Stonehenge – What A Trip Man

BY Morrigan

It was so hot on Saturday morning that I thought I was going to melt as I walked to the shops. It was meant to take us an hour or two to get up and get out, but, as always, four hours later and we were still faffing about. Eventually, we headed out of Brighton on the A27, Matt driving and me map reading (HAHAHA).

This was going to be a special journey for me. Originally the idea had been that Matt was going to walk the South Downs Way as far as Winchester and, if possible, on to Salisbury where I would meet him. For one reason and another this didn't happen, and instead Matt and I embarked on a spiritual journey at home the week prior to setting off together. It had been incredibly intense and I was emotionally and physically exhausted, but for both of us, getting to Stonehenge for the solstice was tremendously important, in some ways the completion of one journey the beginning of another.

For many years pagans, tourists, general odd bods, party heads, all sorts, have been going to Stonehenge to watch the solstice sunrise. It is the only day of the year that we, or you for that matter, are allowed inside the stones, to touch them, be with them, during the night and at sunrise. I'm not entirely sure what the stones meant to me as I set off on this journey. I guess they represented the idea of paganism under the historical microscope of continuity and change. It fascinates me that for thousands of years the stones have presided over the land, a land which is now bedeviled by cars and a throw away mentality. I was also interested in the concept of the tribe, my tribe, communities of self identity. I wasn't born a pagan, it's a path I have chosen, but I feel something in common with other pagans, even if we work in different traditions. I wanted to be with my tribe, all 30,000 of them, and celebrate the rising sun. I wanted to feel and be part of that energy. Essentially, this was to be a pilgrimage.

We rattled on towards Salisbury in the stinking heat, windows flat down, listening to Bach's violin concertos as we sped through the countryside. The main road through Sussex to Winchester is the A272, which is a small country road, not single file or anything, but it weaves through woods and over bridges. The English countryside is a wonderfully lush sight to behold, trees drip, grasses wave, sheep and cattle make noise – it's so alive this time of year, incredibly beautiful.

We weren't actually going as far as Salisbury, we were going to camp just outside at a place called Old Sarum, and we eventually arrived at nearly 5 O'clock, drenched in sweat and thinking of dinner. Old Sarum is a massive hill fort, I have never seen one that big. Hill forts, as the name suggests, are forts on hills, usually associated with Anglo-Saxon iron age settlements. There are certain features that are common to most hill forts, the main one being that they are surrounded by a bank and ditch. The size of Old Sarum was just simply breath taking, the bank towering, on average, 60 foot above the ditch. I had only seen hill forts that are somewhat trammeled, the banks and ditches being more furrows and ridges, but at Old Sarum there was still this massive majesty to the earthwork construction.

We pitched our tent, a really massive one designed to hold our entire family, and sat to eat Turkish bread, very squidgy camembert and fresh tomatoes like apples. We had some red wine, which had been warmed along the journey, and we drank it out of picnic mugs. There was something delightfully unobtrusive about the simple food and the grassy surroundings, right at the foot of Old Sarum. Afterwards we set off to climb the hill and check out the fort, a canteen of water belted to my hips, as we knew we would sweat a couple of pints each. It's odd how much water weighs. Across the field and up the hill, it wasn't exactly a hard walk, but humidity sort of steals your energy. It was easy to walk the bank circumference of the hill fort, it's obviously been a path well trodden over thousands of years. The sun was setting and bleeding red across the sky. We were completely alone on the path and chatted vacantly sometimes, but mostly I just listened to the birds, I heard the caw of ravens, and they took to the wing as we approached their tree. About half way round we found an earth bridge leading into the actual fort, so crossed it as, by this time, we were feeling a little bushed.

Again, I was amazed, hill forts are usually lumps and bumps and endless gorse, but as we stole through a break in the trees we could see ruins, big ruins. There were explanation boards. Old Sarum has been a site of human occupation since Neolithic times, ie FOR 5,000 YEARS. You can feel it you know, not ghosts or anything, but places like this have an energy – god that's such a hippy word. Perhaps they don't ‘have' this, maybe I ascribe it to them, because I know 5,000 YEARS is a fuck of a long time. I mean, I'm just right now listening to REM's ‘Everybody Hurts', and that track touches me, for like four minutes, compared to 5,000 YEARS four minutes is nothing. It's difficult to explain, but I can imagine the people, I can sort of feel them, their dusty bustle that blows in the breeze around me. I know, I know, a romanticised vision, but hey, perhaps romance isn't dead.

