I've an awful lot to say about this weekend; how mum and Friend 3 visited on Saturday, how mum and I blitzed the house and went to Highgate cemetary. And how Friend 3, Calypso and then stayed up until stupid o'clock watching Doctor Who. But it didn't matter, because it was only a weekend so I could catch up sleep on Monday. Neither did waking up at 9 AM, and meeting mum in Camden, then Friend 3 in Oxford Circus, and walking all day until 6 in the PM, because they'd be gone in the evening, I could grab an early night, and catch up sleep on Monday. Maybe one day I'll blog all that. I doubt it, as I'm always too drained after fun weekends with visitors to write it all down.

I resisted the urge to go to bed too early, and distracted myself with origami and The Sea Wolves - although I was drooping and didn't really enjoy either,

So when Bevenita tootled in and chirruped something about going to a fire show, then driving to Stonehenge for the solstice, I almost certainly meant to say no.



Part 1: To start with...

I don't know what's come over me recently. I'm just very bored of being me. I'm sick of Victorians, sick of violent movies and the classification system - sick of movies full stop - bored of drawing and writing and creating in general. It's left a black hole in my life quite difficult to fill. But this might explain why a combo of some of my least favourite things, like being away from London and ghastly late nights, suddenly seemed like a good idea.

No, let's go further back. Calypso and I were hooping one night in the garden, when Bevenita and Pluto chanced to return. I surrendered my hoop to her, hung up fairy lights on the washing lines, found outdoor speakers, produced chocolate and hey presto - we had a party! I also found a big metal bucket of water when Pluto produced his fire poi. I shouldn't have worried: he is excellent, and the show he put on was beautiful. Bevenita is a very watcheable hooper because of her infectious enthusiasm. Pluto, on the other hand, has this sombre meditative quality to his performance. Whoosh! I was reminded of it when reading through "The Lost Gods of England", a book detailing everything we can reconstruct of England's pre-Christian religion from information inadvertantly transmitted by Roman and Christian authors. Very little is known of the Midsummer celebration, except that there is one, and that it was a fire festival. Suddenly, I wanted my own coven, and my own solstice ritual decorated with fire performers.
So this came very close to my imagining, and despite my exhaution could not turn it down. I tried to nap on the Tube. Bevenita had no idea how we were going to get to Stonehenge ("Do you know where it is?"), but according to her, when she wants things like this, things tend to just turn out OK.

Part 2: Fire meet

The fire meet was in a park in Vauxhall. About ten of us, with various fun toys and a bucket of paraffin. I recognised some from other circus-y events I'd been to. I sat to one side, wielding a bottle of water just in case (and carefully making sure it wasn't the bottle of water which actually contained gin. That wouldn't be good.)

The first performer was obviously more of a beginner than the others, but had a go with fire nontheless. The back of her jacket caught, briefly, but all was well. Two of them used "snake poi" - instead of attatching a chain to a small burning ball, wick is a huge, thick tail. The patterns look a bit like flags, flame-flags. The fire was yellow and bright blue. Another used a staff, burning at both ends. Bevenita DJed throughout this, and I particularly enjoyed the use of the Animatrix soundtrack. She performed almost last, with her fire-hoop. It was only the second time she had used it, and it is heavier than her normal hoop, but I was still very impressed. The sense of danger and daring to it all made it all the more exciting, and I confess to basically watching with my mouth open.

Halfway through, we were interrupted by a police van which rolled up onto the grass. A cop got out and told us he could smell cannabis, and asked us if we were smoking drugs. We said no. He accepted this, explaining that it was a pretty dodgy area hence the patrols, and then got back into the van. It was a very, very bizzare occurrence. What sort of policeman takes the group of teens at their word when they claim to be drug free? And DOESN'T object to the fact they are obviously playing with paraffin in a public area?

