The Magical World of Tylluan Penry

It's well under way now. Luckily the weather has stayed dry for us, and the bonfire is blazing merrily. Mr Penry, covered in smuts, is happily stoking the fire, inbetween playing his 'Seated one day at the organ' game. This has proved remarkably popular and we shall soon run out of whiskey, but not to worry, this is where the magic comes in and I shall just conjure up some more.

The bats have been pretty good so far, just the odd swoop or two, and the owls have been hooting like there's no tomorrow.

There is a line of apples hanging in the trees and the guests have just started having some food. I have joined in the fun with bobbing for apples in a bowl of water and if I find out who held my head under for ten seconds there is going to be trouble....

Mr Sarcophagus Jones has declined to join us, citing an acute attack of common sense, while Mrs Anubis Evans has her own cauldron to stir. Mog the Brick has put away his trowel and his cement mixer on the grounds that eggs play merry hell with his mortar...

There is a nice little area where you can do spells if you wish, and a wishing well where you can do wishes if you want.

The only blip so far is that Barney has, unbenknown to me, discovered the whereabouts of the toffee apples. I have scraped off most of the drool and thrown out the ones that look nibbled, but otherwise they're okay and if anyone would like one I have put the box on the bench near the window.

There is some scary story telling down near the stone circle - this is a great part of Halloween and not to be missed. Mr Penry has done his best to clear all the grass but do look out in case Barney has left any surprises about. You'll know if you tread in one. Tissues and a torch are available at the back door of the kitchen.

Anyone who would like to perform a pagan ritual is recommended to go up on the back terrace where it is dark and suitably spooky. There is loads of incense and a stock of logs up there for burning. Just remember to dowse the bonfire before you leave!

I think that's about all at the moment! Please let us know what you're doing at the party!

A couple of people have asked me what on earth the game 'Seated one day at the organ' entails. So I shall attempt to explain.

This is a game we devised when the children were little to amuse them. (Responsible Adults with no children in tow may add copious amount of whiskey/cider etc inbetween games. It is not compulsory but it does make you fall over more quickly.)

The game gets its title from Sir Arthur Sullivan's song, 'The Lost Chord'. Everyone begins it sitting down, and recites the first two lines of the song:
"Seated one day at the organ,
I was weary and ill at ease...."

The idea is that as you recite the lines so you do the actions - first by standing up, then sitting down while saying 'Seated'; then playing an imaginary keyboard for 'organ'; yawning and stretching while saying 'weary' and looking around nervously for 'ill at ease.' Depending how quickly you move (or how slowly you speak) you may not be able to fit everything in.

This is repeated (endlessly) getting quicker and quicker. Now you can see why the addition of alcohol could add to the 'fun'. For some reason our kids really loved it, it just got madder and madder....

A bit like me, really!

Well, the party preparations are done and all is ready here in Blogland. Since this is a magical party, it doesn't matter what time you drop in today, everyone will still be here.

THere is plenty to eat (veggie and non veggie) in the form of sausages,jacket potatoes, soup, toffee apples, parkin, gingerbread, sticky toffee pudding.

There is plenty to drink, including hot chocolate, cider, lemonade, cider, fruit juice, cider, and whiskey. You will all receive a courtesy broomstick to fly home on, so no problems with the breathalyser!

THere is a BIG bonfire courtesy of Mr Penry.

There will be traditional Halloween games - ducking and bobbing for apples, divination, plus Mr Penry's own invention "Seated one day at the Organ...."

We shall also sit in the dark and tell spooky stories in the hope of actually scaring someone s***less.

I'll see you all later!

Brightest blessings
Tylluan

One of the strange things about learning to do magic is that the better you get at it, the less you need to do it. I’m not quite sure why this should be, although I suspect that magic is something most of us have at our fingertips. Maybe as we become more skilled it becomes as natural as eating or breathing, and we just don’t have to make a conscious effort to do it.

I’ll bet there are a few of you reading this, shaking your heads and thinking, ‘Not me. I couldn’t do magic. I’ve never tried to do it either.’

Hands up which of you have ever thrown a coin in a fountain or pool? I don’t know what it is about water and coins, but the two seem to go together magically. This fact is exploited by charities that often set up a Wishing Well as an express means of collecting money for good causes. But I’ve also enough garden centre ponds containing coins to be certain they didn’t get there by accident.

Commenting on my post about spamming yesterday, ArtemisToxia mentioned the practice of hexing in the ancient world. One way was throw a lead tablet, inscribed with a hex, into a pond or well. For less negative magic, people threw coins – and made a wish.

In ancient times this was a common form of folk magic. Most wells, springs and ponds were sacred and had some deity or nymph associated with them. Casting a coin – something of value - into the water was a way of making an offering and doing a deal with the deity to ensure your wish was granted.

Coins are a form of votive offering, a way of catching the attention of your particular deity. Remember when the old London Bridge was dismantled in order to ship it out to Arizona? Thousands upon thousands of ancient Roman coins were found beneath it in the Thames riverbed.

So even if you’re not in the habit of doing magic, carry a few pennies with you and next time you’re close to a pond, river, or even the sea, cast one in and make your wish.