The ruins we could see were of a Norman cathedral, started in the 12 th century and completed in the 13 th . It would seem the cathedral had to be built twice, because on the day of its first completion and consecration it was struck by lightening and burned to the ground. I don't know why, but I found this strange. The land had been pagan land and the Norman Christians sought to blot out the old religion, built a massive temple to their Christ and their authority, and the damn thing burned down on the day it was consecrated. They built another one, but within a 100 years the cathedral at Salisbury (less than three miles away) had been completed, so they demolished the one at Old Sarum. It all sounded a bit dodgy to me, and smacked at the abandonment of the site, as if Christianity couldn't make it there – thank ye gods.

We sat near the ruins and watched the sun go down, it's big orange red disc disappearing over a hill on the horizon.

We would have gone to the pinnacle of the hill fort, but English fucking Heritage run it now, and have erected gates, and my heritage it would seem is only open 9 – 5. Bureaucratic wankers. 5,000 damn years, first the Christians tried to steal it, and now a government body would like to lock us out. I let the feelings of anger wash over me, I wasn't here to be upset by the very thing I was trying to escape from. We walked back down the hill and went to the pub, bought more red wine (yummy) and then trolled off over the field back to our tent.

Unlike Brighton , Old Sarum is a very very unpopulated space, and as we wondered along the public footpath through a field we could see a whole colony of rabbits out feeding. There were hundreds of them, and as we approached they all made a run for it back to their warren, which must have been in a rough gouge in the land surrounded by a fence. They all shot through the darkness, their little white tails flashing in the moonlight. Matt seemed to have a brief hankering for a crossbow and then took pains to describe to me how he would set traps at the entrances to their runs, plus, of course, you could always use a shovel and dogs. I bet they knew this 5,000 years ago.

Back at the tent we read by torchlight for a while, drank the rest of the wine, giggled a bit, then got inside what appeared to be an oven. Earlier, it hadn't only been the tent that had been erected (uhuh) and I had discovered the joys of something which is apparently called ‘queening', so now it was time to attempt to sleep while slowly cooking. This didn't work at all, and on reflection we should have dragged our sleeping bags out and slept under the stars, but I think I was too pissed and Matt was stoned out of his head, so we just fidgeted until 6am .

The next morning was characterised by bacon. Why is it that bacon always tastes a million times better when cooked outside? I found some shade and lay face down on my sleeping bag until I woke myself up because I was dribbling so much that my face was lying in cold saliva (sexy eh?). And coffee, I love coffee and I don't do instant. I bet we were the only people on that campsite who took an espresso maker and a special little cooker for it. To hell with it, life's too short to drink shit coffee.

In typical English style, we set off for Salisbury at noon , when the sun was beating relentlessly down. We decided to walk, I like walking, Matt likes walking, and we took water. I wanted to see Salisbury cathedral, the one that overtook the Old Sarum. I already knew Salisbury is meant to be one of the best, and cathedrals are always cool. I had already discovered that hot is one thing, but hot and outside, even in shade, is something else.

Salisbury is a funny old place, but I suppose everywhere new always is. We found the cathedral no problem. For some reason I am a tomb person, I love looking at the vaults and the coffinesque statues, there's something wonderfully fixed about dead people, they are what they are, and really really ancient dead people, well history has already judged them. Dunno, old tombs, they're a bit like geology, like rocks, they just ‘are'. Obviously, because Salisbury cathedral was built in the 13 th century, it was originally catholic, which always makes a me smirk, having been brought up a catholic I like to just know that not only have the Christians robbed off the pagans, they've ripped each other off blind as well. Anyway, back to the tombs, I was slightly amazed to note that the three bishops who presided over the cathedral at Old Sarum had be disinterred and reburied at Salisbury cathedral, man, they must have really wanted to abandon that site up on the old hill fort – more smirking. One of the early bishops of Salisbury was also not buried in tact, instead his body was buried somewhere else and only his heart had a tomb within the cathedral, kewl, tres kewl, ripped his heart out they did.

It was cool inside the cathedral, that beautiful stone cold which is completely wonderful on a hot hot day. I particularly liked the tombs where they carve the corpse as the visual eulogy. I wonder whether they went through a more reverent period of rejoicing in the mask of death???

