The summer solstice is upon us. Time to get out the woad, ramp up the chanting and perform some ancient pagan rituals involving fire, water, air and earth. It might be very cheering to get blue and naked in the countryside, and it would certainly take our minds off the current doom and gloom that is our daily news. So why not? ‘Because it’s idiotic,’ was my 19-year-old son’s response. My suggestion that he might like to celebrate the longest night with a bonfire and marshmallows on the wild heathland overlooking the sea in Norfolk was met with a withering look. ‘It’s probably illegal,’ he said. ‘And how old do you think I am anyway?’
London is now my home again after 15 years of living in Norfolk. I have moved to Paddington, to the top floor of a crumbling Regency cake of a house, with tumbling stucco and undesirable water features on the stairwells both inside and out.
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