I hope it comes true for you!

I haven't had much chance to write another post today. It's just been one of those days and I've been catching up on a few things.

With luck I shall be back tomorrow!

This is a warning to anyone spamming my blog. I WILL hex you.

I came across this little gem while looking for local Welsh news on the icwales website. Apparently, ‘signed off by the Home Secretary’ (what the hell does that mean exactly?) about 800 organisations are going to have the right to see anyone’s mobile phone records without first getting permission.

Think about it. EIGHT HUNDRED ORGANISATIONS! Could you think of even twenty organisations who might reasonably need such information? The police. The... um... Yes, the list runs out pretty quickly, doesn't it?

Even if you’re the Napoleon of Crime, there aren’t that many organisations who need to know whether you are going to pick up Aunty Blod from the dentist or be late home.

And it’s all being done to ‘fight terror.’ No, it isn’t. It’s being done to feed the endless cancer of bureaucracy and power hungry little tyrants that seem to be running this country.

I mean, where did you see in any party’s manifesto the line ‘Oh, and by the way we are going to make everyone feel much safer by checking your phone records?’

No, I thought not.

And I’m sick of hearing ‘If you’ve got nothing to hide then you’ve got nothing to fear.’ Yes we have. We ought to be terrified of the criminal, the deranged, the downright bloody malevolent who are going to get their hands on such information.

It can happen. It does happen. Doctors and nurses have deliberately killed or harmed patients. Policemen have turned out to be more corrupt than many of the criminals they arrest. Priests have been paedophiles.

And nosey parkers on the other end of a phone tap will go insane with a power they never should have been given in the first place.

Okay, rant over. You can come out now.

One thing you never seem to see in films featuring St Bernards is the sheer amount of mess they can make! Today it’s raining heavily, I am trying to keep the dogs indoors (with the run of the back yard, which isn’t a bad size) but away from mud, leaves etc., for the sake of my sanity.

Of course, most St Bernards love the water: rivers, the sea, canals, you name it, they want to be in it. And they just love being out in the rain.

Their footprints are like tea plates. They can stand over 6feet tall when they want to. That means that nothing – nothing – is out of bounds to them. They are also gloriously inquisitive and childlike.

So when they saw a nice hanging basket out in the yard, they decided it would be fun to play football with it. And then tug of war.

The result is that while I am in another room working, they are having the time of their lives in the kitchen. And it’s all done silently. All I can hear is the odd yawn, maybe a wistful sigh. And beyond the door of the back hallway they are Beckham, or Pele or George Best, dribbling (literally!) up and down, round and round…

The mess was indescribable. I nearly cried. I mean, they tried to be good, they thought I’d be pleased that they played indoors and not out in the rain.

I stood there, ankle deep in mud, basket liner, grotty bits of plant now mangled beyond recognition and was met by three pairs of eyes – big, brown, eyes that make you feel you’ve just kicked Bambi if you raise your voice to them. (I should add here that Homer’s eyes are green. They are neither soft nor doe-like, they are shrewd and appraising. He probably masterminded the whole caper.

Anyway, I’m off to clean out the kitchen. I’ll catch up with you all later!

Well, on this subject I began by talking about holly berries, and then mentioned how the Bewick swans had arrived early at Slimbridge. Now the Sunday Telegraph reckons that the arrival of large numbers of finches could signal a harsh winter ahead. Apparently six hundred have been spotted upon in the Isle of Lewis whereas normally you'd be lucky to see just one.

You can read the story here : http://www.telegraph.co.uk/earth/main.jhtml;jsessionid=ZQYNTUHDQQPMVQFIQMFCFFOAVCBQYIV0?xml=/earth/2007/10/27/eabird127.xml

So maybe I was onto something, eh?

Or maybe they've heard about my holly berries....

After my last-but-one post I was really starting to worry about all things electrical chez Penry.

Then I came upon this little gem :
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=490069&in_page_id=1770

In Sicily (can’t be that far from Wales, now can it?) toasters and TVs and even furniture have apparently been exploding or malfunctioning on a regular basis for years now. Worse, some even caught fire.

Experts came from all over the place to investigate. The locals thought it was supernatural, while the Vatican reckoned it was demons on the lose.

It got so bad there was an official investigation by Sicily’s civil protection department. says the most likely cause is 'aliens testing secret weapons'.

Well, now the results are in folks. The cause? Aliens. Testing secret weapons.

My part of the planet is well known for its flying saucers, mysterious large black cats and other ghostly phenomena.

But why target my house???

Here I am… just gone ten o’clock in the morning sitting at my desk. It is dark outside, the clouds are a uniform shade of grey. It is raining. The dogs are bored and eating Hob Nobs.

My knee has seized up. It is not only painful but bloody annoying. There are so many things I want to do today. To cap it all, the internet is going at a snail’s pace and giving me strange messages. When I tried to log on to Blog.co.uk I was told it wasn’t available. Even when the internet came back on and worked for everything else, Blog UK's pages would not load. Weird.

There is definitely something in the air at this time of the year. Our ancestors recognised it, marking it out with festivals of the dead in many cultures and many countries. But why a festival of the dead? What does it mean?

