For reasons I won’t go into right now, I have just returned from a mini break to Glastonbury -three nights and four days of no kids, no workaholic hubby, no hairy yellow Labrador to walk. Just me and my chakra in the land of cider, cheese and King Arthur.
I knew I was in for a whacky time as soon as I walked down an alleyway crammed with esoteric shops-there were large red plastic mushrooms with white spots on and broomsticks propped against the walls.
A barefoot man, naked other than a pair of skimpy shorts ran past me, his long main of unruly hair billowing as he ran. His toned, tanned body was reminiscent of someone off the front of a Mills and Boon Novel or maybe her was a porn star called Troy or Colt?
Exmoor Jane, clearly accustomed to some of the weird ways of the town suggested we meet at “The Speaking Tree” at the bottom of Glastonbury High Street. Once I had got the name-“Talking Clock” out of my head and spotted the Psychic Piglet opposite I had no trouble finding it.
Milla arrived, and our trio, looking more as if we were old friends of 20 years, took refuge from the strong mid day Sun in a cafe called Laluna, which was to become my favourite haunt over the next few days.
Three hours later and we still hadn’t paused for breath but I had to go and collect the keys from my B&B. I didn’t want to cut short our fun and leave the girls to continue a deux, so I dragged them the long walk uphill to check out my home for the next three days.
First impressions didn’t disappoint-It was a stunning house set in beautiful tranquil gardens and Glastonbury Tor visible from most aspects. The owner showed us around. I was fortunate to have been allocated the ‘Dovecote Room’ so called because of a large dove house right outside the window that Faith would have been proud of.
The owner suggested we feel free to hop over the wall to climb up to the Tor. Once we had negotiated the upturned buckets and barbed wire, we were running like Laura Ingles in Little House on the Prairie up the side of the hill towards the summit. Ok, maybe we weren't running...Actually all three of us crawled, at times on all fours, up the vertical hillside-we had only one good leg between the three of us! But we were determined to make it, dodgy knees or not.
The wind came from nowhere and virtually blew our wigs off as we reached our final destination at the peak. We gasped as we were overwhelmed by the panoramic views-(actually we were panting to catch our breath. I realised later it was the only time Milla was quiet all day.) We paused to share a few moments of solitude and contemplation and reflect on how the journey must have been for Joseph of Arimathea.
The views and a single dove fluttering inside were reward enough for our efforts and we talked of Faith and her doves for the second time that day.
After some dodgy directions and what I suspect was the scenic route back to town, by the time we reached the bottom we were parched and ready to attack the tearooms (as well as find a good hairdresser.) All too soon, our delightful day ended and we said our goodbyes, each of us heading our separate ways in search of a bottle of red wine and a Babyliss foot spa.
Glastonbury is a haven for lost souls and unfortunates who probably went there in search of solace and spirituality and instead found drink and drugs. But they are harmless enough with their sad eyes.
However, you will be pleased to know I didn’t join them on the benches outside St John’s Church after I’d eaten my evening meal at the Hawthorns. Instead, it was my good fortune to be heading back to the comfort of the beautiful B&B and the Princess and the Pea bed.
To be continued.....
So until another day
Bye for now
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