Glastonbury Tor 20/07/99
Peculiarly mundane, but incredibly special: the very nature of that which is mystical or supernatural in any way. Yet therein lies its attraction. And down the wobbly road lies the quizzical Youth Hostel – a veneer of Swiss Chalet beside a cow-grazed orchard. Quiet it is not, but the oak, beech and sycamore shake their leafy language over the dime grove. A dirty sky brooms over the Mendips and the tiles and the ubiquitous patchwork. Only on the Tor did the landscape come to life.
Millenia of water, forest and more water flattened good pasture. From the drains now emptying into the Severn the hand of men determine the island charm that is no more. For beyond my imaginations, the past is swept far away. The Avalon I climbed to see was lost in a jumble of colloquial Italian and heavy rucksacks. The peace of the scene was pinched by closed eyes in peace themselves. And down below, ever down below, the tumbling circus is in town telling us all how it is.
Yet there it is, upon the crest, over looking it all – not a master or mistress, more a slave to us. It cannot hide, so it remains our badge of hope. Mercilessly we drain our needs as we come and go. The strong and weak – we come and go. The untidy and the curious seek those answers in a scene of delicious landscape. For there is nothing to which one can compare this individuality, this shape and function. After all, no one lives there but King Arthur.
So I'm glad it wasn't sunny (as I'm thankful there was no rain). The chill of Englishness met the delicate nature of a conundrum. And in my clumsy foolishness I sought a path to the top with everyone else. And I saw what we all saw and then came back down again.
Getting There 05/08/99
It was not the length of the journey but the underlying inevitability that made the journey. And yet, despite the dull Englishness, the sharp grinding of gears, the unknown destination and the monotony of my own thoughts, I nevertheless expected to be somewhere. Anywhere.
Why should I embark upon a journey such as this? The distance was unknown. Only my heart was hoping to go: catharsis of vacation, exorcism of 51 weeks.
But I had the chance to go South. And, even though I yearn to head North, this is where my heart is now. And, even more, I would run and jump at the chance to be there.
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