Have you ever really thought about those old fashioned turnip lanterns? Now that pumpkins are more readily available you don’t see them so often nowadays, and besides, they were hellish hard to carve. To get a swede or turnip big enough meant it had the texture of granite, and I can remember spending an entire day once just trying to scoop out the centre. Pumpkins are a doddle in comparison.

But by changing over to pumpkins we have lost the essential meaning of the Halloween lantern. For pumpkins grow above ground, and Swedes and turnips grow in the earth.

Thereby lies the symbolism. Things that are dead are buried; they lie in ground. We dig them up, carve faces on them, put lights in them. We give them life in other words. It’s quite appropriate for a festival where we are really celebrating the principles of life, death and regeneration/rebirth.

It’s very easy to miss these important symbols, particularly now that Halloween has become so commercialised. I love the festival, always have done, but it’s important not to lose track of its meaning.

There’s more to Halloween than sweets and egg throwing. The veil between this world, and the Otherworld (or otherworlds, depending on your point of view) is thinning out. We are almost between worlds – a very magical place to be.

Why this should be I really don’t know. Is it because there’s something inherent in the air at this time? Or is there some other reason? Something organic in the earth itself that triggers the shift?

I find it’s important this time of year to spend some time just thinking, being quiet and watchful. A bit like switching on the radio between programmes and waiting to see what comes on. Sometimes you can be very pleasantly surprised!

The toll of ruptured appliances continues to rise. THe other day it stood at a mouse, keyboard, cd player and clock.... now the microwave has died a death....

What's going on? I reckon the place needs some spiritual cleansing tomorrow.

The toll of ruptured appliances continues to rise. THe other day it stood at a mouse, keyboard, cd player and clock.... now the microwave has died a death....

What's going on? I reckon the place needs some spiritual cleansing tomorrow.

The toll of ruptured appliances continues to rise. THe other day it stood at a mouse, keyboard, cd player and clock.... now the microwave has died a death....

What's going on? I reckon the place needs some spiritual cleansing tomorrow.

Well as those of you who regularly read this blog already know, I am planning a great Halloween party here in Blogland. Mr Penry has been building his bonfire for days now, it looks quite artistic. The plan is to have two – one for Halloween and then other for November 5th. These Valleys boys – pyromaniacs the lot of them!

I have been making home made wine all year and despite the weather I reckon we have a good vintage. At least, it will seem like a good vintage when you’ve all drunk enough of it. Just avoid driving for the following week to allow it to seep out of your system. You don’t want to be breathalysed after reversing through the local car showroom window on November 2nd.

My father used to make a lot of country wines (i.e. wines made with flowers, fruits, roots – anything other than grapes really) and was forever trying to find ways to increase the alcohol level. In the end he settled for the addition of vodka or polish spirit immediately prior to ramming in the cork. His must have been the only country wine that had a secondary use as a Molotov cocktail.

Apart from wine, I have been baking and the freezer is now full. Additionally there will be jacket potatoes, soup and sausages (vegetarian and pork). So you can have plenty to eat and drink, and enjoy yourselves to the full.

It is important to be prepared against gatecrashers. Anyone found in the near vicinity with flour and eggs will have them confiscated and will then be covered in batter and deep fried. I shall be zooming around on my broomstick to keep an eye on the boundaries.

I shall be back with more info later.

At this time of year, right through until early February, I light a lot of candles. It’s not that I mind the gloomy winter months (though I’m glad to see the back of them in March); it’s that candlelight gives a special quality that no amount of ambient lighting manages to replicate.

Deep down, we already know this. You fancy a romantic dinner for two? Out come the candles. Candles make us beautiful, mysterious. They have a warm sensuous glow. I don’t want my beloved to see me, spots, warts, wrinkles and all in the dazzling bright light of a 200watt megbulb. And maybe, just maybe, that’s how the earth feels too.

The wonderful golden shades of autumn get us in the mood. The trees gradually lose their leaves and even evergreens seem to grow darker, more sombre. By the time we reach Halloween/Samhain, the earth is old, its harvest mostly gathered. It needs its shadows, its candlelight. With them it becomes loving and mysterious once more.

Sometimes by being more aware of what’s really happening around us we can find ways of making the most of each change in the cycle of the seasons. So rather than dread the coming dark, cold months, I’m going to resolve to light more candles instead!

Well, it's been an interesting day. I've managed to catch up on most of the blogs, but meanwhile back at the ranch.... the count so far is one computer mouse (dead) one computer keyboard (dead) one cd player (dead)....one internet connection (dodgy)
Hmmm, makes you wonder if there's something in the air, doesn't it?

My internet connnection has been up and down like a yo-yo today and has made posting and catching up on the blogs impossible.

Please bear with me - I'll be back once it's running properly again!

Every year around this time I look for weather signs that might give me a clue about the sort of winter ahead. Sometimes I get it spectacularly wrong, admittedly, usually because I’m convinced a Polar December lies ahead when in fact it turns out quite mild. Interestingly I don’t usually get it wrong the other way around though. My family say this is because I am a natural pessimist, always predicting worse weather than we are likely to get.

