Round the Herne

  My reading of the twelfth and final chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's book "The Phoenix and the Carpet". The poor old carpet really is worn out and, after a scare in which the nature of language is questioned, the magical bird makes a decision about its future. The power of magic is a huge responsibility, far too huge for children to bear (or, indeed, most adults) - such that a little of it goes a long way! The carpet itself responds to requests in a way very much in keeping with ancient understandings of magic that saw it as a vast and impersonal power that ought to be handled with kid gloves, before the New Age approach we have now that insists everything is about the intentions of the person rather than being anything external to their own massive ego. Without wanting to get sidetracked into 21st century obsessions with gender, I wonder if the phoenix is female or possibly some kind of hermaphrodite that reproduces without necessity for activities rega

 My reading of the eleventh chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". Here the children realise how badly they have worn out the magical carpet and then have a near-deadly trip to the theatre. The phoenix takes worship where he finds it (sometimes we all need to take it where we can get it). It is a salutary reminder that, as an old Scottish saying has it, the value of a well is not known until it runs dry. Those of us blessed by magical forces - native skills, generous relatives, kindly friends etc. - can assume that they are a bottomless source of benefit that can be turned to again and again without ever running dry. Yet all things are finite and overuse can exhaust even the most plentiful source (something we are beginning to see with planet we dwell on). Sometimes the source can be patched up or will renew naturally if we give it a break, but sometimes gone is gone. The children will soon find out where the carpet sits in th

  My reading of the tenth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story The Phoenix and the Carpet. The poor old carpet begins to become threadbare and some of the children end up having a second encounter with the unfortunate clergyman from the desert island wedding - who begins to question the very nature of his reality in a moment that reminds me of Zhuang Zhou's dream of being a butterfly (a fascinating episode from Taoist philosophy, for anyone unfamiliar with that school of spiritual thought). The clergyman's sisters have a somewhat more pragmatic approach to the nature of the cosmos - probably one experienced by quite a few people over the centuries who have wisely decided which bits of reality to admit to and which to leave unspoken. Perhaps this chapter serves as a partial reminder that magic should be used sparingly to avoid wearing it too thin. As Aristotle himself might have said, all things in moderation!

 My reading of the ninth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". In this part of the book, we catch up with the cook on her desert island and the children engage in a jail break.  Criminologists should be pleased by the prospect that the villainously inclined can be so readily rehabilitated (mostly using the power of cows - I may have to try and work this in to a future Environmental Psychology lecture as an example of the therapeutic power of animals!).

 I've written a couple of previous poems (one published by Moon Books the other two as yet unpublished) about the peculiar Uncle Carbuncle and his various unfortunate relatives. This third addition centres on a Yuletide gift to his (as yet unnamed) nephew and niece. The written version of the poem follows the recording, in a randomly made up metre. UNCLE CARBUNCLE'S GIFT Laden with presents, home we return, Ice on our boots, frost riming our hair. For tea and crumpets does mother year, But something makes our dear father swear. There on the table squatted the box, Wrapped in paper the texture of moss. Father's home security it mocks, To grasp its presence, we are at a loss. How it came here sans stamp, none can say. Was it, by Santa, down the chimney flung? Yet there it sits by light of day, Bound with a ribbon, red as toad's tongue. "It's for you two!" Mother declares, The tag deciphered, we gather around - Knots undone, the box reveals two bears, Stuffed

My reading of the eighth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's adventure story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". The children found themselves swamped with moggies - and their attempts at feeding them make a large problem so much worse. Many people will probably sympathise with the children in this regards - as Cordelia said to Lear, "We are not the first who, with best meaning have incurred the worst". In other news, I have cooked a small mountain of food and now find myself faced with the annual tide of absolute bilge on the TV. The one small exception to this was the Ghost Story for Christmas (actually aired yesterday, but didn't see it till today). The talented Mr Gatiss has once again produced a slice of Victorian Gothic, with an adaptation of a Conan Doyle story about a shambling Egyptian mummy (arguably the first time such a thing ever appeared in fiction) and some malign magic. I shall watch again when I have a more peaceful environment to wat

  My reading of the seventh chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's book "The Phoenix and the Carpet". Here the children discover the limits of animism - carpets simply do not think like humans and interpret instructions their own way. Hence the tidal wave of moggies. As an aside, having an animist view of the universe does highlight the issue of language. We do not have to go as far as to embrace the Sapir-Wharf Hypothesis to see that different human languages produce very different understandings of the world... and that if we extend the capacity for language to a vast number of other beings (both organic life forms and creatures which current scientific thinking would not consider to be alive in the first place) then the problems of communicating between different forms of consciousness increase exponentially. I might write a book about this issue one day.

