As I mentioned on Saturday night, Lady Somerset is up for the weekend. She has resided in Glastonbury for the past 22 years and has seen many things. Monday 26th July sees the onset of the 15th Goddess Conference in Glastonbury which, including all the fringe events, lasts for nearly a week.
The Goddess Conference was set up initially for women and men to celebrate female spirituality, and to be a forum for women to showcase their artwork and creativity. All fine so far. In more recent times, the conference has become more extreme and limited in nature. When Lady Somerset arrived on Friday, she could not wait to show me a leaflet that she’d brought with her, that had completely shocked her (usually unshockable) sensibilities. She also couldn’t stop giggling, which is always a bad sign, as she pulled the leaflet (pictured) from her bag.
Just in case you can’t read the leaflet, although you can probably enlarge it, this is the gist of what is going to happen in this workshop.
”PLEASE BRING YOUR OWN SHEET AND LUBRICANT … AND A PACKED LUNCH” !!!
I have been to many workshops in my lifetime and I can honestly say these things have never been on my kit list. And who exactly will be going to this workshop? I don’t see any age limit specified either which could be construed as being somewhat unethical. The way I see it, these women are being asked to pay fifty quid to touch each other up (with or without a packed lunch) under the pretext of ‘healing’. Assuming that the participants may have chosen this course because they have suffered some kind of emotional or physical trauma, is this really an appropriate forum for dealing with it?
I would have to leave the first two items on the kit list to the participant’s own discretion, but in my capacity as a Wartime Housewife and with the benefit of the advice of Lady Somerset, we came up with a few suggestions for the packed lunch.
Fish Paste Sandwiches
Muffins
A banana (as oranges are not the only fruit)
A Mars Bar (no further explanation needed I think)
A bottle of gin (my God you’d need it)
A packet of Wet Wipes
I will offer a free, exclusive and not yet on sale Wartime Housewife mug to anyone who can infiltrate this workshop and give me a full and detailed report on proceedings.
One gauntlet, thrown down.
Years since, a lass in our ‘gang’ tired of the jokes associated with her name, Yvonne (“is your name Yvonne? Well, ‘eave on this!”). Without a trace of irony, she announced that henceforth she wished to be known as Yoni.
I used to live near Glastonbury, and there was a time of year when the street were full of wimmin wearing dungarees and Birkenstocks….
Morning Affer. I contemplated moving down there myself at one time, but I just couldn’t cope with all the disaffected middle class kids pretending to be hippies, or indeed the really grungy ones who lived in benders in the woods. The wierd thing is, that over the past 20 odd years, you’d swear they were all the same people, milling about and spending their dole money on magic wands – it never seems to change.
I knew lots of people who changed their names to something mystical, often because their spirit guide had allegedly told them to. It reminds me of ‘Robin Hood Men in Tights’ when King John is talking Latrine, the witch, and he asks her how she came by such a name. She proudly tells him that her family had changed it to Latrine in the 9th century. Bemused, the King says “You changed it TO Latrine! Why?” She answers proudly, “It used to be Shithouse”. The King nods, “That’s a good change”.
I look forward to receiving my free mug!
Incidentally, you might conceivably be asked to bring your own lube if you were doing a motor mechanics workshop….
Welcome Kyla. I will need some pretty convincing evidence before I release the mug…
Oh lord, it’s the fish paste sandwiches that are cracking me up! Thank you for such an entertaining and useful blog Wartime Housewife.
Welcome Sue. I know, some things are beyond belief. Still, each to their own! Thank you for your kind comment and I hope you keep reading.
I’m going to send the leaflet to Pseud’s Corner in Private Eye. And spend the tenner on wet wipes. (Don’t ask.)
Peter: For a tenner you could buy all the things on the kit list AND the packed lunch.
Fabulous post! In all particulars! I am offering my services as ‘assistant’ at these ‘healing sessions’, I’ll take the rough with the smooth.
Glastonbury is one of those places isn’t it? We were visiting friends out on the Somerset levels and dropped into Glastonbury on the way home. We nipped into a café and joined the queue. The wizard (I kid you not) in front of us was most put out out when they didn’t have any Diet Coke, spun on his sandals and flounced out, cloak, staff and hessian garments flying…good job he wasn’t attired like Eric Gill, thought I.
Oh Jon, it’s so kind of you to offer to help out, as I’m sure you would be a tremendous asset to the group. Sadly, it’s wimmin only and, short of donning a wig and a a flowery frock, I fear you would not be welcome. Eric Gill might well fit in though (apologies), as wasn’t he rather keen on touching up his daughters?
Oh, do you think I’d not be welcome? Never mind. Even so, I’m not so sure as I feel the disguise might be more of the bib and brace overall variety…
Yes, strange cove that Mr.Gill — according to Fiona Macarthur, his biographer, not even the family dog was safe from his amorous attentions. But enough of this unpleasantness, let’s get back to marmalade.
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