This year however, I've never seen so many berries on our holly trees. 'Drenched' would be a good description. The ivy bushes are the same. And it seems the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust nature reserve at Slimbridge, in Gloucestershire are on my side too, reporting that their Bewick swans have arrived earlier than ever from Siberia this year, which apparently is a sure sign of harsh weather ahead. This is because they are trying to escape the Arctic Winds (and personally, I don’t blame them).

So – are the swans right about the weather? Do they know something we don’t? Only time will tell.

Okay, in response to popular demand here it is............taraaaa!! The Hat!

Now to be fair, I did try to photograph myself in the hat. But I just couldn't get it - and me - into the same frame. I must have a large head or something.

Anyway, this is my £3.99 wedding hat from Country Casuals (courtesy of Oxfam!) made of silk and cotton. The 'frayed' effect on the bow is deliberate and not the result of being in my possession for the past few days. Perish the thought!

Isn't it wonderful when something takes your breath away by its sheer beauty? This morning I opened the back door to let the dogs out and was confronted by this....

Magical!

Well I didn't see it coming when I posted the first blog on this subject.... a photo of the hat, eh? Hmmm... shall have to look for a suitable site. Barney offered to model it for me, but it doesn't really fit him (he is a ST Bernard, after all!)and besides, HOmer would start chewing the brim.

So, I shall give it some thought and hopefully get back soon with a photo.

Be afraid. Be very afraid......

At first sight this appears no contest, does it? Not if you're environmentally minded, anyway. Plastic bags can take ages to break down (unless of course they're filled with tins of dog food, in which case they've been known to break down in about three minutes and the tins end up on my foot. Ouch!) In fairness the Co-op have tried out bio-degradable bags, which are supposed to start rotting away within about a year or so, but these are paper thin and very flimsy.

So the answer would seem to be paper bags, wouldn't it? At least until the rain starts up here (probably this coming week) in which case the bag will start biodegrading rapidly before you get home.

Well, there's another reason I'm beginning to distrust paper bags in spite of their green credentials. Last week we bought a large mug in STarbucks, all nicely packed in a brown paper bag with handles. Then we checked the small print. 'Made in Germany'. And flown to South Wales and heaven only knows where else!

Am I going mad or something? There must be places in Wales that can make such bags for the local market - what sort of carbon footprint has been saved by importing paper bags from Germany?

Well, I've got the answer. I'm going to make my own. THere's a nice length of canvas in my garage that should do the job nicely....

I live on the side of a mountain, and from my kitchen window I can just make out the top of an ancient cairn of stones. Since early times, mountains have been venerated, held sacred. Not just in Wales or even northern Europe, but all over the world. But whereas my mountain is virtually unknown outside the immediate vicinity, some are quite famous.

Take Mauna Loa in Hawaii. Although its slopes rise very gradually, its summit is actually 56,000 ft above its base – that makes my little mountain above my kitchen window minute by comparison. But only is this a mountain by anyone’s standards it is also a volcano, and a very active one at that. In fact, some claim it is the most active volcano in the world. Thousands of visitors go to see it each year.

Now I know the saying goes, ‘Take only photographs, leave only footprints’ but people being what they are, some decide to take home a small souvenir, usually a small piece of stone from the lava slopes. There’s plenty lying about and nobody seems to notice.

Until, that is, the tourists return home. A number have reported a spate of ‘bad luck’ accidents, and become convinced that the stones they collected as harmless souvenirs are in some way cursed. Some have mailed the stones back to the Volcanoes National Park (home of Mauna Loa) and then reported no more troubles after that.

The belief seems quite widespread, too and apparently the National Park Service reports regular deliveries of packages containing stones that have been taken from the volcanoes slopes and which their new owners are only too eager to return.

I think stones can certainly ‘pick up’ on certain energies and may often be the cause or means of transmitting certain hauntings and psychic phenomena. Quite what is being transmitted at Mauna Loa I’ve no idea. One thing’s for sure, I wouldn’t go and remove stones from the cairn on my mountainside.

Today I found my perfect wedding hat, in gold cotton and silk for £3.99 in Oxfam. I am inordinately pleased with it. I checked the maker online and if I'd tried to buy it new it would have been over £100! (For a hat!!! Yikes!!!)

Anyway I tried it on for everyone to admire asking whether I was wearing it at the correct angle. Mr Penry then pointed out that by the time I'd had a couple of sherries it was likely to be on back to front anyway!

Candles are incredibly popular nowadays. They turn up everywhere, in garden centres, discount ‘pound’ shops, greeting card shops and some even have their very own designated ‘Yankee Candle’ shops.

I’m not sure why this should be. When I was young there were white household candles but not many fancy ones. Even in the Sixties, I can remember my uncle’s delight at discovering Price’s Night Lights which would burn for six (or was it eight?) hours non-stop. Whenever he had visitors he would light one of these in his little ty bach (outside toilet) where there was no electricity.

Pagans have had a field day with candles in recent years. Now you can buy any colour you desire, even black, and books have been written to tell us exactly what spells we should say with them.

Previously you were most likely to come across candles in Church. Houses without electricity tended to use oil or paraffin lamps rather than candles.