The other thing Salisbury cathedral is famous for is their copy of the Magna Carta. The Magna Carta was written in the 13 th century as a response to the noblemen and knights who were unhappy about the way King John was ruling. Some think that without the Magna Carta, which clearly set out the rights and responsibilities of both the king and his subjects, there would have been open rebellion across England . Many copies of the Magna Carta were made at the time, as it had to be ‘broadcast' all over the country, however, only four survive to this day, one in Lincoln (I think) two in the British Library and the one at Salisbury. It was odd looking at it, handwritten on a single parchment, protected under glass. Such ancient history we have here, and laws which have a lineage. I think we often forget this, the age of England and our practices. I don't know that this makes us better or good, just that there is a certain timelessness and time to us as people. The Magna Carta wasn't really updated until the Bill of Rights, which I think was 1648 or 1688 or something, funnily enough after the civil war. I guess civil wars must be good for something then. We bought a copy of the Magna Carta, in Latin with English translation, god knows what we're going to do with it, it'll probably become just another item in our vast repository of ‘stuff'.

After the cathedral we went to a pub, had some lunch and then trogged back to the campsite, weak with heat, so we decided to find some shade and chill out for the rest of the afternoon. I fell reading D H Lawrence.

We had only walked half way round the hill fort the previous night, so thought it would be cool to walk the other half, but this time we wanted to take some provisions up there (and a bottle of wine) to watch the sun go down. Running late as usual, we just about managed to make it to the top of the hill fort as the sun was setting, so we ate first, rolled about in the grass a bit, giggled a lot, and then walked the perimeter. This walk was harder than the night before, mostly because the path was more tricky, only a small tread and steep drops either side, plus it was getting dark. We managed it though, and went through the rabbit field on the way back to our tent, where we tried unsuccessfully to have silent sex ;-)

We had thought of walking from Salisbury to Stonehenge, but I'm a bit of a lightweight and the heat was absolute murder, so we decided to drive to Woodhenge, park up, sleep in a field for a day, and then set off to Stonehenge, checking out the Cursus and entering via The Avenue, in time for both the sunset and the sunrise. Got to Woodhenge no problem, and were amazed to find there was already a camp there, and were even more amazed to find an old friend of ours standing in the road arguing with a copper.

We hadn't seen Armorel for about three years, since she left Brighton in fact. She had been a very important person to us, being as she was a teacher in Jordan 's class and had been happy to advocate for the needs of people with learning difficulties. We had always got on with her, used to go round to her house, she used to look after Raven when she was a baby and I needed a rest – my kids went to a Steiner school, you have a closer relationship with the teaching staff. Anyway, there she was, nose to nose with Wiltshire constabulary's best, a small ginger man with an attitude problem and, as I found out later, a nasty case of BO. Matt leant out of the window and shouted her over, hard and sincere huggy grips were exchanged and we went to park up, only the cops didn't want to make it that easy. Despite the fact that the car parks are public and marked on Ordnance Survey maps, the Wiltshire constabulary had decided that no vehicles were to be left. Arsewipes. I was told to take my car to the local pub (about a mile up the road), if not, it could be towed, or, if I had a drink and had my car keys in my pocket I would be arrested for being drunk in charge. Wankers. I really couldn't be arsed to start on at the cops, they were obviously burning for some sort of fight, and the officious ginga twat , well, I really wanted to give him a good slap, so I thought it best to leave it, and we went to the pub with Armorel to feed our faces. She had some business over on the high street anyway, plus, the woman didn't look like she'd eaten for a week.

Pub grub, it's horrible isn't it?

Went to the local lickle wickle supermarket, got fags, got booze, went back to Woodhenge and fell asleep in the grass, spooned with Matt. D H Lawrence seems to do that to me, or it could be the lunchtime drinking.

