Neolithic splendour in Brittany - Carnac and Gavrinis

The amazing megaliths of Carnac - a small selection

Just two of the beautiful carved stones inside the passage tomb at Gavrinis.
Photo courtesy of Guided Tours France as normal photography is forbidden inside.

Exterior and entrance to the cairn on the Island of Gavrinis.

Any photo of Carnac can barely do it justice. This has got to be one of the most amazing sights (and sites) ever. Rows and rows of standing stones, some much taller than a man and some smaller than a toddler, march across the landscape in long wobbly lines. There are gaps (deliberate or the passage of time?) and dolmens off to the side, and from nowhere apart from the sky can you get a picture of the whole thing.

I visited Carnac seven years ago with two of my sons, on a cold and leaden-skied day in August. We parked and looked (in the height of the season you can't wander amongst the stones - too much erosion) then parked a bit further on and looked again. It was impressive and enjoyable but I didn't really get a sense of the size of the site. This time I saw Carnac a much better way, and one that I thoroughly recommend. We parked the car at the far end, away from the Visitor Centre, and we unloaded our bikes from the roof. Camera at the ready, we then spent the next three hours or so until after sunset exploring on our bikes. This was the most brilliant way to see and appreciate the full splendour of the stones.

First we found a sunken dolmen (more about this in my next blog - which will be my last on Brittany for a while as the Gathering looms!) and then we cycled the 4Kms along the road and sometimes off-road on the paths all along the highway of stones. We climbed the little tower for a better view and even managed at one point to get lost in some woods. It doesn't take much where I'm concerned, having no sense of direction at all. We popped into the Visitors' Centre just before it closed and quickly watched an amazing film about Carnac. I didn't understand a word but the images were stunning. And Mr B bought me a very pretty T-shirt which featured a pattern from the other mind-blowing place we'd seen earlier.

We then cycled the whole way back along the road, and the sun which had been coy all day decided to blaze out in August glory, casting golden light onto the stones and creating long hazy shadows as it sunk lower in the sky. It was the most lovely cycle ride back and I really would recommend this as being the best way to experience Carnac, other than perhaps a helicopter of course. And that would be too noisy anyway.

The other place we visited earlier this day was somewhere else I really recommend (I can feel a Stonewylde tour of the Sacred Sites of Brittany coming on!) - the Island of Gavrinis, in the huge Gulf of Morbihan. This is only reached by boat, and is a tiny uninhabited island. In the centre is a great mound - just like any old hill really - but it hides an incredible secret. It's actually a cairn covering a passage tomb, and the front has been exposed to show the incredible stonework. It reminded me a little of the old air-raid shelter we had in our back garden in the house where I was born. From the outside and the back, all you could see was a mound of earth and grass. However the likeness stopped there - the cairn had a massive diameter of 50 metres with no corrugated iron in sight!

Inside, the passage was about 14 metres long, and completely stone lined. Great blocks of smooth stone form the floor, whilst the walls and ceiling are made of similarly enormous stones but these are intricately decorated. The patterns are beautiful and I longed to take photos, but this was forbidden. The carvings are so delicate and cover every bit of each stone. The passage tomb is lit by tiny floor lights so it was quite dark and very atmospheric indeed. I had to stoop in places but at the end, in the widest bit, I could stand fully upright (although I am only 5' 3").

Everyone talks of these places being graves and tombs, but I can't help but feel myself that perhaps they served other purposes too. I felt very humbled and emotional inside, especially because I was very naughty and whilst the French guide was explaining things outside to the group, I sneaked in alone and stood there for a few minutes in the womb of stone entirely alone. I tried to open my mind to the ancestors who'd built such a mind-boggling place and had spent so much time and effort making it beautiful.

Apparently the cairn at Gavrinis was built about 3500 BCE, before New Grange in Ireland and Stonehenge in England, and about 1000 years before the Great Pyramids of Egypt. Despite the massive exterior diameter of 50 metres, the inside part is quite small and only 2.5 metres at its widest point at the end. It was used for a long time, but then abruptly many hundreds of years later was deliberately sealed off and hidden away under its mound of earth, looking for all the world just like an innocent hillock.

