strictly necessary, but I loved the whole hippie ethos of the place. I am rather fond of hippies; I admire their sturdy idealism in a deeply cynical world, and besides they smiled and said hello to me.
The next surprise was Glastonbury Abbey. Walking around the exhibits and relics left over from the final destruction of the Abbey during the time of that Arch-Vandal Henry VIII was quite a moving experience. The sanctity of the Abbey feels intact even though there are precious few ruins still standing. It was absolutely lovely and peaceful. The monks at Glastonbury claimed to have discovered the graves and bodies of Arthur and Guinevere but the relics went missing after the dissolution of the monasteries. I can’t tell you how much I love these mysteries 🙂 There are also some rather nice artworks exhibited in the tiny gallery attached to the museum. Check out Anabel Ludovici Gray and Alessandra Alexandroff.
Next stop was the Chalice Well which a friend had been raving about, telling me what a peaceful and healing place it is. I was a bit sceptical about this one. The Well is supposed to be the place where Joseph of Arimathea placed the Holy Grail containing drops of Jesus’ blood, with the water of the well turning red in reaction. The more prosaic explanation involves Iron Oxide turning the water red but where is the romance in that? The garden also contains the Holy Thorn Tree that is said to have sprung up where Joseph planted his staff. Terrific. Altogether now: And did those feet, in ancient time, Walk upon England’s mountains green…… Of course I tasted the water. It does have the ferric tang and smell associated with rust(rusty nails of the Holy Rood…) and of course, blood. I pretty much had the gardens to myself and there is very much a sense of peace there. I love a garden, I really do. I had a similar experience at the Garden Tomb in Jerusalem. Wonderful.
Last stop was Glastonbury Tor itself. Instead of going up the public footpath like a normal person, I managed to meander all over the place, climbing over stiles and keeping a beady eye out for bulls and stampeding cows. I finally found someone to ask directions from. He looked very distressed and told me that yes, I could indeed keep going uphill as I was, but that I really should join ‘the right path’ as soon as possible. That made me laugh – he was obviously one of life’s born conformists. The idea that I might take my own idiosyncratic path up the Tor freaked him out. The holiest hill in England, and he believed the only way to reach the top was by following the man-made path and none other. Did I join ‘the right path’? Do you even need to ask? Of course not. I steadfastly ignored it; instead I nearly killed myself clambering through the steep woodland clutching at trees and roots. My heart was beating like the clappers (note to self; you are NOT fit!) AND I ruined my shoes, but it was worth it. What a view! I could see three counties from the summit- Dorset, Wiltshire and Somerset. Totes Amaze. It was easy to see how it could be called Ynys Witrin, the Isle of Glass. With the Somerset Levels flooded and the Tor marooned in the resulting lake, the lower slopes must have looked like a sheet of glass in the sunlight. Did I find Excalibur or feel the awen come over me? Nope, not a sausage. Not even a little tingle. I did clamber down with a huge smile on my face though. Glasto? Six stars, no question. I leave you with Robert Frost:
Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Have a lovely weekend, and never drink the KoolAid.
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In The Ether
I was reading a monograph about the Foxglove plant earlier this week, about how originally it was used to treat ‘dropsy’, often killing the patient along the way until a chemist figured out how much of the dried leaf to give, and that digitalis works by strengthening and slowing the heart. It is still widely used today in the treatment of heart failure; as digoxin rather than the macerated leaf. It made me wonder how knowledge is first discovered. Who was the first person to use the leaf all those hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago? Why did they think it would work? Who first noticed the painkilling properties of Willow bark, leading to the discovery of Aspirin? How did people know to treat tumours with the extract of the Yew tree which is incredibly poisonous, centuries before scientists isolated taxanes? Pharmacognosy is endlessly fascinating to me. I often wonder if knowledge is just out there in the Cosmos, and that if I pay enough attention, I can glimpse something out of the corner of my eye. Fanciful, I know. It is the difference between understanding and knowledge. The former is usually to do with discovery, the latter to do with accruing power. So, a large glass of Pimms to the discoverers, and a loud raspberry to the power-mad egomaniacs.
Speaking of which, say hello to the new boss; same as the old boss. I told the people who were traumatised by Trump’s election not to worry last year. It doesn’t matter who you vote for, the same agenda seems to be on the table all the time. And here we are. the same bloodthirsty, warmongering sons and daughters of Belial seem to be hellbent on starting a war in the Middle East, bombing Syria on the most spurious of grounds, and no one seems to be asking for evidence. They don’t even bother with the UN Security Council any more. There’s no money for healthcare or welfare but there’s always money for bombs. Still, man proposes and God disposes, and we shall see what we shall see. It’s just that it’s so disheartening in Holy Week to see us on the same path to destruction.
In a bid to cheer us all up, I’ve provided a link to one of my favourite cartoons, Tex Avery’s Rock-A-Bye Bear. This one is for my brother Wolix. Hope you all have a great week.