The way candles are used in Church is a good clue as to how they were used in pre-Christian times. We know that Pagans used to leave lights as offerings at trees, stones and wells (sacred sites in other words) because there is a Church edict banning the practice – and you don’t normally ban things that aren’t even happening!

The more I work with candles the more I realise they have a life of their own. Their flame is sacred. It brings light where there is darkness. A whole raft of folklore and superstitions have grown up around them.

We are told not to leave a candle to ‘die’ alone in a room. It should have someone with it, and if that’s not possible then you should ‘put it to sleep.’ Some people will tell you that you should only snuff out a candle, either using a candle snuffer or pinching it out between finger and thumb (am I the only person on the planet you regularly burns herself when she tries this?) Personally I prefer to blow the candle out, because breathing is itself a type of magic, or can be, with a little help!

Whether we are aware of it or not we tend to treat candles as though they have a life of their own. When we light votive candles we are giving them a job to do, carrying our prayers, blessings, healing thoughts etc. wherever we direct.

And when we treat objects as though they have a life of their own, it isn’t long before it becomes a reality…

Just a quick note to say that my book, "Seeking the Green" now has a mention on publisher Capall Bann's site and has even got its ISBN number. It's there at: http://www.capallbann.co.uk/news.cfm [you'll need to scroll down to the 'new titles signed recently' section]

Although there are no other details up about it yet, things are definitely moving on.

I'll keep you all posted about any more developments!

By the time it dawned on me last night that I hadn’t blogged yesterday, it was rather late and I was feeling pretty shattered. So I decided to leave it until this morning instead.

We still don’t have a date for the wedding - ‘just before or just after Christmas’ is about as close as they can manage at the moment. I can’t help but feel really sorry for young people nowadays. There’s so much pressure on them. Admittedly people don’t have to spend a fortune on weddings, nobody holds their heads under the tap and says ‘You must spend fourteen grand or else’ but there’s a lot of social pressure.

Besides, advertising is so pernicious it makes people believe they have no choice. We live in a society where money is seen as the answer to everything, and young people are rarely taught how to differentiate between real advice and blatant advertising for profit.

I well remember one family member, nearly forty years ago who was expecting a baby. One day she announced she didn't want any hand knitted or sewn baby clothes (and we had some aunties in the family who were brilliant at making these things.) Oh no. This one was going to Mothercare because 'Mothercare cares for your child.' (which was the advertising slogan at Mothercare at the time - and may still be for all I know.) An aunt gently pointed out to her that Mothercare's interest in children was profit driven rather than altruistic, but it fell on deaf ears.

Fortunately my granddaughter is having a budget wedding – like all nuptials in the Penry family. I can remember having a wedding cake as a wedding present from an uncle who worked in a bakery – and very pleased I was to have it too! And a cousin offered to take twelve photos and get them developed and printed (but not framed) as another present.

For me the idea of everybody chipping in and helping is what weddings (and christenings, funerals etc., come to think of it) are all about. It’s not about who can spend the most. That doesn’t matter. That’s just gravy. It’s fine if you want it and you can really afford it. But it’s not essential. There are lots of ways to make do and save money without being mean and parsimonious.

Choosing the right person is essential, however. But how do we know who’s right for us? I haven’t a clue. It used to be said ‘Don’t rush.’ But Mr Penry and I had just a few weeks between meeting and tying the knot, so I’ve never been able to say that to my children!

Any ideas? Any advice, anyone?

Well, here are the results from my wanderings around the garden taking photos.

This was taken sitting in Mr Penry's chair, through the kitchen window. I thought it was all right considering I haven't cleaned the glass in ages!

And here's another:

For reasons I don't entirely understand, I am fascinated with taking pictures of the ground. Possibly because I am short, and therefore the ground looks very real to me. (?? ) But this picture has a lovely abstract quality that attracted me :

And here is something rusty for Usksider:

What is a cow bell doing in the garden? Well may you ask.... truth is, I'm not sure of the answer to that one!

My passion for the colour green has occasionally prompted those around me to suspect I am really a Martian (though why green I'm not sure, since Mars is supposed to be the red planet. Little green men, I suppose!)

Anyway, I thought this conifer presented a beautiful pattern-like quality.

And finally, here is the last rose of summer (well, almost. It makes a good title, anyway!) There are actually quite a few roses in bloom in the garden at the moment, but this one looked so terrible lonely and aloof....

Well, there you have it! You've seen a bit of my garden!

Well, I know I'm a cynical old trout, but my faith in human nature was restored today. I was out and about when I had a flat tire in the supermarket carpark. A nail went right into the tyre wall.

Now I know changing a tyre isn't rocket science, but it isn't easy either. Plus the fact that I couldn't get my spare tyre out of the boot because the bolt that kept it in place was corroded. I rang home but Mr Penry said he wouldn't be able to reach me for about half an hour.

Then a car drew up with a young couple and a baby inside. The wife asked if I needed any help and I explained what had happened. To cut a long story short the husband changed the tyre, ending up completely covered in oil, gunge and WD40.

So - whoever you are (I never got their name) - many many thanks. Not just for changing my tyre and helping me out, but for being such tidy, decent people.