Just to complete our little history lesson for Mr B (and anyone else not sure of these terms - including me!) - a cairn is a man-made pile of stones often used to mark a burial place but with many other uses too, often just monumental. A passage tomb or grave is what it says - a passage or corridor leading to a burial chamber, sometimes with side chambers too like the one at West Kennet near Avebury. I'm still not happy about classifying these places as graves, despite remains having been found in them (usually from a much later date, I believe). I feel that they were used too for ceremonies, magic, rituals - shamanic journeying perhaps. But maybe that's just me being silly and fanciful.

A dolmen on our doorstep

The dolmen near our campsite - La Loge Aux Loups

We were absolutely delighted to learn that not only was our lakeside campsite in Brittany beautiful, tranquil and very cheap (see last blog) but also it was very close to a dolmen! I was very excited about this, especially as Mr B told me that the name roughly translated to "Wolves' Lair". It wasn't until we approached the secluded spot that I discovered the Mr B didn't really know what a dolmen was - other of course than being prehistoric stones. I know that I'd mentioned the dolmen at Stonewylde in several places throughout the books, but somehow he'd missed the point of what a dolmen actually is. This made me realise that perhaps many Stonewylde readers also didn't appreciate the finer points of prehistoric architecture, which could well be my fault as I'm certainly not an authority on the subject and perhaps hadn't really described things as well as I could.

So here's the Wikipedia definition:

A dolmen (also known as cromlech, anta, Hünengrab, Hunebed, Goindol, quoit, and portal dolmen) is a type of single-chamber megalithic tomb, usually consisting of three or more upright stones supporting a large flat horizontal capstone (table). Most date from the early Neolithic period (4000 to 3000 BC). Dolmens were usually covered with earth or smaller stones to form a barrow, though in many cases that covering has weathered away, leaving only the stone "skeleton" of the burial mound intact. "Dolmen" originates from the expression taol maen, which means "stone table" in Breton.

The Loge aux Loups was beautiful. It was reached by a winding path through woodland, and set in a grove of oak trees. It felt very special and magical there, and during our stay we visited it several times, only once coming across other people there. As ever, the mind boggled as to how people had ever constructed such an edifice. The photo with me in it shows just how massive the capstone is. I collected many fallen acorns and hope to grow my own little Breton oak tree in memory of that very ancient and sacred place and a wonderful holiday.

We saw other dolmen during our stay, and I realise now that not only are there many of them in Brittany, but all over the world. Including Stonewylde! Here's a little bit from "Magus of Stonewylde" with the first mention of the dolmen that Clip likes to use for his shamanic journeys:

Up ahead, built almost on the summit of the hill, was a strange stone structure. Two massive upright stones formed an entrance, capped by a great horizontal stone creating a roof. Sylvie paused and stared. It looked prehistoric. Then she noticed a thin trickle of smoke above the stone shelter, and a movement inside caught her eye ...

Municipal campsite heaven

Our beautiful campsite in Brittany - flowers, a lake, a decorated silver birch - pure heaven!

This is going to be a quickie I'm afraid as I have to write a guest blog for The Bookseller tonight and am also up to my eyes with organising the Stonewylde Harvest Moon Gathering. I can't believe that this time next week we'll be sleeping in Dorset, all ready to zip over to the Gothic manion on the Friday and get things set up for our 50 guests!

So I've copped out a little tonight and have posted a few holiday snaps. These were all taken at our campsite, which was pure heaven. We hadn't booked to stay anywhere, but set off intrepidly from Cherbourg and the ferry with our tent, our bikes and a lot of accumulated stress to offload. I was almost a French campsite virgin (last time was when I was fifteen which was an awful long time ago) and Mr B hadn't been for a while. He'd explained to me about municipal campsites in France but to be honest I thought they sounded a bit dodgy. Maybe it's the word "municipal" - it conjures up images of nasty swimming pools and lots of people doing things cheaply. But looking at our little guidebook of French campsites, we'd already decided the most important feature our chosen site must have was the little bird symbol. No, not Twitter! Tranquille! It just had to be tranquille.

