Gearing up for the Tor

Despite it adding a good half an hour to the drive precisely because of people like me, I took the road past Stonehenge to Glastonbury. I always like to catch a glimpse of those ancient stones as I head this way. The edge of an ancient and powerful part of our land, buoyed up by coastline close on both sides, and plenty of tin.

I’m back on top of the Tor, looking out over Somerset in a relatively gentle wind. No ants today. Last time I was here, but to breathe was to have a mouthful of flying ants. Now it’s just the sheep. They’re oblivious to the vista of Somerset spread out below them, head buried in the same old grass. Stupid sheep.

Lou is beside me stuffing her face with baked enchilada with garlic potatoes and a green salad with tamari and ginger dressing. It smells amazing. I’m fasting. I can’t even eat flying ants, which is just as well as I’m hungry enough to yawn a bit of protein in if there were any.

The weather is perfect again, although at 3pm it feels like evening. You get a great perspective from up here on the omphalos but fuck me it’s crowded.

A sunny Saturday.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Snippets of conversation drift on the air. “Is that the sea?” “Are you gay?” “Hush your moaning.”

I’m moving energy around again. I’ve let go of a huge amount of old energetic weight and immediately got an extremely positive text message from one of the many plates I’ve got spinning. Plates can’t send text messages, of course. The plate is a person. I’m using metaphors again.

Considering the state of the world things feel astonishingly positive in my life at the moment. The last few times I’ve sought advice from Grandma it’s been darker days for me. Now it’s dark days for my industry and the world in general and I feel surprisingly upbeat. There’s my healthy contrarian side in full swing as ever.

This time going to the grandmother I just have certainty that she wants to tell me something, so I’ve come here to listen. Not my real grandmother. My grandmother is a plant. My actual grandmother isn’t a plant. Well, in some senses she is now I expect.

This is getting too complicated. Just ignore me, shrug and mumble the words “Fecking hippy”. That’ll cover most bases when I go rambling off again.

I’m going to spend the night in a tent again so I’m glad it’s warm at least. This was something of an impulse, brought on by the fact that I’m starting to shift things in my life and my flat that have been stagnant for far too long. I just felt called to it. Tonight I might feel differently. Tomorrow morning when I’m yarking into a bucket after somebody burns my arm and puts frog poison into the burn I might think differently. But right now this feels like the right thing at the right time for the right reasons. Aho. It’s gonna be a long night.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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