Morris Time

Morris Dance has changed over the years since Cecil Sharp formed the English Folk Dance Society and rekindled the fires originally lit as early as the fifteenth century. As it should. What fails to adapt, stagnates. So while crisp white hankies and shin-bells remain central to the tradition, steam-punk is a-visiting.

Today Janet and I had lunch with Greg and Cathy in Bath, while the Morris Federation (as very distinct from the Morris Ring) held their AGM and Day of Dance. The Federation was originally for female teams when they were less popular amongst the fellas. Now perhaps everyone gets along so much better... hmm, best check those hazel staves for studs, eh. Morris Dancing is an intense sport.

Anyhow, Morris was committed, although not by me (I've had a wiggle and a jingle and I profess some experience of the willy wacking...) but mostly beer was drunk; an astonishingly good way to enjoy a late summer afternoon.

Later this evening, whist Dr Who was making up with Davros and Wales were cunningly failing to lose against England, we lit a fire as part of the Beacons in the Dark; a small magical intention against the threat of Fracking in Britain. And what is life without a little magic...