I take back everything I ever thought about municipal campsites. Ours was absolutely perfect. With pitches for 30 tents or campervans, there were only about 5 taken. We were on the edge of a lake, surrounded by beautiful trees with hedges between each pitch. Not that there was anyone near us. There were massive hydrangeas, a spotlessly clean shower and toilet block, lots of hot water and no mosquitoes at all. Talk about tranquille - the only thing that disturbed me at night time was the hooting of owls.

We watched swallows swooping over the lake, the fish jumping, and I even had the fun of creating my own little natural arrangement around our silver birch tree. We could both feel our cares and worry lines melting away, soothed by the friendliness and politeness of the French people around us. And one of the best things of all was the cost - all in for about 9 Euros a night!

Brittany - a magical land

A Fairy Ring and the Cordon des Druides in a beech forest in Brittany

We arrived home late last night from our week's holiday in Brittany. I awoke this morning with that strange feeling of displacement that you get when you find yourself back in your old familiar bed. I was blissfully comfortable, having slept whilst away on an inflatable mat in a sleeping bag that was either suffocatingly warm or horribly shivery - although that could be down to my age of course. But my head was filled with the normal old noises coming in through the window - the distant roar of the M4 and white vans going off to work all down the street. No more birds singing around us right above our heads, silver birch leaves falling gently onto the roof of the tent, happy little French children playing in the distance. The holiday was over and Mr B was once more rushing off to work. Just flick a switch on the kettle rather than light the camping gas and brush the leaves, slugs and pine needles off the folding table.

We had the most wonderful, brilliant time. We've had some pretty fabulous holidays in our short time together, probably peaking with our honeymoon in the Maldives, but I can honestly say that our week in Brittany was up there with the best of them. We took our bikes and the tent and no plan at all, and found a perfect campsite right on a lake (miraculously with no mozzies whatsoever, although a very loud owl did its best to keep us awake every night). We forgot for a week about work and e-mails and deadlines and had the most relaxing yet energising time ever.

I shall write during the week about some of the amazing sacred sites and ancient stones we visited. I hadn't realised just how many there are in Brittany and we obviously only saw a fraction of them. We have some beautiful photos too - but for now, because I have a vast amount of e-mails and paper mail to deal with, an estate car still packed tight to get to grips with, and a Gathering of my Stonewylders next week to organise, I shall stop here today. I hope you like the photos above, which were taken in a beautiful beech forest near Fougeres.

Off to Brittany!

The new and the old - Red Arrows and the Three Old Faithfuls - Spitfire, Lancaster and Hurricane

I spent Saturday in Eastbourne, not Canterbury as originally planned. We're off on our hols to Brittany tonight and the visit to in-laws had been long arranged. Airborne : Eastbourne is apparently the largest free airshow in the south of England, and a bit of a family tradition. My in-laws live right on the seafront at Eastbourne looking out over the sea - absolutely perfect viewing for the airshow.

We were meant to visit on the Sunday and I was due to be in Canterbury on Saturday. And leaving for France Monday night. But it was all too much and sometimes you have to say, "Actually I can't do all this." I think generally we're quite bad at admitting this and try to do everything, which is why we're all so stressed. So - Canterbury was sadly cancelled for me (I'd been really looking forward to the Goddess Festival, not least to seeing Damh the Bard again), Eastbourne was moved to the Saturday and Sunday was packing day for our holiday. We're camping and cycling so there's a lot to organise - it's not just a swimming cossy and suncream!

The airshow was, as ever, spectacular. There's something so very emotional about seeing those old Second World War aircraft fly past - it's always brings a lump to my throat. I said to my young step-son that by the time he's a father, his children would probably never see such a sight as the old originals in flight.

Maybe because I was brought up in the sixties on a diet of old war films with RAF pilots and squadrons of planes flying over enemy territory and lovely young women in fitted uniforms and glossy curled hair that rolled up at the back - I can't help feeling the poignancy and nostagia of watching these old aeroplanes still taking to the skies. My parents (both now dead) used to tell me many tales of their childhood, both living in the outskirts of London as children during the war. My father as a young boy was obsessed with fighter planes, as were many lads of that time. The house where he lived in Kingston-on-Thames, and where I lived as a young child too many years later, still had its air-raid shelter in the back garden. My father remembered digging it out with his father.