We attracted a passer by, who was on his way home, and was an ex-spinner. We invited him to join us, and in fire-free moments he did some pretty impressive tricks with the glow-poi. It was a nice coincidence, as he offered the use of his toilet in his nearby house, thus saving me from the misery of a bush. He has Boris Johnson's signature in his upstairs loo.

I played with the hoop as everyone packed up - I'm not quite up to performing yet, with or without petrol. I can spin it on my hands a fair few ways, keep it going around my middle while walking, dancing, jumping or doing the splits and get it from above my head to my midriff; and if the music is sufficiently loud, I even manage to get a sort of groove going. I still don't have grace or rhythm to ever be very good at it - I think ultimately, Poi will be for me, as it calls for standing still - but it's still enjoyable. I think the difference between me and them is that they're having fun, and accidentally creating beauty; whereas creating beauty is my end goal, and along the way am having a bit of a laugh. But I could be wrong.

Part 3: The Journey (midnight-3 AM)
Bevenita's optimism was not misplaced; it turned out that A had two friends, D and P, who had brought a van and they would be driving to Stonehenge. It was midnight now, and the plain was 2 and a half hours away. I had met A and C last week, and liked them very much. A had spidery-dreadlocks, both were dressed like hippies and I think the whole bus was very, very vegan. They were both the right combination of serious and chilled-out. Before we set sail, we
popped to a corner shop, but in the beginning of definite trend, a no one had any cash. We jointly met the card limit - I contributed a boxs of weetoes and a packet of biscuits.

D, P and A sat up front - with A taking the first bash at driving. S also had a license, but had never driven a van before, so A decided he should at least get us out of London. So S, C and I piled into the back. It was a construction-man van (complete with ladders on the roof) so there was plenty of room for three. They voted me the cushion, on top of a pair of raised boxes just behind the driver's cab, and they used the assortment of bags and coats and it was altogether rather cosy.

The only real problem was the lack of windows, but this was in a way better: Bevenita gets motion sickness, and I get distracted. I sorely needed these two hours to sleep. I tried rigging my torch up on the broken roof lights using my sonic screwdriver to see by, but Bevenita worried I might electricute myself and suggested we just have it dark. At which point C made her jump. Luckily, he had an abundance of light-up poi and successfuly hung one up. It threw an eerie green-blue over the back, but it was a nice, diffused light compared to the harsh torch, and we were three of the happiest wannabie illegal immegrants.

I curled up with my coats and bags on top of the boxes, and tried to sleep. C and Bevenita were having that sort of Serious, Honest Late Night Discussion which tends to happen with people you don't know too well. It seemed bad taste to get involved in it, and when they moved on to swapping drug anecdotes I didn't have anything to add. The van was incredibly loud, and we could hardly hear the loud trance being played in the front.

One of the more entertaining events was our Blue Peter Answers The Call of Nature moment for Bevenita. We found an empty water-bottle and cut the top off as a recepticle. Meanwhile, C and I played shadow puppets on the back of the cab against the blue moon thrown by the screwdriver. C did a pretty good E.T. We then resealed the bottle with a plastic bag and an elastic band, and found somewhere to stand it up.

We stopped at a way-station after an hour, ironically soon after Bevenita had perfected the bottle trick. Everyone ambled around, buying coffees, browsing. C had been in Peru for the last year, so had missed the Twilight thing entirely. We discussed Stieg Larsson, and how his partner of 20 years isn't making anything off his books because they never married. There were an awful lot of top-shelf novels too, Torture Temptress and the rest.

It cold outside, even though I had had the foresight to wear hundreds of layers, and was only going to get worse. Luckily, WH Smith was selling rather natty double packs of fleece blankets. To pay C back for my cereal, I also sponsored his Boost bars. Outside, A produced a very special strawberry muffin. I made sure it was hash free, but it turned out that by "special" they meant vegan, organic and sugar-free.

Bevenita had had gin by this point, and the van's owner was very much asleep, so A drove again. It got incredibly cold, and I was greatful for the fleeces but they seemed very thin. Nevertheless, I slept on this lap - C meditated.

