The Saturday between

This season is an auspicious one. Who knows how long we have celebrated death and rebirth here. We see the world around us start to regain life and colour. Butterflies in the air suddenly, the birds are back. Plant life pushing up, with character and brightness. Tickety boo.

We have symbols we have inherited and repurposed for who knows how long now. On Friday we ate cakes. Death cakes. Soul Cakes marking the death of a season. My mum used to bring them out first thing in the morning. “One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns!” Buttery warm raisiny delight. I went and got one from Kemptown Bakery on Friday and happily munched it. We all know what happens after the death cakes. Rebirth time! Although today the body is in the tomb still. The dark takes a little while to remember how to be light. We can get it by being happy and connecting with family.

Tomorrow we celebrate Eostre again with her hares and eggs. An egg – the promise of life. Things are coming back at last, including the sun. We won’t be dancing round the maypole for some time yet, but it’s improving.

This season, the eggs are much the same, but the hot cross buns are weirding me out. You could probably get lemongrass and ginger buns if you looked hard enough. Chocolate. Blueberry. Caramel. Chai. Maple pecan. Apple and cinnamon. Greed. Rhubarb and Custard. Cheese and tomato. Cheese and chilli. Cheese and Cheese.

It’s only once a year. If we are only going to eat something once a year, how can we get bored of it enough that panels of taste testers at supermarkets across the country are paid in summer to say “ooh I like this one” about this rash of bunternatives. A bun is a bun is a bun. It’s got a cross on it. It’s fine. I don’t need the services of “Hi I’m Frances, the alternative Bun-Chef.” I just want a bun that tastes of bun. I only really want to eat it one day out of 365, although I’m happy for the supermarkets to get a few more purchases out of me in season. I’ll be loading up with eggs tomorrow. I’m not a man of great patterns. But I like all the faff of Easter and it isn’t rammed down our throats like Christmas.

Messed up the scheduling again. Happy Easter all.

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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