Watching these lovely old planes and then fast modern ones like the beautiful Red Arrows and the Eurofighter which gave us an incredible performance on Saturday, is such an amazing experience and one of which I'll never tire. We had a wonderful day and the sun shone for most of it.

And now we're almost ready to go. I've been frantically getting ready all day, mostly sorting out Stonewylde Harvest Moon Gathering stuff. We'll be spending a week in Brittany and we're planning on visiting Carnac and some of the other megalithic sites. I haven't been clever enough to organise guest bloggers for my absence so I'm afraid there'll be radio silence here for a week. But I hope to wow you on my return with lovely photos of standing stones.

As one of my Stonewylders said this evening, "Soak up some earth energy at Carnac, Kit. You'll need it for the Gathering!"

Sujee and a load of hot air

Sujee and Bilbo INSIDE the balloon, and taking off over Littlecote

Last night Sujee and I met up to start sorting out all the workshops and skills offered for the Stonewylde Gathering. But first, Sujee suggested I meet her at Littlecote House near Hungerford to see her new partner in action. This is the famous Bilbo we've been hearing so much about on the forum.

I don't think jobs come more glamorous than this - Bilbo is a balloonier. Actually I don't know if that's the correct term - I just made it up because it sounds a bit French and Jules Verne! The guy flies hot air balloons for a living!!! I've always wanted to fly in one, and so has Mr B, and it's one of those things you promise to do one day. Someone told me the other night about a phrase "the bucket list". This is a list of things you want to do before you kick the bucket, and something that people tend to make when they reach 50 and realise they're not immortal! And also that some things have to be done whilst the body's still in reasonable nick. Flying in a hot air balloon is definitely on our Bucket List, so being invited last night to actually watch one take off was very exciting indeed.

What is it with me and cameras? I took loads of great shots last night. Got home and they were all completely out of focus. It turned out the camera had been left on "macro". So the two grainy photos above were probably the best of the bunch which is really sad as it was a beautiful, warm August evening with long shadows and gold-dust in the air. The balloon was so bright and perfect, Bilbo was absolutely gorgeous (far more of a Frodo actually, but a young Robert Powell also sprang to mind) and it was fascinating going inside the balloon whilst it was still on the ground and being inflated with a fan. I hadn't realised you could do this.

Once the balloon was inflated, Bilbo began to blast it with a massive flame, like a dragon breathing life into his flying machine. Sujee was jumping about demonstrating her complete understanding of the whole process and sparkling with pride at her catch, and meanwhile Littlecote House glittered in the golden Lammas sunlight and reminded me so much of the Hall from Stonewylde.

Bilbo flew away over the trees with his captives, and Sujee and I drove off to the pub where we spent a lovely evening making lists. She's very efficient, which is why I wanted to rope her into helping me. I'm definitely not very efficient! She tried to decipher my green biro scribbles and muttered something about school teacher's writing and how mine wasn't very typical - more like a doctor's writing. But soon the list had morphed into something logical and legible in bold black ink, and now the whole organisation of workshops (reiki, dancing, corndolly-making, birdwatching, singing, drumming etc etc) is in Sujee's capable hands. Phew!

Planning for the Stonewylde Gathering

Monkton Wyld in Dorset - exterior and one of the rooms we'll be using for workshops

Well the order for the T-shirts finally went off today. Why does everything get so complicated just when you can't cope with it? I spent a lot of time working on a design, only to be told by Mr B that it was unusable. He's now created the final design himself using computer graphics, and it looks good - simple but effective. I was also told at the last minute by the printers that we could order a variety of sizes for the same price (we're buying the T-shirts ourselves as a gift for our loyal Stonewylders but need to keep the cost down). So last night I was frantically trying to contact people to find out which size they'd like. Aren't we all so different? Some are small but want big and baggy. Some like to show off their assets. Some have no idea at all! But the Harvest Moon T-shirts are ordered now and if they're wrong, it's too late to change them.

This evening I'm meeting up with a Stonewylder to plan the workshops and market. We're meeting at a very unusual venue and I hope to have a photo to show you tomorrow! People have offered their skills to run a variety of free workshops for the Saturday, and others are bringing their wares to sell, trade or barter with. The offers for workshops look great. We're going to have lots of stuff like belly-dancing, drumming, folk-singing and other things that we can maybe perform in the evening at the party.