Part 4: Arrival (3AM-4AM)

I woke up in time to feel the van waddle up over the kerb and onto grass, and at last we were let out, to choruses of "We in Eng-ar-land, ya?". Being an illegal immigrant must be horrible, and in another chancy moment, it seemed like the door might not open. It was freezing outside, but I was totally swaddled in blankets. While everyone else got ready, I tried stargazing, but didn't recognise any of the summer constellations. We did find a planet, though, which I guessed was Jupiter because from my limited experience it seemed more or less the right height, size, direction and definitely wasn't Venus.

We were in a field-turned-car park. It was a full-scale operation, with Disneyland style numbered car-rows, and plenty of helpful stewards. We were in section 18. The artistes debated whether or not, and how, they would smuggle fire poi into the cordoned off area. Finally, they decided to take their most simple pair, and my water bottle became the paraffin recepticle. I didn't volunteer it, because my cold-sore (though I'm starting to wonder if that's what it is) demands I have my own bottle to drink from, but when they remembered it I didn't wholly mind either.

It took a few false starts to get going, and we were about a mile off from the stones themselves. It was still dark, although as we walked the first bright blues started streaking to the east and those 3AM birds started singing. Sillhouetted against that sky were a few statuesque cows, and distant hills with burning beacons.

At the top of the first slope, I risked the portaloos and we went through the first security barrier. They cheerfully checked us all for drugs and knives, and I think they mistook C's
long, carved, plastic glow-poi for some sort of interesting toy. Once we were through, it was a long trek across a field - an exodus of people walking in both directions - the sky getting bluer all the time. I had resisted texting Calypso for most of the evening: there's no schadenfreude-free way to explain that, while you are stuck at home, I am on my way to the solstice at Stonehenge. But now seemed appropriate, and we ended up chatting. She sounded very tired and told me a bit about her day. As I described it to her, the distant monument area now looked very much like movie-representations of Roswell - lots of huge bright lights, security guards and people milling around.

At the end of the field, we passed security barrier 2. This time, they discovered C's penknife - which he had forgotten to leave in the van - but they had a free-of-charge luggage area where he could leave it.

We passed a few food stands; nasty things like at fairgrounds. Over to our right was a huge statue - it looked a bit like a demon or monster. And then I saw the stones, dark grey against dark blue. We hung around a bit for Bevenita's friends and then plunged ahead. There were people everywhere - it was actually pretty unpleasant - and a lot of noise. Bevenita's friend seemed to be heading somewhere, but i was impatient
A said his tradition was to walk around the stones 3 times desoil (that's clockwise to people who use modern non-New-Age English), and a friend's tradition is as good as any in absence of my own. We tried this, but it was really too jam-packed to move. All the low stones were colonised by cheering hippies dancing to the drumming or watching and waiting. The center of the circle was solid. We could just about get through the outside, managed one circuit and then gave up. We met up to the north of the stones, which we had designated base-camp.

It was becoming rapidly lighter, and C and A decided it was time to whip out the fire poi. I followed them behind the crowd to prepare the kit which we then wrapped up in a blanket. We went back into outer band of people and found a suitably large space, getting the permission of bystanders who eagerly prepared cameras. Health and safety gremlins would have hated it, but having already seen him perform in Vauxhall he clearly knew what he was doing. So even though there was barely any space, it felt very safe and I'd have happily watched him poi in a wardrobe.

It was an absolutely magical minute, attracting the admiration of the entire area. Security shut us down very, very quickly (it's hard to miss the man with the fire, especially if everyone is watching him), but it was another one of those weird time-touching moments, because here was that fire celebration I had imagined.

