It just never gets old.

Still laughing at the historical bollocks.

I wonder how many people in Brython believe in this, the founding joke of their community?

Ker-ching!

Presumably, now that the age of druids has passed in Brython, all commercial ventures of those therein who currently trade in druidry will cease immediately. After all, how may it be said that all animals are equal when some sit at table with farmers?

Beasts of Brython.

Now then, here we are in Utopia. Mr. Jones has been chased off the farm and all the animals are each very happy about it, restructuring their new land, Flag Farm, and their own labours in ways they feel best suited to modern, 21st Century life. There are no bosses and everyone is equal. Blue jeans good - white robes bad. All’s well with the world.

The interesting thing, to my mind, will be seeing who takes up the masks of Napoleon, Snowball and Squealer.

Le Morte d’Art.

An important part of any living tradition is its creative expression of its teachings. Christianity has choirs and hymns, Islam has muezzins and tajwid, Judaism has cantors and psalms. What does paganism have? Belly dance troupes.

Dyb Dyb Dyb.

It's quaint, really. Druidry is looking increasingly like the Boy Scouts. Funny clothes. Strange words. Patronising, snotty-nosed leaders. Jamborees. An atavistic regression to a longed for class divide where everyone knew their place, came when called and were urged to respect their betters? Is this the dirty little secret of men in frocks? I think the evidence speaks for itself.

Oh, don’t forget everyone: Flag Fen, this Saturday, October 11th. Be there and be square.