You've restored my faith in human nature...

Well, that's the plan. A nice easy day, playing around with my camera, seeing what it will do before The Wedding. We still don't have a firm date for that yet, but it's likely to be quite soon.

I did a lot more research for my book yesterday, and am happy to say that the end is in sight. I keep saying this, and really I'm only fooling myself I think, because it's a huge task, but so enjoyable that I don't mind it. I'm looking forward to the actual writing of course but I just can't do much of that until I get the research organised. At the moment the plan is for about fourteen chapters, but that count could be higher or lower.

Well, forgive me for writing such a short post but I'm off to enjoy the sunshine! I'll be back later!

I'm planning a Halloween party here at my Blog. A nice, old fasioned one, with toffee apples and bonfire toffee, gingerbread, a big bonfire, masks, bobbing for apples, ducking for apples.... but strictly NO trick or treating.

Please come in fancy dress (if you wish) and bring a bottle (preferably a large one! ) I will provide the food and the bonfire, not to mention the magic!

Now to get down to the planning.... perhaps you'll all chip in with some ideas?

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published in 2008 by Capall Bann. For more info please watch this space!

Well, you can't say I'm not trying. And those who know me agree completely, they say I'm very trying indeed

Another thing that gets my goat about this jumping on the green bandwagon is the nonsense that politicians feel they must spout.... look at Peter Ainsworth's reply on page 37 of Tescos Green Issue free magazine.

When asked 'How can we teach our children to respect the environment', Mr Ainsworth, Conservative shadow environment secretary replies somewhat piously 'Schools have an important role in educating the next generation about climate change.'
Bad boy, Mr Ainsworth, you didn't read the rubric, did you? Climate change wasn't even in the question, but you had to get in in there somewhere, didn't you?

You see I'm all for respecting the environment. I think children should be taught not to throw litter wherever they like, to keep their environment neat and tidy. It might help by taking them out and about into their locality and explaining the different birds, insects and plants to them. The old fashioned Nature Walk in other words. It's not the answer to the problem, but it's certainly a start.

I mean, what exactly is the point of the average twelve year old ranting at me about climate change and yet knowing nothing about the area he lives in, about the sort of plants and animals that live there, that he is trying to protect? You cannot even begin to think on the wider scale if you remain determinedly ignorant about the world you live in.

Page 38 has more of the same drivel. 'Millions of people in Britain have changed their habits to help save the environment. But we still need to do more...'
Of course we do. But has anyone really sat down and thought out exactly what we should be doing? Ah, recycling. That's a good one. But let's look more closely.

I am quite keen on recycling. Years ago I used to collect empty pop bottles and take them back to the shop for a penny per bottle. I knew a couple of people who used to take old prams up the park and collect old bottles to help eke out the housekeeping. I'm not sure whether today's youngsters would be tempted by 10-p or even 25p per bottle any more, mind you.
But where does our recycling go? To some local factory, there to be sorted and sent to other firms where plastic bottles will turn into warm fleeces and waste paper will be made into egg cartons?

No. Think again. Much of our recycling (in some areas every scrap) gets sent off to - wait for it - countries like China. In other words rich countries are sending their rubbish to poorer countries for them to deal with the problem.

I don't like this idea. It's not really going green to save the planet, is it? It's just pretending to go green and leaving poorer countries to sort it out. In other words, it's cheating.

Just like much of the rest of this magazine. But in fairness, Tesco isn't alone. It's more prominent than other supermarkets, but it's by no means the only one. And it's allowed to be that way by lazy, corrupt, posturing MPs - the people we were mad enough to vote into power last time around.

We ourselves are lazy too. We listen to this claptrap. Look at page 41 where it is claimed that modern dishwashers used just 15 litres of water per cycle 'making them as efficient as the old fashioned method using rubber gloves.' Oh go and boil your heads, Tesco. Fifteen litres? I do it with less than 4. And usually I'm washing up for at least five people, sometimes more.

On page 44 it gets worse. "Be a green goddess" it proclaims. Don't leave appliances on standby. (I tried this, religiously switching off TV, video, etc. last winter. The cold and the damp caused condensation damage and the TV repair man reminded me that modern appliances are designed to be left on standby otherwise it shortens its life.)

'Put a brick or large plastic bottle filled with water in your toilet cistern'. And flush it twice as often. I know, I've tried it.

My favourite of all however was 'Bank online and cancel paper statements.' And then nice Mr Tesco will produce a free, 100 page plus magazine entitled The Green Issue.

Or as Scrooge might have said, 'Bah, Humbug!'

Well, here we go. I have in front of me the free, 114 page issues of Tesco's Magazine, its 'Green Issue.' The cover shows happy twenty-somethings with a wicker basket, picking apples off a tree. The magazine promises 78 ways to 'make a difference.' Jolly good, I say.

So let's see what we've got....

The dreaded phrase 'save the planet' appears in the Editorial, page 3. It promises the answer for almost every excuse not to be 'green.' I dislike the way 'green' is suddenly the keyword for almost everything noble and good. You will see from my header that my own soon-to-be-published book is entitled 'Seeking the Green' . I thought long and hard about that title, but in the end because of the links between my pagan path and nature I felt it was appropriate. Tesco's own 'Green Guilt' however is a bit cringe inducing.