There are also talented people who can offer to teach things like corn-dolly making, head-dresses, yoga and an introduction to tarot reading. And then we have other lovely activities such as guided meditation, sound therapy, reiki and healing. I've been to lots of festivals this year where people are charging a great deal of money for these type of activities; obviously they have high overheads to cover. But how wonderful that our Stonewylders are prepared to share their gifts for free!

Tonight Sujee and I have got to sort out the logistics of rooms, resources, a time-table etc. The room in the photo above is a lovely big downstairs communal room - a little short on furniture but there are cushions. I remember this room when I was on a course at Monkton Wyld many years ago in January. It was absolutely freezing!! But hopefully the beginning of September will be balmy and warm, and it would be great if we could run some of the activities outside. This is the room where I hope Sujee will teach belly-dancing, and where maybe Ebany can do his folk-singing workshop later on.

Yesterday I sent out a press-release about the Stonewylde Harvest Moon Gathering, and one of the things I said was how this may be a one-off event. We have so many new members in our online community, and lots of them are hoping to make it to the next gathering. But remembering the logistics of trying to organise this one, I do wonder what will happen in the future. Still, we can but see. It would be wonderful to have an annual event for Stonewylders. If only I owned somewhere like Port Eliot!

T-shirt teasers for Monkton Wyld weekend

Kit Berry at Monkton Wyld, Dorset, copyright Graphic Photo-Arts

It's Tuesday today. I've spent the last few days since Sunday trying to sort out the special limited edition T-shirt for the Stonewylde Harvest Moon Gathering. It's all been a bit of a nightmare really, and it can only get worse as the weekend approaches.

Is it unusual for a bunch of people who've read a set of books to want to meet up? To form friendships and even for one pair, a relationship, and to then go off for a whole weekend, at some cost to themselves, to spend time with a group of strangers? Sounds like the plot for a dodgy film - the sort where you groan when they say they'll split up to search the dingy, nasty corridors and you know there's a mad axeman or equivalent waiting around the corner.

Well - this is what's happening during the first weekend of September. It's the Harvest Moon, and for those not in the know, this is the name of the full moon that rises in September, and is often, due to the atmospheric conditions, blood red in colour. And this moon is very significant too in the Stonewylde novels but we won't go into that here. Although the admonishments of my erstwhile agent Clare Pearson still ring in my ears, "You can't have a rape in the first chapter!"

Ages ago Mr B set up the Stonewylde community to help me cope with the Stonewylde fans. I never imagined this effect when I wrote the books, but somehow people are quite often profoundly affected by the books and are loathe to leave them behind when they're finished. So they used to write to me, to thank me. Which was absolutely lovely (and still gives me a huge thrill) but then after I'd replied, they'd reply, so I felt I should reply ..... clearly once this involved a few people it was impossible to maintain. So Mr B had the idea of starting a community for fans and readers of the books. I was very sceptical indeed. Why on earth would anyone want to join? Surely if you were into social networking you'd already belong to lots of sites and certainly wouldn't bother with one that related solely to Stonewylde. What would there be to say of any interest?

Mr B set up our original community site, a simple forum, in April of 2007. It was very like throwing a party - sitting there in the gloom hoping that people would arrive. And they did! Lots and lots of them, slowly but surely, and very soon I realised that actually Stonewylde was something a bit more than just a series of books I'd written whilst working as a schoolteacher. I realised I'd created something a bit special, something that had taken on a life of its own.

We launched the new community, http://www.stonewylde.net/ on Dec 24th 2008. There was a lot of moaning at first from the old faithfuls who didn't like the new format (especially a weird Welshman called Carp), but the new site has gone from strength to strength. However, prior to this, last summer a new rumbling had begun amongst the Stonewylde troops. They wanted a proper gathering. A get-together on a grand scale. There was talk of camping, of hiring a field somewhere, of maybe taking over a campsite or even organising a marquee. It quickly escalated, mild speculation rapidly flaring into a great conflagration of excitement, with people posting their ideas of where everyone could meet up.