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The One Less Travelled
Finally made it to Glastonbury today – the Tor, not the dopey festival. I travelled through the ridiculously beautiful villages of Somerset. I’ve been wanting to visit the town after a lifetime fascination with the Once and Future King. If you haven’t read any of Stephen R. Lawhead’s books, you have a treat in store. Ynys Afallach and all the myths surrounding the Knights of the Round Table. What’s not to love? I was expecting the town to be the usual tourist trap and was quite surprised to be charmed by it. Yes, it does have more shops selling resin dragons than is strictly necessary, but I loved the whole hippie ethos of the place. I am rather fond of hippies; I admire their sturdy idealism in a deeply cynical world, and besides they smiled and said hello to me.
The next surprise was Glastonbury Abbey. Walking around the exhibits and relics left over from the final destruction of the Abbey during the time of that Arch-Vandal Henry VIII was quite a moving experience. The sanctity of the Abbey feels intact even though there are precious few ruins still standing. It was absolutely lovely and peaceful. The monks at Glastonbury claimed to have discovered the graves and bodies of Arthur and Guinevere but the relics went missing after the dissolution of the monasteries. I can’t tell you how much I love these mysteries 🙂 There are also some rather nice artworks exhibited in the tiny gallery attached to the museum. Check out Anabel Ludovici Gray and Alessandra Alexandroff.
Next stop was the Chalice Well which a friend had been raving about, telling me what a peaceful and healing place it is. I was a bit sceptical about this one. The Well is supposed to be the place where Joseph of Arimathea placed the Holy Grail containing drops of Jesus’ blood, with the water of the well turning red in reaction. The more prosaic explanation involves Iron Oxide turning the water red but where is the romance in that? The garden also contains the Holy Thorn Tree that is said to have sprung up where Joseph planted his staff. Terrific. Altogether now: And did those feet, in ancient time, Walk upon England’s mountains green…… Of course I tasted the water. It does have the ferric tang and smell associated with rust(rusty nails of the Holy Rood…) and of course, blood. I pretty much had the gardens to myself and there is very much a sense of peace there. I love a garden, I really do. I had a similar experience at the Garden Tomb in Jerusalem. Wonderful.
Last stop was Glastonbury Tor itself. Instead of going up the public footpath like a normal person, I managed to meander all over the place, climbing over stiles and keeping a beady eye out for bulls and stampeding cows. I finally found someone to ask directions from. He looked very distressed and told me that yes, I could indeed keep going uphill as I was, but that I really should join ‘the right path’ as soon as possible. That made me laugh – he was obviously one of life’s born conformists. The idea that I might take my own idiosyncratic path up the Tor freaked him out. The holiest hill in England, and he believed the only way to reach the top was by following the man-made path and none other. Did I join ‘the right path’? Do you even need to ask? Of course not. I steadfastly ignored it; instead I nearly killed myself clambering through the steep woodland clutching at trees and roots. My heart was beating like the clappers (note to self; you are NOT fit!) AND I ruined my shoes, but it was worth it. What a view! I could see three counties from the summit- Dorset, Wiltshire and Somerset. Totes Amaze. It was easy to see how it could be called Ynys Witrin, the Isle of Glass. With the Somerset Levels flooded and the Tor marooned in the resulting lake, the lower slopes must have looked like a sheet of glass in the sunlight. Did I find Excalibur or feel the awen come over me? Nope, not a sausage. Not even a little tingle. I did clamber down with a huge smile on my face though. Glasto? Six stars, no question. I leave you with Robert Frost:
Road Not Taken
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I wanna be like you…oo oo
What a dreadful day for London. It’s difficult to know what to say without resorting to platitudes or running the risk of offending the people who have been affected. I just pray for God’s solace for the bereaved, healing for the sick, and protection for all Londoners as well as the people in all war zones- in Syria, Libya, Yemen, Iraq, Afghanistan; and provision for all who hunger and thirst, for those affected by famine in Kenya, for the poor and disenfranchised all over the world. There is no comment that I can make about the Westminster attack that could possibly make things better for any of you therefore I have done the only thing I can which is to try and make you smile a little bit. Babies don’t know from a gun, and God bless them for it. They make the world a much better place just by being here and gurgling. I think the baby Putin is my favourite, followed closely by baby DeVito.
Hope you all arrive home safe and sound, Londoner or not. I know we will all try to do all the good we can to all the people we can, it’s how we roll.
Man Bites Dog
The headline in the paper yesterday made me laugh, “Mourinho Fury”. Why this was considered to be newsworthy is a mystery. Mourinho is always furious, it’s his default setting. It’s like having a headline saying Alex Ferguson hates referees or the rain in Spain mainly falls on the plain (note to self – is that true or a truism: must check). Now if I read an article where Mourinho explains that he is just an ordinary human being, nothing special at all about him, and he is one of Wenger’s greatest fans, that would be news. Having thoroughly detested him when he was at Chelsea working for the enemy, he is now the manager of my team– MAN U FOREVER!!!!!! (sorry, it’s a conditioned reflex 🙂 ) and I now have to view the Special One with resigned indulgence. It strikes me that much of the news is not news at all. For example–“Government U-Turn on…..tax credits, fuel surcharge, grammar schools, death tax (nice one by the way, Tories. A sure vote-winner. Dimwits.), Heathrow expansion, the Large Hadron Collider. OK, I made that last one up but you see my point. Yawn, yawn, yawn. Perhaps it’s a cunning plan to bore us all into submission.
