I’m too tired – I’ve just deleted this post – so I’ll have to write it again.
I was feeling a wee bit miserable yesterday, which was exacerbated by the BnB where I was staying – my room was half storeroom, and every cupboard in the kitchen contained masses of bottles of homeopathic medicines and tablets, and there was stuff everywhere.. and a strange smell.
‘You WILL give me a five star rating when you review’, I was told, not asked, ‘because there was a mean woman the other day only gave me three stars. Can you imagine what that did to my ratings?’ ‘Mnuhuh,’ says I, deciding to not write a review at all.
Walked the three miles back into town to catch a bus from Taunton to Glastonbury – I was heading there because it is halfway to Frome where I’m meeting some musicians tomorrow, and Glastonbury is too far to walk in a day. Anyway, I had an hour to kill before the bus, so thought I’d sit and play my fiddle. Taunton is festooned with charity shops and one enormous Waterstones that looks like a Weatherspooons. I set up on a pedestrian precinct which turned out to be where the ‘town dwellers’ hang out. First to make my acquaintance was Busker Dominic and his half empty bottle of wine. He dropped it, and kept talking as he picked up every bit of glass. Couldn’t understand why I wasn’t into hallucinogens. ‘It’s the way forward’, he told me, ‘you don’t know who you really are til you’ve been pushed to the edge.’
I’m sitting there thinking: ‘bet you’ve never given birth to a ten and a half pound baby, that’s pushing it to the edge, mate.’
Busker Dominic also enlightened me on the joys of the A minor chord: ‘It’s a busker’s best friend. It’s the brightest of all the minor chords. I must know six songs in A minor. It’s the chord that’s pregnant with possibilities.’ There you go. A minor.
When Busker Dominic finally staggered off, and I started playing, it seemed to attract the ‘Town Centre Dwellers’, who were a happy bunch, they danced and clapped in all the right places. I stopped to pack up ‘Got a Bus to catch’, I told them. Their main man looked at me and announced: ‘it’s the next town where you find the jar of gems.’ ‘Always,’ says I. We nodded sagely at each other.
Two old dears at the bus station with trolleys full of shopping. ‘Ooo look, there’s a bus to Minehead, shall we jump on it and go have a swim in the sea?’ Says one. ‘We’d have to leave our trolleys here, I’m not going to do that,’ says the other and they both cackle. Imagine that said in an old lady taunton accent, and it’s very funny.
Glastonbury. What can I say? Within twenty minutes of arriving here, I had booked into an ashram which was situated temptingly on the way to the Tor. I left my rucksack there and climbed up to the top of the Tor and felt bloody brilliant.
I ate, had a bath, had a nana nap and went to the evening devotional service, which consists of sitting on the floor and singing songs that go on so long that you can’t help joining in with the simple beautiful melodies. I persuaded Nora afterwards to play a couple of the songs/chants so that I would remember the tunes. She kindly did a very heavily edited version for me.
Nora Gonczi: maha mantra
Nora Gonczi: evening arti tune – this is the tune we sing to Krishna when we do the evening offerings.
Well chilled now, just done my morning meditation session, and after breakfast, I’m off to Frome. Catch ya later dudes x
Fekkit
New Boots And Panties And A Fiddle 