  My reading of the sixth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's adventure story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". The children - filled with the middle-class urge to be charitable to the downtrodden - return to the mysterious tower from the start of the story to help distribute some lost treasure to its rightful owners. There is an interesting vignette at the beginning of this chapter about the nature of doing good and how boring it is to try and be charitable to the people next door. The exotic sufferers of hardship are always rather more appealing than the local ones. This, I suspect, rings decidedly true for quite a lot of people who look to the benighted in far flung parts of the earth but care little for those whose problems they see on a daily basis.

 My favourite non-ghostly Dickensian story, which I listen to in the run-up to Christmas every year for about a decade now, is Simon Callow's abbreviated reading of "Doctor Marigold". For the unfamiliar, Simon Callow is a theatrical luminary and an expert on Dickens who had a whole series of shows (some televised) performing from Dickens' repertoire. Whilst this story takes place over a considerable length of time, the conclusion has a very Christmassy feel to it. Rather than a conventional story, this is a monologue about the colourful life of a travelling trader designed to be performed by Dickens himself on his enormously popular tours of the country where he would read both sections of his novels and also do these monologues. He made far more money from acting out these scenes than he ever did as an author (a lesson there for us all, perhaps). Having enjoyed it for all these years, I thought I'd finally have a crack at reciting it myself. This is the full vers

  My reading of the fifth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's adventure story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". In this part of the book the children (and the wondrous bird) journey to the mystical heart of London where they find (or create... or reanimate) a cultus of the sacred fire bird. Poses some interesting questions about the true nature of the religious impulse and what actually constitutes a sacred song! This chapter strikes me as being rather like a seed from which the magical realism of Ben Aaronovitch's Rivers of London (and similar books by other authors) grew. The weird fusion of the quotidian and the paranormal and the surreal heartbeat that ticks, like an Edgar Allen Poe horror, just beneath the surface of supposed normality.

  My reading of the fourth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story The Phoenix and the Carpet. In this part of the story the children fly off to an Indian bazaar before going to a decidedly British one and having a run in with an old dragon who stakes a claim on the flying carpet. There is an interesting touch of character redemption, though without the complexity of Scrooge's Dickensian transformation - but sort of within the seasonal spirit of a Yuletide reading.

  My reading of the third chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story The Phoenix and the Carpet. The children have a run-in with the temperamental cook (apologies to the entire population of Ireland for the unconvincing accent) and are transported to an exotic island - the language about the natives of the island is very dated (it was written in the early 1900s, after all) so if you are easily offended by such things, perhaps best to skip this chapter! The children are quite ruthless in their determination to deal with difficult adults - always worth bearing in mind when dealing with sprogs (or so-called adults whose moral development is somewhat arrested). The fate of the cook is somewhat ambiguous and perhaps speaks to the risk of getting what you want and then never being wholly convinced that what you are experiencing is quite real!

 My reading of the second chapter of Edith Nesbitt's children' classic "The Phoenix and the Carpet" (1904). In this chapter, the children have their first adventure on the flying carpet with the phoenix as guide and visit a mysterious tower with hidden secrets. Recorded last weekend before my throat went! I have vague ideas for a YA fantasy/magical realism novel (and also a sci-fi one, but that's even further down the To Do List), but no idea if I will ever be organised enough to actually write it! I'll have to live to 100, without going senile, to get all the ideas in my head down on paper.

  My reading of the first chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". Read to celebrate Yuletide 2023. The author introduces us to five children (who previously appeared in another of her adventure stories) and the mysterious egg which they find in a rolled-up carpet. Soon the adventures begin. I recorded this a few days ago after shaving off the beard for theatrical reasons (don't ask, the audience is still in trauma counselling) - and now that I am reminded of how much worse I look without it, I shall be growing it back! Next year I shall only be appearing in bearded roles for any amateur dramatics.