I was rudely awakened some time later, no idea what time, as watches are somewhat redundant when you're measuring everything by the sun, by another wanky copper. Apparently we had to move on. This is their strategy, keep everyone moving corralle us all like cattle (don't know how to spell corralled, but it's not choral, sing me a fucking opera pigs). I guess they do this to stop the tribal gatherings getting too big or too fixed, I mean they only have so many police to deal with a situation, and they were expecting 30,000 people, so best if they just keep us all wondering about all over the place. Stupid thing is that there is a gathering place at Stonehenge , but, in their infinite wisdom, the pigs had decided to shut the car park, so we could go there, but no-one could find anywhere to stick their vehicles within a five mile radius. Duh. Fucking idiots. They were going to open the car park at 7pm , so we pointed out to them that if they let us stay where we were then we could move off at seven and would have somewhere to go. You could actually see this cop trying to process this entirely logical idea, and eventually, rather than replying, the fucker just walked off. I went back to sleep, assuming that if the two coach loads of coppers decided to get heavy I would actually wake up. They think they have all this authority, they even think we despise them, when, in reality, although our state is well organised, on an individual basis, nothing doing, I didn't care and neither did the people around me.

At about six or seven, as I say no watches, Matt and I set off to walk from Woodhenge to Stonehenge . We were only carrying light stuff, lots of water, some food, a blanket, pac-a-macs, etc. It wasn't a long walk, maybe three miles on public footpaths, and I was really looking forward to getting to Stonehenge . We chatted, we walked through chest high grass, we baaaaaaaaad at the sheep and admired the horses, we dodged cow pats, and then we saw it, round a copse of trees, Stonehenge standing in the distance. It's difficult to describe the feeling, just odd, I've seen so many pictures of the place, so many representations, and then suddenly, there it was, the real deal, about a mile and a half away, just standing there, quiet and grey.

We got to the King's barrows, bloody massive they were, burial mounds, no-one knows which kings are in them, or in fact whether they are queens, but you turn right at those barrows and walk up The Avenue. The Avenue is in the middle of a field of cows, and therefore cow shit, more long grass. You can see Stonehenge at first, but as you walk The Avenue it disappears from sight behind a mound, which you ascend, and then, bam, there is it, right in front you. It's smaller than I thought it would be, and there's something dense about the stones, concretey almost, but it's there, nestling against the green land, it's like in its own space of silence. There is a power there, but perhaps that's just because it's like thousands of years old and it's still standing, it's like something completely definite in a world of uncertainties. So, across the field we went, up The Avenue, at the top of which were sitting three men playing dice. Everyone is saying hello to each other at this point, we're all making a pilgrimage and we're all happy to be here and that everyone else is here. ‘You came the proper way' one man said, I wondered whether there was such a thing as a ‘proper way', but I assumed he must have meant walked. ‘Yeah, yeah', and it only takes like two seconds to work out that he is either a witch or magician and that he can tell the same of us. Funny really, I don't look like a goth queen or anything, don't know how they can tell, or I can about them. It happened to Matt the next day, we were just walking down a street and a guy just says ‘Hi', and you know it's cos you both know you're all standing in the same circle.

Magick and circles. Stonehenge is a circle, obviously, and still, oftentimes, most magick in this country is practiced in circles. We do this for a good reason, it's a way of containing a ritual, particularly as you will probably want to leave it afterwards. There are various ways of casting a circle, and I use two different methods (well, three, if you count the lazy one). The traditional Wiccan and Druidic way is to call in the quarters. Earth is always north, air east, fire south and water west. You can call east anywhere you damn well like, you don't need a compass or anything, but anyone who watches the sun should have some idea of where east is! You welcome the elements, air (east) first, going round clockwise and finishing with earth. Simple as. If you use this method you shut down the circle by doing it all counterclockwise and starting with earth (north) and finishing with air. The other way I do it is using a Gnostic banishing ritual, which is kinda the chaos way of working. This is a bit complicated to explain, but essentially you start by making noises, starting high, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, and descending til you get to like a growling uuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhggggggggg. I sort of imagine all the charka points at the same time. You go back up your body and finish on the eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, which for me is right on top of my skull, like where it might open, perhaps even just slightly above it depending on how I'm feeling. Next, you turn again to the quarters, starting with the east, and you draw a pentagram in the air, a big one, you visualise that it's there, you're actually making it (hey, what's reality apart from what we see). While you're drawing the pentagram you intone the noises. You go round clockwise finishing with earth. Sometimes, you can do the above and below as well. This kind of circle I banish with laughter, mad, maniacal laughter, and I ground with food and/or fucking. The lazy way is one pentagram drawn fast in front of me and mindlessly calling on my goddess (the morrigan, doesn't take much working out that one).

Circles, they confine and free us, but magickally, are really very common.