Because I was the creator of Stonewylde I felt responsible. If this Gathering, organised by the fans for the fans, was a complete disaster then I'd be responsible really. So I thought that I should step in and take over. After a bit of searching about I decided to take the plunge and book Monkton Wyld. This is a Gothic mansion in Dorset, a holistic centre where I'd stayed few times on various courses over the years. What a huge decision! A bit like that film whose name escapes me now (please someone make a comment below and remind me!) with the baseball field, I had to have faith that "they would come". I booked Monkton Wyld. The whole mansion for the whole weekend. It was a huge act of faith in my loyal followers that they wouldn't let me down and leave me to foot a massive bill.

And now almost a year later, the date is nearly upon us. I'm up to my eyes designing a special limited edition T-shirt to give to everyone in their goody bag on arrival. In the next few days I shall blog a bit more about this special weekend. Meanwhile I have to get back to work now and start making a list of people who have offered to play instruments and perform at the Stonewylde party on the Saturday night! Oh it's a hard life.

Swine flu hits our household!

I decided to blog about this to put anyone's mind at rest who may be worrying about catching the disease, and how bad it really is. Swine flu arrived in our house last week and hopefully is now about to leave! So far Mr B and I seem to have avoided catching it, which is amazing given the fact that we're all in the same house together and I've been caring for my son since the first symptoms struck. Of course I may be speaking too soon here!

I remember when this potential pandemic began back in April of this year, it was really very frightening. There's a balance to be struck between reporting news and keeping everyone well informed, and actually fuelling fears and creating wide-spread panic. At one point I really felt it to be the latter, with the media reporting almost by the minute where the flu had spread, how many cases, and then bombarding us with terrifying statistics about death from flu.

I remember in school learning that more people died globally from the pandemic of Spanish flu that began in 1918, than died in the First World War. I've just looked up the statistics on a BBC News website, where the pig picture above also came from, and it states that:

"1918: The Spanish flu pandemic remains the most devastating outbreak of modern times. Caused by a form of the H1N1 strain of flu, it is estimated that up to 40% of the world's population were infected, and more than 50 million people died, with young adults particularly badly affected."

This dreadful statistic does explain why the World Health Organisation were so worried earlier this year. Swine flu is also of the H1N1 strain, and again young people were affected rather than the elderly. The number of deaths each year from flu are frighteningly high, but this seems to be normally due to the elderly developing respiratory problems and complications, rather than young and supposedly healthier people dying. If the 1918 pandemic killed more than 50 million people, imagine what could happen today with the vastly increased effects of globalisation.

I really felt for that Scottish couple who first contracted this swine flu. How scary must it be to feel ill and know the country is watching, wondering after all the horror stories whether death is imminent. So when my youngest son, the 21 year old who graduated a couple of weeks ago, started to feel ill, our immediate reaction was that maybe it was swine flu.

There were signs on our doctor's surgery door and our local pharmacy saying "DO NOT ENTER IF YOU THINK YOU HAVE SWINE FLU!". The news was still reporting huge numbers of new cases, and Will said that lots of people had been off work. He works in HMV at the moment, which is staffed largely by under-25s, and with the school holidays upon us, probably mostly visited by teenagers and youngsters. So if this flu is mostly affecting the young, statistically he was bound to contract it.

His symptoms were a high temperature, feeling very ill, aching all over, severe shooting pains in the back of the head, mild hallucinations, a sore throat and sneezing. Pretty standard flu stuff really. It said on the NHS website that unless you were in one of the vulnerable groups of people, you probably wouldn't need or be able to get the anti-viral drugs. So I simply dosed him regularly with paracetomol and made sure he drank plenty of fluids. Of course it's possible that he doesn't have swine flu at all, in the absence of confirmation from a blood test, but the NHS website says that if someone has flu now it is more than likely to be swine flu, and all Will's symptoms fit exactly.

But for anyone who hasn't yet had it and is worried, I wanted to reassure you that as far as flu goes, it actually is quite mild. I had two bouts of flu back in the early 1990s and I was really pretty ill, and for much longer than this. So my experience now with my son confirms the news reports: that unless there are underlying medical problems, it's not that bad!

