November is here.
In some quarters it has just been the Celtic New Year. My view? bollocks. We have a perfectly good new year already within society, we don't need to go and invent another one. I mean, who really, genuinely feels the same about Nov 1st as they do Jan 1st? I certainly don't and I doubt many others so too, but then it is apparently 'anciente' and 'myfteriouf'. If I sound grouchy it is because I am, I have had a bad chest for almost 2 weeks now, plus the arse end of a cold too. On top of that I have lots to do at the museum and at home and all less than a week to do it in before I clear off to the wilds of Paraguay for 5 weeks.
The festival formerly known as Samhain - personally I slip back into Halloween and with enough ease as to remind myself that it is as perfectly good a name for it as any - has just emerged from the mists and is slowly sinking back into them. It is supposed to be the marker for the beginning of winter, the things is; it simply isnt winter here in south London. It is most definately autumn; golden leaves (and I really do mean golden at the moment) and a damp chilliness in the air. All those things that to me scream autumn. No frosts and no flesh shredding cold that slips not your bones and wont be shifted with anything less than a hot shower, nothing to me that says winter yet.
The remedy to this November festival of the dead and the beginning of winter is to slip a knife between them, pry them apart and take them as they should be; separate. Halloween is given back to the dead and only the dead - something like the Mexican Dias de los Muertos, whilst the 'Hello Mr Winter, how nice to see you again' festival - let's call it Winternights - to be observed when winter comes a knocking.
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I knocked the above together a few days ago and didnt really feel in the mood to carry on writing.
This will probably by the last you hear from me until I get back from S America in mid to late December. We shall see if I have anything interesting to write about then.