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We get to Stonehenge , and it's surrounded by a fence, a fucking chainlink fence. OK, probably for the protection of the stones, OK, they look like dead sad behind that metal, all shut away, but … We sit down. I start to sneeze. I am an asthmatic and I do suffer from hayfever, but like hardly at all, so rarely that I don't carry any medication. I've just spent three days in the countryside and I haven't had an allergic reaction. I think it'll pass off. It doesn't. Two hours later I'm sneezing my head off. I can hardly see through the blur of my watering eyes and my asthma is beginning to kick in. Matt's being a sweetie, he wants to know what I can do, but I just know I have to go, that if I don't leave I'm going to have an asthma attack right here on this hill, and from that point I'll have 20 minutes to get to hospital. I have weird asthma, sometimes it just kicks off, but when it does, I'm fucked. I start to cry. I put my head in his lap. He strokes my hair. It's fine he's telling me, whatever you need to do babe, oh god, what I need to do is get away from here. I tell him, he smiles, crap, he must love me so much. OK, we'll walk the three miles back to Woodhenge, get the car, and go back to the lickle ickle supermarket, and maybe they'll have some piriton or some other anti histamine.

We set off, I can't believe it, the sun is setting and I am walking away from Stonehenge . I can feel the adrenalin let down in my body, my heart beating strangely fast, my mouth drying. I just can't fucking believe it, we got here, despite all the difficulties, the emotional roller coaster that we've been on because of J, all that honesty work, and man it was hard, and we've both totally grown, and we wanted to be here, and now I'm walking away from Stonehenge before the sun even sets.

I walk quick, at least I can not look slovenly, and I want to get to my ventolin, I want to feel like I can breathe. There's one point, just by the King's Barrows, and, I think I might die here, my heart is beating so fast and my lungs feel so raw, but I breathe through my nose, I chant, fuck me I chant, Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hekate, Demeter, Kali, Inana, please, goddesses, help me, please, I am disappearing, my goddesses, I implore you, and I don't know where it came from, but I could walk, barely breathing, I could feel them, and they said, ‘The journey, it is sometimes not easy girl, remember, the journey.'

We got to the car and I sucked deep on the asthma medication and we whizzed down the road to the supermarket, which amazingly sold exactly the anti histamine I needed. We walked in and they locked the door to close behind us. Thank ye goddesses, thank ye, oh praise be to you, thank you, you heard me. Some would ask why didn't they just cure the hayfever, dunno, maybe they could, but I asked to get the medication. I took the piriton. I couldn't face walking back again, so we decided to drive and park. I hated this idea. Who the hell drives to Stonehenge ? Well, I guess we had walked and now, now was the time to drive. Strangely, we were about to go to Stonehenge twice on the same day.

We got there, parked and the anti histamine hit me. Unfortunately, it makes me sleep, which isn't exactly the best thing when you want to stay awake all night. I sat in the car park, which was a floodlit field about half a mile from the stones. There were people everywhere, music, someone in front of us had lit a brazier. This was still my tribe. The people who parked in front of us apologised for knocking into our car, sit on it if you like was my reply (I drive a Landrover), so they did. Cool, I was here, we were here, together, not just me and Matt, but all of us, all of these people. Matt was as stoned as a bastard, likes his skunk does our Matt, and my legs had gone, bloody anti histamine. Hey, he reclined his seat into a lie down position, he did the same to mine. We turned on the radio and listened to a story on Radio 4, something about some woman called Sheba who was knocking off one of her pupils, and I was out like a light.

I woke up in a panic three hours later, I could see the night sky being peeled by the approaching dawn. Matt smiled at me, he hadn't slept at all. I was fuzzy, my hair, my mouth, yuk, that taste in your mouth and the scum on your teeth as you run your tongue over them. The next thing I remember was walking down towards the stones, wrapped in my blanket against the cold night air, all hayfever gone (having been hit by the truck of piriton) and Matt was speaking, but by this time had drunk half a bottle of brandy, so perhaps he wasn't making entire sense. I felt warm. There were people everywhere, Matt was everywhere, everyone I know was with me, all the people I love, and suddenly I knew who I loved and I know you all know. Matt was holding my hand, he had his arm round me, he slapped my bottom, we stopped from time to time to kiss.

And then there they were, right in front of me again, and it was like coming back to an old friend, I had gone, I had sorted out my shit, but they were still there. My journey had been interrupted, I had had to adapt, I'd had to walk away, but still, they remained, they waited for me, not just for me, but I could find a way to get back, and I could make my pilgrimage. Stones man, majestic and unerring.