Hopefully my boy will be back at work by the end of the week (he wanted to go today but really wasn't quite ready) and Mr B and I will avoid it altogether. And with any luck Mr B's appallling swine flu jokes will also cease. The latest source of mirth being Will's "pigsty of a bedroom". Groan!!

Lammas at Avebury with David Rowan and friends

I'd been really looking forward to spending Lammas at Avebury with David Rowan and his group on a guided walk. The plan was to walk around Avebury, Silbury, West Kennet and the Sanctuary, then move on for lunch, then visit the White Horse, Old Sarum, the landscape around Stonehenge .... what a wonderful way to spend Lammas, I'd thought. Golden fields all around, crops ripening, blue skies, swifts swooping and skylarks warbling - perfect bliss.

The day dawned grey, wet and distinctly murky. And my step-son was staying with us too, and eyed the pouring rain with complete horror. After establishing that it was not an option to stay at home and play on the X-Box, we set off for Avebury armed with waterproofs and umbrellas. Although for some reason I didn't include sensible shoes on my list, and the Boy was wearing wide, full denim jeans. He hadn't brought anything else with him.

I hate to admit it but part of me wanted to stay at home too and get on with the newsletter and the ironing. But I'd been blathering on to everyone on the Stonewylde online community about this special walk and several people had said they were coming too - I couldn't let them down. Mr B was well up for it though (as they say). So on arrival at a very empty and dismal Avebury, we found David and the bedraggled group, complete with a couple of hardy young children and very wet dogs, waiting in the car park.

Disappointingly coffee in the pub wasn't on the agenda, but luckily I'd already promised John and Esther who run The Henge Shop that I'd pop in and sign the fifty copies of Stonewylde they'd had delivered the previous week from our warehouse. They're both very staunch Stonewylders and sell a lot of our books in their shop. They also keep bees, pigs, make beer and live the life - they're lovely people. So I had to slope off from the group into the warm, dry shop, which was reassuringly filled with the aroma of Esther's perfect coffee, and promised to catch the group up somewhere around Avebury.

"We'll be going clockwise," said David helpfully.

I was soon esconsed in the back room at a big table surrounded by great piles of Stonewylde books, with a mug of coffee at my elbow and John chattering away and writing out cheques. My umbrella dripped over the flagstones. Then in came Philippe Ullens, the famous Belgian crop-circle photographer. That description sounds a bit larger than life but he was a charming man and proceeded to show me some stunning arial photos he'd taken the day before of amazing crop circles. The day was looking up.

But sadly it didn't stay that way, because by the time I'd tramped through the long wet grass in my unsuitable shoes, cleverly going anti-clockwise so I'd bump into the group, I was absolutely soaked. The Boy was looking totally fed up and very wet indeed. Mr B was still chirpy, and Darcy and Avebury, our Stonewylde love-birds from the community, were even chirpier. They'd come all the way down from somewhere up north especially for this event, and I thought yet again just how different it all could have been if only the sun were shining.

We visited Silbury Hill (see photo above) and then the long barrow at West Kennet, the very place where the photo of the Earth Goddess on the front of Magus of Stonewylde was taken. We passed under the Wishing Tree, complete with Lammas offerings tied into its branches, and climbed up the hill to the stone chamber. The Boy remained in the car plugged into music, his wet jeans misting up all the windows and in a bit of a strop. Darcy showed us a tiny wild violet which impressed me immensely as it didn't look like a violet at all.

The atmospheric stone chamber inside the Long Barrow was very wet, and some little tea-lights burned in the crevices between the stones. A couple were locked in a silent and crouched embrace in one of the side-chambers but we decided it was probably a healing session rather than some kind of Lammas fertility ritual. Mr B spotted a crop circle in a nearby field, and you may just be able to make it out in the other photo above.

We decided at this point to cut our losses and go straight for the pub lunch. The Boy perked up at this, and whilst everyone else trooped along to the drizzly Sanctuary, the famous wooden henge, we nipped off to The Barge. This is one of my favourite pubs. It's right on the Kennet Canal (the name's a clue) and is renowned for being the haunt of crop-circlers, bikers, and other interesting people. It has a lovely atmosphere inside and I love the decor - quite rough, idiosyncratic, definitely not tarted up and very comfortable. The back room has the most amazing ceiling painted with pagan things. I will post a photo I took ages ago of this ceiling another time when Mr B has finished doing magic things to our server and I can actually find it. No I won't start moaning about photos now I promise!