 The festival of Wolfenoot (November 23rd) was inspired by a child as a way of celebrating wolves and dogs and seems to have caught on in the way that things which touch a psychic pulse do. It had been my intention to get all techie, set up a live podcast and tell wolf stories as a fundraiser for The Dogs Trust. Sadly the combination of my own paucity of technical skills (the donations platform, which seemed mainly geared to businesses running taxable services rather than charity events, confused me no end) along with awkward life events at home and work made the live cast fall apart. Instead, now my throat is feeling a bit less raspy, here is recording to mark the day - with the request that, if you like it, you donate to The Dogs Trust directly (maybe add a message saying you have done so, to encourage others). The first story is of Ivan of Shiganska, allegedly a Russian village, who encounters a mysterious woman in the woods. This is followed by a spell-poem collected by Elliot O

 Recorded this spiel partially in response to a question asked about the Suffolk Jungian Circle recording on alchemy and partly because of various other things going on. Greek mythology has two related concepts for stories (or subsections of larger stories) of katabasis and anabasis - respectively the journey into the Underworld and the return to the land of the living. This is paralleled in the Christian tradition by notions of the Harrowing of Hell, in both versions a key feature is that the traveller is going into the Dark Place in order to retrieve something - a lost loved one, a treasure of some sort etc. As the recording hopefully emphasises, there are lots of different ways to understand what the Dark Place is and the nature of the voluntary journey there. A lot of people end up in Dark Places, but they rarely go there willingly so it is debatable whether the notion of katabasis applies to all such terrible experiences or only to ones of a voluntary nature (and ones with an inte

 This recording is mainly for members of the Suffolk Jungian Circle prior to a discussion at the end of November about Jung's notions around alchemy and its attendant symbolism. It may also be of some interest to other people who are not members of the Circle.

 This poem was written yesterday, to occupy my mind whilst at a very boring event, for an Interfaith gathering that now appears to have been postponed. Normally these events have some centralised theme, but this one does not appear to have any such focus to it so I decided to write a poem instead of the usual somewhat dry historical/theological overviews that I normally given when invited to Interfaith functions. Hoping this will give an emotional flavour of paganism (as I experience it) instead of an academic grasp. I'm not sure if the poem will ever get read at the event (given some ongoing issues), so thought I'd record it here just to get my mind away from work and various domestic burdens. 

 A Halloween story for 2023 about Mr Marengo's journey home from work on the London Underground, partly inspired by trips of my own on said train system. Beware of the things that live in the dark tunnels which were plunged deep into the earth by labourers... many of whom did not live to report what they found down there.

 Some thoughts on Virtue Ethics and the ideas that abounded in Ancient Greece, with the occasional foray into Roman and other cultures. I might extend this to reflect on some other moral values in a future recording. The notion of what constitutes a decent life and how best to behave in the world continues to interest me. It would be good to discuss these notions with someone once again.  

My reading of the ninth and final story in Oscar Wilde's children's collection, "The Fisherman and his Soul". His children must have had a good attention span to stay focused on what is quite a convoluted account with a bleak ending (this latter consistent with the other stories in this collection). I did wonder if C S Lewis had read this prior to dreaming up Narnia - especially the final blessing delivered by the priest. The tension between Pagan and Christian stretches through this tale, achieving a kind of resolution by the end. There is a definite intertextual link between the two authors. Some of the language is no longer considered correct, so best not to listen if such things offend you.

  My reading of the eighth of Oscar Wilde's children's stories, "The Star Child". A suddenly bleak ending to what would otherwise be a somewhat tried and trusted formula for a fairy tale. The silly voices went somewhat askew in this, but if I don't draw anyone's attention to it they might not notice. I'm not sure if the recent fixation with Star Children and all the equally silly terms bandied about for overindulged brats has any connection to Wilde's story.

  My reading of the seventh of the children's stories in Oscar Wilde's collection, "The Birthday of the Infanta". A long tale, rich on sumptuous detail and Wilde's deep knowledge of and joy in evoking the glories of the natural realms. The tragedy turns somewhat on a revision of Caliban's bitter moment with the mirror as well as speaking to the utter vacuity of the supremely indulged. As an incidental aside, when the naïve Dwarf describes his encounter with a church procession moving through the forest the figures in yellow bearing candles are the victims of the Inquisition who have been doomed to execution after being paraded in robes depicting the crimes of which they have been convicted.