I walked right up to them. I touched one and it felt cool, cold to the touch. So many people, dancing, drumming, real loud drumming. Everyone smiling. Some people fucked off their heads. Some people shivering cos they'd been there all night keeping watch. All these people. Hello people. I love all you people. Hey, you, you look a bit square, doesn't matter, and you, you is obviously foreign cos you is speaking a different language, cool, and you is here, and you, you is a babe in arms, well, hello there little person, excellent, and you, you really need to lie down cos you is wankered, but hey, and you, you don't seem strange at all with your staff and robe, you just look like the rest of us, we all belong here.

We went and stood near the heel stone. The sun was coming and bleeding across the sky. And the drumming and the cheers. Hello, mr or mrs sun, you coming to shine on us and our land and our crops and our hopes, and yes, you will illuminate our fears and you will show us the cold light of day, but you is coming, the sun always rises tomorrow, and this I know, the sun will always come, will always be there. The drumming was happening, I couldn't help myself from moving. There was a blonde woman, she was bouncing around, she was beautiful and young, and I didn't begrudge her that, I didn't feel ashamed in my age, she was youth and being young and I was glad to see her, hello beautiful blonde woman, ah, I love you too, we are all here.

A heavy mist lay across The Avenue, dragon's breath Matt said and I knew what he meant, a huge exhalation of nature. On the hill that is Stonehenge we were surrounded by fluffy white, here I could believe that Avalon disappeared into the midst's of time. My mouth hung. I turned to look at Matt and he was grey, he was swaying, he dropped to the floor. Fine, fine, he wanted me to know he was fine. He always takes care of me, no matter what shit comes down he's always standing, and there he was on his knees, white as a sheet. Too much hash and booze, but he has the constitution of an ox. I stroked his hand, I kissed his brow, god he was sweating, within seconds he was standing again, that's my man, always stands, never cowers, never shrinks, straight backed man he is. We kissed and then the sun's disc could be seen, a dense massive orange came over the hill and a huge cheer came from the crowd. Fuck, Stonehenge , sunrise, fuck me.

We watched the sun come up some more, it illuminated the sky, and for some reason I wanted to just let go of everything, tears, shit, vomit, I just wanted to dump it all. Matt said ‘Where are you?'

‘I'm watching the sunrise at Stonehenge .'

He filmed it, I've watched it since, some woman with a severe bad hair day wrapped in her blanky.

We walked around some, in a dream, it was just amazing, people dancing and kissing and the drumming. We walked up burial mounds, no, these are living things, we need to be with them in whatever way feels right, and I am respectful. We went right into the stones, and for a while I remembered WALLY HOPE, yes I did, I thought of him, and, Wally man, I know they fucking murdered you, this shite system, with their cops and their courts and their mental institutions, but I salute you Wally, nice one mate, cheers, I thought of you in the sunrise and you were there.

The Hare Krishnas were doing there thing, with the drumming and the dancing and the devotion, and I mean how hard is it to remember the words? It goes something like Hare, Hare, Hare Krishna, or something to that effect, but people were so fucked, and there was this one woman, and she couldn't get the words (???), but everything was cool, we were all just there, in the moment, with the sun and the stones, and no-one cared. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw this woman throw her bra down like a gauntlet. She was shouting and, now, naked. There was a man in front of her. She was shouting at him, he was dithering. She was shouting with joy and energy not anger. She had long hair, blonde, was thin, big breasts and serious piercings, outer labia, and big breasts. Man she looked beautiful. The man stood in front of her, clothed, skinny, brown curly hair. She was shouting at him, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.' There was energy there from the Hare Krishnas, from the new sun day. She loved him. She was naked. He was clothed. He turned and addressed us, something to do with his ‘fucking zip', but she ripped the clothes from his body and soon they were both beautifully naked, ripe, fuckable. He pulled his naked lover to him and the lay on a stone. ‘Good morning' he shouted to us all. Looking at him, his woman in his arms, their arses on the stones, the new sun, the 30,000 strong tribe. ‘Good fucking morning' I thought, yeah, this is a good morning, I almost forgot what that was mate, a new and vital day, a good day, ‘Good morning, sure is, this is a good morning'.

MORRIGAN.NIHIL(AT)NTLWORLD.COM