As it became brighter, I went for a wander. Lots of people were in front, face on to the sun; the centre was still packed, and many were behind the monument waiting to see the sun come up between them. I spent about 10 minutes standing in every concieveable location - on rocks, behind them, on all corners, just to get a feel for the different views, and gave up on the idea of a "good spot". We were ultimately off to the side, able to see the stones and the hills and sun: perfect. The angle from which you would paint a trad watercolour.

Just before sunrise, the hill was crowded (youtube)

Ignoring the fact I'd spent all night in a gloomy van, London is packed with buildings so in contrast the green was overwhelming. Much like the dream-sequences in Brazil; the sky was huge, and absolutely beautiful. As the sky paled, we could see mist and yellow light on 360 deg of sage green hills. All Wind and Wuthering. The cloud cover was, on some level, pretty poor for the sunrise - I think everyone was waiting for a huge sizzling ball to hop over the horizon - but watching the clouds go purple and red was a treat. About seven minutes after it must have risen, it peeped out between two flat bands of cloud and a cheer went up across the camp.

Part 6: Sunrise (5AM)
For the first time, I noticed spontaneous religiosity going on instead of drunken revelling. The drumming picked up, and I saw people meditating, or doing yogic style exercises or devotions. For my part, I was thinking about spinning. There's the Wiccan concept of the "Wheel of the Year", and the Tarot "Wheel of Fortune", describing how all creatures live in natural, ancient cycles - and here we were, in loops and bands around England's sacred stone circle, repeating rituals repeated for generations, just as the return of day is always repeated - and the Sun rises because the Earth is turning on its axis, and in turn turning around the +Sun - two big space-hoops - with us celebrating by spinning around and around. Spinning and spinning and spinning, wheels within wheels. I love DIY spirituality.

There was much hugging strangers, and C smudged me with a Peruvian holy tree which smelt to Bevenita like sandalwood. I abandoned my coat in favour of a hoop, which was momentarily freezing but I soon warmed up. I ached everywhere, but it's easy to ignore something like that when you've just SEEN THE SUN RISE AT STONEHENGE FOR THE SOLSTICE. Between us and the horizon was an outlying rock, where people were taking it in turns to have photos. After they got bored, I nabbed it and our two poi professionals stood up there silhouetted against the dawn. That photo is of A.

As soon as the sun was up, the crowds evaporated, which was a shame for them because the afterparty was actually far nicer. We spotted some trouble near the stones, with the stewards wrestling someone to the ground and dragging them off, and it was the only real problem we saw all night. There were lots of people sleeping, and just hanging around in a bohemian manner. We made friends with three yoga-stretchers, and I drummed with one of them. Another explained
"Wherever you are, whoever you are, you are always right". I ignored the temptation to mention Hitler - I understood what he was trying to say. Not everyone was "feeling it" - a particularly angry, drugged-up girl missed the sunrise shouting at her friends down the phone. We offered her and her group cookies.

The morning was divided between hooping and exploring. I was strictly too tired to do any sort of activity, certainly too tired to "perform" - I could keep it going around my middle, but didn't want to move much more than necessary. But the practice did me good, and I can now on demand get the hoop up and down down from my waist to my hips. At other times, I just lay on the grass or stones and cloudgazed.

We attracted the attention of a rather nice looney, who was selling yellow felt wizard hats, a program listing all the summer festivals and caramel cakes. He taught us "Contact Improvisation", the bizzarest dance you have ever seen. You start by "feeling" the earth under your feet, and then you bumble around with your whole body a bit like on a deck in a storm, and trying to be aware of all your limbs. In large groups - he was showing C and S also - touching or dodging other people is part of the idea. Several times, I got lifted up. There are two basic movements. "1" is "rooted", when someone brushes or pushes you and you do not give way - or "0", where you go with their movement and flow wherever they direct you. There's probably some beautiful life truth in there somewhere. It was daft, but also enjoyable and not half as grope-y as it sounds.