 My reading of the sixth of Oscar Wilde's children's stories from his collection, "The Young King". A visually sumptuous story filled with Wilde's love of description. Some of the language is a bit dated so if you are offended by such things best not to listen. One of the dream sequences is resonant of Greek myth and the presence of the nosoi (entities that spread diseases). Speaking of Greek references, there are also subtle allusions to Antinous and a few other homoerotic figures slipping in. Perhaps Oscar had not been long back from one of his forays when he composed this story. Wilde's essay of socialism was a tad dull, but this tale puts across many of the same ideas in a much more effective manner. It also avoids offering daft solutions to social problems, which makes a nice change in a politicised text. Although the angelic imagery at the end does imply a resolution without going into any practical details. 

  My reading of the fifth of Oscar Wilde's children's stories, "The Nightingale and the Rose". This is possibly the saddest of the stories with the poignant fate of the little bird who clearly has more passion in her little heart than the dozy pair of humans have in theirs. It is one of my favourites from Oscar's canon. This story inspired a small kind of "tribute act" story of my own which I have told (and possibly recorded, I cannot recall offhand if I have or not) - nowhere near as poetic as Oscar's work but following the same basic plot but with an addendum of sorts to link into fairy lore.

  My reading of the fourth story in Oscar Wilde's collection of children's tales, "The Remarkable Rocket". A complete self-lampoon here by the great man who obviously did not take himself at all seriously (at least at home when entertaining his children). If you hear a lot of background noise it is a combination of pouring rain and a fidgeting dog.

 A reflection (or ramble) on the Jungian concept of synchronicity mainly for the benefit of the Suffolk Jungian Circle who are discussing this idea at the end of the month. It may, of course, interest others and it would be interesting to hear if anyone else has experiences to share around synchronicitous or meaningfully coincidental events happening in their lives.

  My reading of the third of the children's stories by Oscar Wilde, "The Devoted Friend". Aristotelean philosophy about friendship subtly weaves its way through this tale of a bumptious Miller and the downtrodden Hans. The audience of the story fails to grasp the key issue, as is so often the case in the real world. Some of the Miller's views I have heard directly from a certain friend, who in other respects is not at all like the Miller. Which makes me a bit depressed, just thinking about it. As does the reminder that a doormat has to take at least some of the responsibility for all the muddy boot prints stamped into them. Is it too early for a large G&T?

  My reading of the second Oscar Wilde story from his children's collection, "The Selfish Giant". Echoes of Greek myth flow through this one, with the personifications of the weather running amok, though once again the central theme is clearly Christian - with echoes to Anderson's "the Little Match Girl" at least in terms of the ending. The giant also puts me in mind of Grahame's adults in "The Golden Age" (also recorded for this blog) who are referred to as the Olympians.

 This is my reading of the first of Oscar Wilde's nine children's stories, "The Happy Prince", first published in 1888. It is a sad little story, weaving a very Christian sentiment alongside the mythology and natural beauty of Egypt. I wonder if growing up with parents so devoted to Irish myth helped to emphasis the importance of friendship and devotion tot he young Oscar (given that it is a prominent theme in much Irish myth)?

 Not what the title may lead you to expect, but some poems - some of which I shared at the Wolfshead Pagan camp this weekend past and others which I would have shared had we not all nearly died of heatstroke from the excessive weather! The two of my mine are 'Song of the Wolf Clan' and 'Sigyn's Burden' from the Moon Poets anthology (edited by Trevor Greenfield) whilst the two by Hilary Llewellyn-Williams are 'The Song of Blodeuwedd on May Morning' and 'Muin' from her collection Hummadruz. Finally, the poem by Cathal O' Searcaigh is 'Hound of Ulster' from his collection Homecoming.

 A reflection on Jung's ideas around the Intuitive personality type, mainly for the benefit of members of the Suffolk Jungian Circle preparatory to our monthly discussion group. Hopefully I haven't made all Intuitives sound like Professor Trelawny out on the screaming piss with Doris Stokes - that's not what Jung wanted to say at all. They are just very good at picking up on things that most other people would miss!

