Arthur (and Cwtch) in Avalon

Off to Glastonbury today to visit my friend, Jan. Jan and her family moved to Glastonbury from Holt in Wiltshire some years ago, but hadn't yet made it to Muchelney with its stunning church, so that's where we went.

The right and proper way to approach Muchelney - unless the Levels have flooded and you need a boat - is on foot, so Jan parked in Langport and we set out along the River Parrett. 

Crossing Huish bridge

The confluence of the Rivers Parrett and Yeo 

Jan with Cwtch and her dog, Arthur

Looking ahead to Muchelney and its church tower

On Law Lane bridge

We had a picnic in the porch of the church, where it was cool and shady for both us and the dogs ... 

... with a glimpse inside of why I'd insisted to Jan we needed to visit.

First, though ... 

'Jan's brought chicken ... she has, Mam! ... Chicken!'

And inside the church, the sight - even though I've been there several times before - that always makes me feel a bit weepy. 

Glorious bare-breasted angels dating from the early 17th century

I can never quite fathom how they survived the depradations of the Civil Wars. Many the Levels were flooded, and Muchelney an island, when the iconoclasts were in the neighbourhood. 

Mediaeval floor tiles

As we passed Muchelney Abbey ... 

... and the Priest's House, with its - as I recall - wonderful Cotswold Arts and Crafts furniture by Ernest Gimson and the Barnsleys, I realised I perhaps need to revisit (whisper it) sans chienne. 

Then back up the Parrett to Langport, the church tower on the horizon now St Mary's, Langport.

Knowing me, knowing you ... Aha!

Handsome King Arthur

I think this might be a heron feather

Tawny owl feathers from the resident in Jan's barn

Poetry on the Levels

There's been lots of poetry going on lately. I missed the most recent session of our open mic, Silver Street on Friday, as I was covering at work for my co-worker Neelam, who's on a family holiday in India, but late Sunday afternoon saw the Zoom launch of Finished Creatures Issue 7, which I'm very pleased to have a poem in. It sounded a bit daunting to begin with, with 'breakout groups' - eh? - being organised for sub-readings, but it worked very well and was an enjoyable prelude to the Zoom launch of my former tutor Kim Moore's latest book, 'Are you judging me yet?' 

Yesterday was a poetry day too, and it started auspiciously enough with two foxes making their way through the back gardens and finally settling in my neighbour's. Hopefully we'll get some more kits this year.

I'd been booked by Ama Bolton to read at Wells Fountain Poets in the evening, and as it was the first day of the Easter holidays as well, I decided to make a day of it and visit my friend, Jan, who lives in Glastonbury.

After the most delicious bowl of sweetcorn chowder at the farm shop and cafe which is literally next door to Jan's rural domicile, we set off for a meander around the locality, stopping first at nearby Meare. 

The Church of St Mary was locked so we didn't get the chance to go inside, but no matter, the mediaeval Meare Fish House just down the road is always worth visiting so we wandered there instead. 

If you're wondering why there's a fish house in the middle of fields, there used to be a pool here, as the village name suggests. It was large, measuring four miles in circumference in winter, and disappeared when the Somerset Levels were drained in the 1700s. 

Sadly, it too was padlocked and we couldn't get inside. 

We then drove to Godney along Godney Road. It was exhilarating to see the Levels remembering themselves after the recent rain, so we stopped where the road turns right and walked back down to the rather prosaically named Division Rhyne.

What the bright and sunny day lacked in atmosphere, it made up for with brilliantly clear views in all directions.

Glastonbury Tor in the distance

And even on sunny days, the pollarded willows lining the causeway look haunted, or, as Jan observed, as if they've been drawn by Arthur Rackham.

Stranger still were the celandines opening their petals and blooming underwater. 

Looking back towards Godney

Division Rhyne

After a light, pre-reading repast back at Jan's, I drove over to Wells, parked and walked down the former Gropecunt Lane - now Union Street - to the King's Head. It was a warm and supportive evening, as expected - no photos, but a residual fuzzy feeling that makes mementos unnecessary. The only bit of the day that didn't quite live up to expectations was the drive home, when I had to divert from the A38 to the A39 because the road was closed at Pensford, which meant returning via Keynsham and negotiating St Philip's Causeway in the dark but you can't have everything and at least rush hour was long past by then. 

Misty Avalon

Another writing and editing session in Glastonbury today, for the piece on climate catastrophe some of us west-based poets are preparing, and as it was misty and sunny and beautiful, Dominic and I decided to avoid the M5 and take the scenic route.

I was hoping for a repeat of this: the October Sunday, seven and a bit years ago, when we stopped on Bristol Hill, en route for Wells Literary Festival, to gaze at the mist spreading over the Vale of Avalon. 

But as we descended from the sunlit heights of the Mendip Hills, it became clear that it was too foggy to see anything at all. This is the view of the coombe from Rachael's sitting room. 

Throughout the day, I took little breaks to look out the window and watch its gradual retreat.

First the top of the Mendips came into view ...

... then the houses down the hill ... 

... and finally the towers of Wells Cathedral on the far side of a distant river of mist.

Then, before we left, it came piling back in again. 

I had a hunch it might be worth returning the way we came, so we drove to Wells, ascended Bristol Hill, turned around by the TV mast at the top, and drove back down the hill, pulling over just above the sign post where I'd stopped all those poetry years ago. 

And we were rewarded with this. 

A reminder, perhaps, that when you can no longer be bothered to go out of your way to find beauty, it might be time to call it a day.

Following the curve of cloud

It's been nearly all nose-to-the-grindstonery lately, though I did get to see Daljit Nagra read at the Bristol Poetry Institute's Annual Reading a few nights ago.

And today it was off to the Levels, following the curve of cloud across the Mendips. It was still in view when we arrived at our destination in Glastonbury.

We'd gathered to discuss the poetry collage we're planning to put together on the subject of climate catastrophe. 

Susan, Rachael, Simon and Alwyn

It was an intense but productive few hours. 

Dominic and Miranda

Then we played spot the roe deer in the combe at the back of Rachael's house. 

Can't see her?

Here she is.

And there's another three in this photo ... 

... bathing in mid-November sun.