When the other two were distracted, he invited me to an August festival of workshops, in which he teaches shaman skills. He explained how everything is connected, "like fractals" - dancing, and words, and music - and how he often percieves words as dance moves. "Everything is the same". While we spoke, I had another bash at poi - I can remember a few tricks. Ugly, but practice makes perfect. Earlier in the week, I recieved some fantastic instructions and I can't wait to get practicing with my sister's pair.

It was now clear enough to get close to the stones. There was a nub of people still solid in the center, dancing and drumming away. But there was easily enough room to walk around three times, desoil. I don't know what A's spiritual motivation was (if I had to guess, it'd be something like considering the past, the previous year, and resolutions to come as you walked), but it gave you a marvellous sense of space and location. The colours were beautiful and clean everywhere now; very fresh. I also closely inspected the stones themselves. They didn't give off any "vibes" as it were, but they were still awe-inspiring. Very large.

Hippies! Everywhar!

While hooping and walking around, I got glommed by someone who asked me to come perform for his friends. I did my apologetic best, and they were very nice. Like everyone else I'd spoken to, they lived fairly close in the area. I met up with my gang again in the stones, and we joined in the dancing. There was drumming, and a girl with an Aztec flute. Bevenita had managed to clear room to hoop-dance there, and at times, there was room for me to whirl a bit too although I often just hopped ineffectually from foot to foot. I'd been going since 9AM the previous morning, with only sparse uncomfortable sleep, and as much as I'd like to have boundless, Doctorish enthusiasm I do flag very quickly when tired. But at least the depression gremlins didn't get me, as they are wont to do. Now there was space, I climbed some of the emptier central stones, and watched the sun through some of the arches - yes, that would be a perfect angle to watch the rise from if you could be bothered to stand there for long enough, which I never could, and were lucky not to have people cramming your view.


I also had a look round for the Pandorica entrance. Despite the way my brain functions, and the huge impression that episode had made on me, I spent surprisingly little time thinking about DW. I think it's potentially the best episode so far. Other top contenders are Eleventh Hour, Amy's Choice (but that does have problems that might have irritated me if not for my Valeyard enthusiasm beating all complaints into the dust) and depending on my mood, maybe Vincent). And if the second half works (and I have perfect faith it will - when your setup is so daring and excellent, I don't think you can muff it up), possibly among the best ever. Calypso informed me earlier it had really been filmed there, but the atmosphere was a bit too bohemian to worry about television.

I hooped up on the rock, but by this point when I moved my feet the backs of my ankles cracked so it was all rather half-hearted. We did have one last epic dance, though, with everyone going at once. The police were clearing people out at 8, and it was now quarter to. We returned to the camp, and A took us to the other side of the stones to escape being forcably moved. Some of his friends had a singing circle, and I mumbled happily along to the more repetitive hippy anthems (something about love coming from love, and flowing like the river into the sea...). While there, it finally became hot enough to remove all the layers. Which seemed rather like the sun saying "well, you guys wanted me here..." Journos caught a snap of me on that rock, soon before we left, looking sleepy.

It was a nice end to a lovely few hours. There was just enough time to get a closer look at the statue, which turned out to be a huge iron man with his hands raised, surrounded by pictures of the summer constellations I had so spectacularly failed to identify earlier on. We had lunch in the car park while waiting for all six of our group to return. Bevenita drove, with D and C as her wingmen. Despite never having driven a van before, C claims he didn't fear for his life once. It just seemed as bumpy as normal to me, and I slept almost the whole way back to Hammersmith. Getting home from there was unecessarily nasty (cash problems + an hour-late bus, which was then very crowded.) Bevenita and I invited a chap from the bus home so we could Google directions for him. He was nice, for the ten minutes he stopped for a drink.

And then I blogged...

Videos and photos will doubtless be appearing more as the week goes on. Of what's already up,
C and I are three minutes into this. He is looking spectacular. I am in red, and looking bedraggled. A news video sums up what went on. Any new pictures will be at this link.

...and here I am. Catching up sleep on Monday.