 Finally got round to continuing with the series of recordings about the Irish ogham alphabet, now up to the ninth letter Coll (which means 'hazel tree').

  My reading of the sixteenth and seventeenth chapters (the final ones) of Kenneth Grahame's children's book "The Golden Age" (1895). A sibling tiff is resolved through an appropriate offering, and then comes the grim day when the eldest brother is packed off to boarding school. The whole story has been about the gulf between children and adults with their differing views of the world and contrasting priorities. In the end it is also about the inevitable pull of the upgrown world that drags all small boys and girls into its thrall. Is the narrator accepting the way of the world, mourning a loss, maybe a bit of both? you decide.

  My reading of the fourteenth and fifteenth chapters of Kenneth Grahame's children's classic "The Golden Age" (1895). The loathed governess moves on to pastures new, and a subsequent tutor arrives to dint knowledge into the unwilling heads of the siblings.

  My reading of the twelfth and thirteenth chapters of Kenneth Grahame's children's story "The Golden Age" (1895). This time the young hero encounters a mysterious artist with whom the realm of fantasy is shared, and then an old bureau proves itself to be an object of mystery - a reminder that, to children and a tiny number of adults, the world can either be prosaic and dull or a source of wonder. the difference is in the eye of the beholder rather than the innate quality of the objects that fill the world.

  My reading of the tenth and eleventh chapters of Kenneth Grahame's childhood nostalgia trip "The Golden Age" (1895). Feminist sensibilities may be offended by the prepubescent mullings as to what it is exactly that girls talk about, then the lads venture off in search of Grecian adventures and encounter a figure from mythology.

  My reading of the eighth and ninth chapters of Kenneth Grahame's children's classic "The Golden Age" (1895). The narrator encounters an eccentric vicar (with whom I feel a certain sympathy) and then the adult and child views of reality clash - whose ontology will prevail? Only further chapters will show, but the governess's views of the fairy folk are the ones that held sway in late Victorian times and continue to do so in many parts of society to this very day. I may need to re-record chapter eight to include some Greek words that I skipped over - being able to translate on the hoof is not a skill I possess. One thing I love about Grahame's work is the extensive vocabulary he naturally assumes his young readers (as well as characters) possess. I do not know how loquacious middle-class Victorian children were, but Grahame clearly assumes they have a much bigger vocabulary than even the average 19-year old has these days. The ninth chapter tips the seasonal w

  My reading of the sixth and seventh chapters of Kenneth Grahame's nostalgic children's story "The Golden Age" (1895). One of the brothers has amorous stirrings for a neighbour and intrusions by a curate lead to some spontaneous storytelling. I quite like the way the children in a world that is as much imagination as reality, whilst they regard the Olympian adults as being trapped in a dull, one-dimensional existence.

 A recording mainly for the Suffolk Jungian Circle, ahead of our virtual discussion about Jung's ideas on the Sensation Type of personality.

  My reading of the fourth and fifth chapters of Kenneth Graham's children's book "The Golden Age" (1895). The narrator has an encounter with a neighbour and then his sister's dolls spring into imaginal life.

  My reading of the second and third chapters of Kenneth Grahame's "The Golden Age" (1895). Here the narrator's reflections turn to useless uncles and an encounter with soldiers - presumably in late Victorian livery. The joy of doing not very much beyond daydreaming and mucking around. The observant may notice I have had a trim and am a bit less beardy, feel I should do a bit of promotion for him given his willingness to fit in with my weird schedule - Charlie Paternoster in darkest Ipswich (highly entertaining patter alongside the scissors and trimmers). Reminds me of a younger version of my friend James.