It starts off pretty well, in fairness. There is supposed to be a 'Healthy Living' magazine inside somewhere, past the ads for yoghurt and chocolate. I give up, and go back to the beginning. Then it starts. On page 14 I spot the headline 'Start afresh.' It is an advert for household furniture, appliances and various odds and sods such as cushions and towels.

Now hang on. 'Start afresh.' In other words, buy new from Tesco. No make do and mend any more. Buy new. Think about it. We're going to save the planet by - buying new. So much for recycling then. CHuck your old stuff out and hope that someone else can use it.

It continues.... on page 20 we have 'Face up to autumn' aka buy a whole new range of beauty products. Not - 'how to use what you already have to make yourself look stunning' or 'adapt to autumn'. Just buy new. Hardly the best way to save the planet is it? And you can't expect anyone else to want your old cast-off cosmetics, so into the bin with them. Just remember to recycle the packagine.

And so on. Pot Noodles have a whole page to themselves despite the 'Healthy Living' section. The two sit uncomfortably together.

The real fun begins on page 27, 'Tomorrow's world - the planet needs our help.' I agree with these sentiments. We should be thinking of tomorrow. We should treat the planet with love and respect. I turn over to 'Meet the people helping the world.'

One of these is responsible for 'green products and packagin in all Tesco stores.' (now there's someone I'd like a word with....) Another is an interior designer, helping others to make their homes 'as environmentally friendly as possible.' Aye, there's the rub. 'As possible.' What exactly does that mean? Whatever we want it to, I expect.

Another of these blessed souls is even the Rock STar, Midge Ure, who has lobbied 'some of the most powerful leaders in the world about environmental issues,' and 'headlines a green themese concert in Bath'.

But the real chestnut comes on page 36. There the great headline 'SOS PLANET EARTH' (and no, I'm not shouting, it comes in capitals') grabs my attention. Alongside is a sketch of the globe and the banner 'Wind farms worldwide produce enough power to service 47 million people.' Sounds great, doesn't it. Go and buy your windmills now!

Now calm down and think about it. Forty seven million people. That's not even the population of a tiny island like the UK. In fact, it's only three-quarters of the UK's current population. And that's if we put up wind turbines all over the world.

Okay, I need a rest here from all this ranting. I hope now I have inspired you to try and read between the lines a bit, to realise that 'Saving the Planet' has been cynically hijacked by politicians and big business.

If I recover from frothing at the mouth and managed to spit out the carpet I shall be back later.

I am still having a few problems getting used to my new camera, but this is a photo I took about a month ago, through the car windscreen driving over the Brecon Beacons, one of the loveliest places in Wales. It's like a spiritual balm just to see the place, no matter what the weather.

I thought this might be a fitting contribution (amongst my various rants) to Blog Action day.....

Before anyone starts screaming that I have no qualifications to write on climate change, let me say I’m probably as qualified as Al Gore, who originally wanted to study English at Havard, then changed his mind, got a degree in government, took a religious studies course at Vanderbilt, entered its law school but never actually got his degree. Er – science, anyone? No.

In fairness, George Monbiot, whose achievements include ‘seven years of investigative journeys in Indonesia, Brazil and East Africa’ getting shot at, beaten up by military police, shipwrecked and stung into a poisoned coma by hornets, did study zoology. This hasn't prevented him exploring other disciplines, since he ‘has held visiting fellowships or professorships at the universities of Oxford (environmental policy), Bristol (philosophy), Keele (politics) and East London (environmental science). He is currently visiting professor of planning at Oxford Brookes University.’ He has also won the Lloyds National Screenwriting Prize, and a Sony Award for radio production.

I mention these things because clearly some of the most vocal supporters of the man-made global warming theory are what I would call polymaths rather than dedicated scientists (dedicated in the sense of pursuing a purely scientific career. I am not questioning their dedication to their beliefs.)

Let me set out my stall. I am not a “climate change denier”. Already the terminology of climate change and global warming has taken on a sinister tone, a bit like something from the Inquisition. To deny the existence of climate change is heretical. Some people would gladly organise an auto-da-fe for people like me if it weren't for the fact the smoke might damage the ozone.

But I do not deny the existence of climate change. Of course the world’s climate changes; it has been changing for thousands of years. Even I learned about that, years ago in school. It’s nothing new. At one time there were dinosaurs the size of the town hall scooting up and down the land, the next thing Wham! All turned to ice.

So the idea that our climate may be changing again is nothing new. I don’t have a problem with that. It’s the idea that nasty, wicked, Mankind is the sole cause that needs looking at.

Now, I’ve no doubt that homo sapiens treats planet earth abominably. Indeed, the relationship in some areas could be termed abusive. I believe the earth needs protecting, cherishing; it needs our love. It’s a worthy cause, one of the most important things we can do not just for ourselves but also for our children. But what I intend to do today is to look at how the whole shebang has been hijacked. Serious science has been turned into the handmaiden of the politicians and big business.