The Boy tucked into a sausage baguette with extra chips and suddenly blossomed into life again. By the time the rest of the party joined us I was on my second cider and feeling happy with life and Lammas. It was lovely to spend some time with Darcy and Avebury, who are such a great couple and make me feel like a proper match-maker because they got together through Stonewylde. They are so funny the pair of them, and Darcy writes a mean blog on the Stonewylde community site.

We called it a day at this point and made our apologies to David. It was a shame but maybe better luck next time. I felt sad that all those lovely ripening crops are now drooping and very wet - doesn't bode well for the harvest. Cornmother was telling me today that it looks like being really poor, with half-cut crops standing in the fields waiting for a spell of dry weather so they can dry out before mildew sets in.

I hope others spent a more favourable Lammas. We got home, had hot baths and cups of tea and felt cosy, but not very seasonable. Where were the swifts swooping over golden fields? Where was the ochre and burnt sienna of my Stonewylde Lammas fields?

A week on from Port Eliot

It's now a week since Port Eliot Festival and I think I'd better stop blogging about it after this one! It was such an amazing experience for both of us that I've really found it hard to think of anything else all week. Last night we managed to see the Culture Show repeat which was all about the festival, and it was very strange watching it on TV.

Clearly the programme had been filmed on the Saturday, when the weather was beautifully sunny. By Sunday the heavy rain had arrived and it was cold, wet and pretty shivery. We spent most of Sunday huddled in our gazebo talking to the Stonewylde fans who'd come specially to see us. I wish they'd come on the Saturday and enjoyed the better weather.

The festival we saw last night on TV, with celebrities, authors and musicians being interviewed, was very different to the one we experienced. I always find it fascinating how people can share the same event and yet have a completely different experience. My dear aunt, the Owl Lady to whom Stonewylde is dedicated, once told me of the book she planned to write, which was all about this very thing: the same incident through the eyes of various people who by adding their own filters of experience, emotion and perspective made the incident appear very different. She never did write the book, which is why she was so keen for me to write.

Anyway, watching the Culture Show last night was like seeing a different festival. We didn't have time over the weekend unfortunately to sit in and listen to all the authors and musicians (except for Dovegreyreader, whom I simply couldn't miss as she's been very supportive and her husband Bookhound had spent ages chatting to us in our gazebo). We were so busy with our own thing, talking to the myriads of people who stopped by at our stall, and showing them the corn dolly display and chatting about Stonewylde. I wish now that we'd had more time to spend just wandering about as punters, enjoying the talks and schmoozing with all the interesting people on their stalls. But that, of course, wasn't why Lady St Germans had invited us and wasn't why we'd attended at all.

Having said that, we did find time to socialize with the delightful Simon Costin and his brother Anthony, who were exhibiting their travelling Museum of British Folklore - see the pic above with the lovely little caravan. We've teamed up with Simon before at the Wessex Folk Festival and it was thanks to him that we were invited to Port Eliot. He also interviewed me on Sunday, in the pouring rain, for the Port Eliot Radio Show which will go out on podcast too. You can see us above well wrapped up against the elements with the producer - Hamid I think although I'm terrible with names. Simon is a huge Stonewylde fan and we both really enjoyed doing the radio interview.

So ... that's it now until next year. On arrival home we left the wet tent and dripping gazebo mouldering in the car for a day, then managed to get it all dried off in a brief afternoon of sunshine, and packed away ready for our next sortie. We had guests galore staying all week and so much follow-up from the festival to deal with. And yesterday was Lammas, so I've been desperately busy putting the latest newsletter together, which you can access on the main website if you're not already a subscriber.

I'm longing already to return to Port Eliot next year (I do hope there's another festival then - I heard that maybe it'll only be every two years?), and will have to ensure that we get a little more time to wander around and listen to other people's talks. Maybe by next year I'll be such a famous author that I'll speak for an hour and get someone else to run the Stonewylde gazebo all weekend, whilst I swan around in Where the Wild Roses Grow's jewellery (see my newsletter about this!) and drink champagne. Now there's a thought.