  My reading of the prologue and first chapter of Kenneth Grahame's children's book "The Golden Age" (1895). Grahame is, of course, most famous for the fabulous "Wind in the Willows" - which I would love to record when time and the world allows. This reflective work shares much with Willows, particularly the love of the natural world and the sense of a simplistic age lost to modern readers. It is a mix of Grahame's own boyhood recollections of larks and games fused with fictional imaginings of what a group of orphans get up to on their holidays. The children are looked after by aunts and uncles who seem on a par with the ones that Saki describes in his works - vaguely well-meaning bores and domestic tyrants. The children, doubtless benefitting from an expensive classical education, refer to them as the Olympians because they are as distant and arbitrary as the Gods themselves. The children's lives are much more taken up with the kinds of rustic deiti

 This is my version of the story about the Greek goddess Demeter and her search for her daughter Kore. This story formed the basis of the Eleusinian Mystery cult that had significant influence in Greece. There are several versions of this story and I have tried to blend elements of each together - the snippet about Somnos and the poppies, the account of Baubo's dance and of the baby Triptolemos and the magical fire (both of which were probably inspired by near-identical Egyptian myths). I recently purchased a new laptop and this is my first recording on the device, so this will give me a sense of how well the video function works.

 This month's discussion topic for the Suffolk Jungian Circle will be the Feeling Type of personality. This recording is to help provide some basis for the discussion, though it may well interest some people who are not members of that group - so if you would like to post a comment, please feel free to do so.

 This is my reading of the fifth part of Longfellow's (1863) collection "Tales from a Wayside Inn". This part concludes the first section of the collection. I am not sure if there is enough interest from the audience to record the next two sections, so will wait and see what the response is. In this installment the Poet tells of the Killingworth Birds and the cretinous inhabitants of the said town. Sadly, this seems a metaphor for much of humanity's engagement with the rest of the planet. There is also a Finale for the first evening of stories round the log fire (what a beautiful image that is).

  My reading of the fourth part of Longfellow's (1863) poem "Tales from a Wayside Inn". In this section we get the Musician's Tale (which is about King Olaf, who later became St Olaf, and is guaranteed to offend all Heathens), an Interlude, and the Theologian's Tales (of a monstrous father and his meeting with the equally putrid Grand Inquisitor Torquemada - more than a whiff of Antisemitism in this one).

 Continuing with Longfellow's (1863) narrative poem, "Tales from a Wayside Inn". In this section we have the Spanish Jew's tale in which Rabbi ben Levi meets the Angel of Death, followed by an interlude and the Sicilian's Tale of King Robert, who also meets an angel.

 This is my reading of the next part of Longfellow's (1863) poem about travellers at a pub sharing stories. This recording cover's the Landlord's tale (about the ride of Paul Revere), the interlude, the Student's story (which is taken from the Decameron and will offend almost all animal lovers), and the interlude after that. If I look different from yesterday's recording, it's because I have been to the barber this morning.

 My reading of the prelude to Longfellow's narrative poem "Tales of a Wayside Inn" (1863). The format takes its inspiration from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, with a group of travellers sharing stories to pass the time. It's a model I have plans to use myself once I find the time to write it - though whether it will find a willing publisher is a whole other question! The tellers of tales in this poem are the inn landlord, a student, a Jewish merchant, a Sicilian, the Norwegian musician, a theologian (who is a student at Harvard, referred to as Cambridge on the Charles in the poem), and a poet. The town of Sudbury referred to is in Massachusetts and not the one a few miles up the road from me in Suffolk. Hopefully I will get the time to record the rest over the coming week. The copy of the book shown in the video is a 1921 reprint which once belonged to someone called R Fabian (from the handwritten inscription I would guess a teenager).

 This recording was made mainly for the Suffolk Jungian Circle preparatory to a discussion of Jung's Thinking Type, part of his analysis of personality. However, it might also be of interest to a wider audience with an interest in Jungian philosophy. It touches on concepts like enantiodromia, inferior functions, archetypes, and so forth. Te Circle is discussing a different issue each month, should anyone be interested in participating. 

  An Inspector Scrawls   The screeching of the demon still echoed round the cavern even though all infernal life had evaporated from the body. Slowly, like a shattering iceberg, chunks of the now-brittle flesh broke off and fell sizzling into the white hot hellfire in the pit beneath. The gathered throng of fiends watched. Normally the demons would relish the suffering of another like fine wine, but this time the spectacle was tinged with nervousness as each of the unholy creatures wondered if they would be next for the chop. If they would be dismissed as unworthy of another minute's worth of existence. Beelzebub cast his multifaceted eyes at the scroll before him and buzzed contentedly. His bulbous head occasionally jerked towards one of the nervous junior demons, causing them to stumble or slither back. Each of them clutched a scroll in a taloned hand or tentacle, their own reports on their various activities of spreading misery and mayhem in the world of mortals.   “T

 It being St George's Day, I decided to record a story about a dragon - this one from Biscerne, battled by the local squire Sir Maurice Berkeley. The fate of the dragon is very reminiscent of a lot of stories where a magical or divine being becomes part of the landscape. It would be a fascinating topic for a book, if someone has not already written such a thing. I've never seen Bolton's Bench to know if the shape inspired the legend or if it stems from other sources - the photograph is not especially suggestive, but perhaps this is the result of changes over time, farming practices etc. Who knows what the hill looked like in the 15th century?