Even more annoying from the scientific point of view is the endless stream of ridiculous items puffing some new discovery that will change how we live – in 10 years time. New cure for cancer- in 5 years time. Diabetes reversed- in 5 years time. Statins may be the elixir of life; Clinical trials results expected – in 5 years time. It’s infuriating. I can understand why shameless, grant-hungry scientists spout this nonsense. I don’t understand why papers publish it. Immortality is not an option; if we can extend the average life expectancy to even 90 in the next 100 years, I’ll eat my hat. And yes, I’ll probably still be here to eat it in that case 🙂 It is appointed to man to die once, and after that, judgement. Carpe diem, folks. You won’t come this way again.
On a cheery note, here is a by no means exhaustive list of the things that have been said to cause cancer over the recent past: butter, margarine, butter (again), bacon, toast, crisps, pickles, high heels (not really, just seeing if you are paying attention), water (Bisphenol A in bottled water, oestrogens in tap water. Terrific), petrol, diesel, petrol, diesel again, air (see petrol and diesel), etc etc, ad infinitum. The latest this week was Cheddar Cheese and Cream Cheese. Really? Exactly how much cheese is carcinogenic? A thin slice, 500g, 2 kilos? These idiotic articles are always a bit short on that kind of information. What if I have a bacon and cheese toastie? It’s practically a suicide attempt. Too ridiculous. I won’t live for a 100 years on a kale and quinoa diet; it will only feel like it. And I actually love kale. I leave you with a selection of headlines I’m sure we’d all love to see:
Tony Blair admits: There were no WMDs. I lied.
Miley Cyrus joins local convent.
Government announces ‘We have no idea what to do next.’
Multinational corporation admits lousy profits due to incompetence rather than Brexit.
Israel and Iran announce new trade and culture treaty. Americans pledge to stop saying Eye-ran in line with the rest of the planet.(Just messing with you, my American brethren)
Oh well, we can dream. Have a lovely weekend.
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If Wishes Were Horses
Today’s post is dedicated to the memory of my dearest friend, Bunmi Wilkey. So, I have the flu–again. But hang on, I hear you say. Didn’t you already catch the flu virus at Christmas? Shouldn’t you therefore be immune? You’da thunk, right? The worst part has been having to work through it. Dealing with people whilst breaking out in a feverish cold sweat is not a good look. Let’s draw a veil over this hideous episode. But not before I share my latest composition à la Ogden Nash with you:
Pyrexia,
Wrecks ya.
I blame the salmon. Apparently, all our salmon is toxic! Eek!! It’s all pumped full of emamectin benzoate which sounds thoroughly delicious. Mmmm, that puts the slam in salmon. I would have taken this more seriously if the spokesman from GAAIA (me neither) had managed to refrain from hyperbole. “All salmon is farmed and dangerous.” He’s obviously not getting enough emamectin benzoate 🙂 I’m not scared of emamectin benzoate. In any battle between emamectin and the viruses currently coursing through my system, my money’s on the viruses, the evil little suckers. In the same spirit of hysteria, the paper informed us that there is a ‘fuel price-war’. Yup, Asda is taking 2p off the price of a litre of diesel. So, only £75.80 to fill up a Mini now, rather than £76. Spend that 20p wisely, y’all. You could use it to take all your friends and family to the utterly fabulous THIRDHOME resort in Cabo San Lucas as pictured above. On the gastronomic front, there is some good news. Scientists have apparently been able to ward off post-partum blues by feeding new mothers spinach, blueberries and chocolate. Three of my favourite foods! (Not necessarily together). I have taken the executive decision to omit the totally unnecessary painful childbirth bit, and proceed directly to the eating foods I like bit. AlaraApothecary: Lifestyle advice without 36 hours of labour.
I’ve included some of the dreamy stuff I’ve been looking at lately in this post. If I lived in that Parisian apartment, I’d never leave home. I’d just spend all my time stroking the walls and the furniture. Kinda explains why God has not gifted me that apartment, double drat. However, in my lovely dwelling which I am very lucky to have, I made an excellent Lemon & Pepper Roast Chicken yesterday. Pure ambrosia, no kidding. The secret is to marinade, marinade, marinade. To start any kitchen newbies off on your baby steps, why don’t you try the Charentais Melon Salad courtesy of the geniuses at The Cook’s Atelier:
Serves 63 ripe melons
6 thin slices prosciutto di San Daniele
18 very pretty basil leaves
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepperFor the vinaigrette
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil.In a small bowl, add the balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Â Stir together to form a broken vinaigrette.Cut the melon in half lengthwise, remove the seeds, and slice the melon into 1-inch-thick wedges. Â Set aside.Arrange the melon on the salad plate. Â Drape a slice of prosciutto over and around them, leaving some of the melon peeking through. Â Drizzle with olive oil balsamic vinaigrette. Â Scatter the basil leaves on top, and grind a little black pepper over the salad.
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