Mayday! When by ancient tradition witches salute the passing by of the Motherland’s Figurative Rocket Corps. The Motherland of course referring to that lost and doubtless bygone time evilly expunged from so-called history when women ruled a tribal land where being middle aged was regarded as being far prettier than any amount of young tarts. Back when handsome warriors served every priestess with croissants and expensive chocolates. Back when Marion Zimmer Bradley did not have to compete with that awful, awful Bernard Cornwell.
This is a time of fertility and the feminine. This being so, all the children have been sent away and lovely cakes have been put in their place. The maypole looks very nice but it’s not exactly active from what I can see from the attic window. Likewise most of the men have gone too, and all the women under twenty-five (save for Bovington Peck, who has weight issues but has all the right opinions regarding fairy wings). The men round here I’m told are too working class for Mayday and so are in the next village over exploring living history with the Sealed Knot. Mostly the bits of history concerning drink - and who knew you could ferment a cow? Those remaining have been put to work making a sign for the village shop. The village shop which has been set to work in turn cleaning its potatoes and doubling the price of its ham, The village shop that will be Waitrose (as the ancients wished it), or else.
They’ll be fighting later according to Mervyn Peake, there always is apparently. They start off admiring Julian Cope but there’s only one pair of emerald Jimmy Choos, or at least a good knock off. There’ll be recriminations and those tight smiles that look like bumholes after a bit of a scare. Bill Gates I hear is already hiding in the bushes for the naked dancing, which after the ceremonial bucket of someone else’s wine will involve singing Prince Charming, and not quite getting it quite so Adam Ant as wanted. Bill Gates likes that sort of thing.
There are no ducking booths, hit the rat or tombolas. There is however a farmer’s market selling only Indian throws and quite an alarming amount of hats. It’s going to be a long day this Beltane which though strictly speaking was yesterday has been moved so as not to be distracted by Channel 5 showing The Golden Voyage of Sinbad.
It’s an ancient tradition and very magical, and no one messes with Debbie McGee.