 I have been thinking a lot about a Taoist deity lately, Tu'er Shen. Yesterday I created an altar to him and painted a (not very good) backdrop to it. The painting needs working on, as I have never painted an East Asian portrait before and the skin tones do not look quite right. I also got the urge for poetry, after  along break from writing any. The metre is of a spontaneous design and the poem is told from the perspective of the unnamed Fujian Inspector who orders the execution of the mortal soldier Hu Tianbao, whose soul is lifted to the realm of the gods and become the rabbit god Tu'er Shen. It is, of course, the Year of the Rabbit on the Chinese calendar and this poem (and the myth it is based on) also contains decidedly Easter-like themes seasonal to this time of the year. Incidentally, should any readers know the shop which sells the wonderful statuette of Tu'er Shen featured in the photo - please let me know. I would love to add it to the altar.    RABBIT RISES

 A few random thoughts about Carl Jung's notion of participation mystique and how it can link into animism, paganism, and the creative arts. It would be interesting to hear other views and experiences around this topic (especially what might pretentiously be called the "death of art", touched on towards the end of the video).

 This is my version of a Brothers Grimm story abut a joyless princess and the dozy Herbert who manages to charm her without even trying - recorded to mark April Fool's Day, when the gullible pretend that they are not prone to believe any old tosh (especially on social media) for the other 364 days of the year and that it is only other people who are foolish. 

 Yesterday our druid group performed the story of Cael and Credhe at the Leaping Hare pagan convention in Colchester, which went down quite well with the audience. The tale is a tragic one of doomed love. My own interpretation is that Cedhe is an embodiment of the Land - whether she is understood as a goddess or a fairy or something else entirely is a separate issue. The marital contingency that her suitor recites the list of her many treasures strikes me as being less about materialism and more that the lucky man should know the many gifts of the earth.

 This is my version of the Ancient Greek myth about how Eos, goddess of the dawn, fell in love with a handsome Trojan prince, Tithonos. All was going well until a request was made of Zeus. The moral of this tale (one of them, at least) is to be VERY careful what you wish for. This is a persistent theme in countless myths and folktales from all over the world. One can but assume that it is based on a widespread experience of the volatile nature of wish-making. The man in the photo is Marios Lekkas, the Athenian model. I have no idea if Tithonos looked anything like that, but he is suitably pretty so let's pretend. 

 Very chuffed today - advance copies of my next book (The Magic of Wolves) arrived today. Copies will be hitting the bookshelves in February 2024 and I will organise a launch party at that time. It will retail for £8.99. The book covers lupine mythology from around the world, suggesting ways in which those stories can be understood, linking to ritual and celebratory calendars - ideal for anyone who is a wolf-lover, a storyteller, a mythology devotee, or a werewolf. This is the culmination of a lifelong obsession with wolves, I just wish the book could have been bigger and included all the stories which I had to leave out. Moon Books has created a whole series of "Magic of..." books about various animals, each by a different author.

 To mark the Roman festival of wolves, Lupercalia, here is my take on a Brothers Grimm story of the Great Musician - I have altered the end, which was frankly dull and morally bankrupt to something more in keeping with the festival of the Wolf Gods. This is the fourth attempt at recording this, today has been much subject to fabulus interruptus. 

 Back in November I gave a talk/poetry reading about the life of Oscar Wilde, using samples of his poetry and other works to illustrate the story, as a fundraiser for the Albert Kennedy Trust. This recording is the general gist of that talk (if you enjoy it, please donate some cash to the AKT or other charity of your choice). The spirit of Oscar has been hanging around these last few months! This is a rather long recording, but at least you can pause it and get a coffee when it all becomes a bit much! Loom version  link