Tylluan, using materials freely available and hopefully a smidgen of common sense, is going to look beneath the gloss and see exactly what’s out there.

Sometimes I think the young need Hecate more than the elderly. After all, as we grow older we get to know her, knowingly or unknowingly, and walk with her at our side from time to time. But the young see Hecate only from a distance. Some fear her, and she becomes the wicked witch of childhood and folklore. Others worship what they see as her dark side, her vengeance, her power, her ability to do battle with foes. And they don’t make the link between her and the elderly people in their own families and neighbourhoods.

And yet… as we grow older, provided we keep some modicum of intelligence and curiosity, and resist spending our days doing nothing but watching the soaps and daytime TV, we absorb a great deal of Hecate’s knowledge.

The old are often accused of being cynical, but perhaps it’s because we know just how unprincipled life can be. We know all about vengeance, even if we choose not to be vengeful.

For young people, Hecate can be a powerful magnet and wonderful teacher. She is the old grandmother or aunt we would like to have, keeping whiskey in a cupboard ‘for medicinal purposes’, knowing all about horse racing and not afraid to have the odd bet. She has a fantastic garden, no showy hardy annuals for her, oh no. Instead she grows aconite, henbane, hemlock…. ‘I shouldn’t touch that if I were you, dear.’

Treat her with respect and courtesy and she teaches you about life and morality. She was originally a goddess of the countryside, so her knowledge of green worlds is probably without compare. We would be fools not to seize the opportunity of learning from her.

However, encourage her dark side and she will teach some very harsh lessons indeed, because she comes from a world where the young have to be hardy and strong if they are to survive. Play with fire and you will get burned.

I like Hecate. I believe she likes me. She is welcome to visit me whenever she wants just as I am welcome to visit her. She has had a bad press, that’s all. Maybe she needs a good publicity manager. Well, that’s a job we could all do.

Over large swathes of the world at the moment, the mother goddess is being honoured in the Durga Puja festival. There is a new moon in the sky. Maybe it’s time we all gave a nod in the direction of the goddess within.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published in 2008 by Capall Bann. For more information please watch this space!

Nightmares
When I was a child
I looked over my shoulder
Endlessly,
Switching on lights,
Bolting the doors,
Crossing my fingers,
Saying my prayers
Like a charm.

What was I afraid of?
Nightmares, Entering rooms,
Finding something that was almost, almost there.
But not quite. Just missed it.
(Thank God thank God thank God)
Maybe it just left, or maybe
(Shuddering now, more prayers,
More lights,
(Please God I’ll never be wicked again)
Maybe it’s still on its way.

I am off out tomorrow to do some more research for my book... It promises to be fun, and I'm looking forward to it. I even washed my hair before remembering that I'd thrown out my old hair dryer in last week's great tidy-up. Rats!!

If I am back in time I shall put in an entry for La Spice's poetry competition, but anyway good luck to all you entrants out there, I'm sure it'll be wonderful.

I have cheese sandwiches some crisps and a bottle of water stashed away in the fridge for tomorrow. Barney is eyeing them furtively and Homer is looking incredibly smug as though he's already figured out how to purloin them. I don't give much for their chances of lasting till tomorrow!

I started off with good intentions, I really did. I was going to write a blog today on Hecate and the Young, because I thought it would follow on nicely from yesterdays Hecate and the Elderly. I went through everyone's posts, added some comments, did some work on my manuscript and wham!! Suddenly the day took off and the blog got left on the bottom shelf. I'll try and post it in the next few days.

What was I doing? Making the bed. Well, not making the bed with sheets and pillow cases etc., just putting a new bed together for the guest room. The old one was ancient (and believe me, chez Penry, ancient means just that. Even my own bed is well over a hundred years old!)

Anyway, the new bed took several hours to assemble, what with me and Mr Penry going round and round in circles trying to make sense of the instructions. I suspect they were put together by a Boy Scout with a grudge.

Now it is all finished and looking very swish. I think we should go and sleep in the guest room sometimes and pretend we're on holiday. It could be fun! Mr Penry has suggested moving into the guest room and boarding up our bedroom so we don't have to decorate it. (You can tell he's keen on papering, can't you?)

Just thought I'd pop in to tell you what I'm up to. I hope I can get back online tonight....

It's the Dark of the Moon. The stars shine brighter than ever, taking advantage of the lack of moonlight.

Hecate, and goddesses like her, old, crone-like, wise and sometimes terrifying, hold sway at the moment. Why do we fear them?

Before you shake your head and say that most of us are not wary of them, that it’s only battered old pagans like Yours Truly who pays them much attention, stop and think. We do fear the old. We fear what they might know, what they have seen, what they can tell us. That’s probably why the media likes to make them virtually invisible, denying them power. Or portrays them as affable old fools and duffers.

The young often have no respect, and indeed sometimes target their elders, robbing them of their paltry pensions, keeping them virtually prisoners in their own homes. And when they become too ill, or frightened or helpless, along comes the Government, and moves them out of those homes. If they’ve managed to own their own place, the Government takes that and sells it too, handing over the money to care homes. And when that money runs out, the care homes can evict the elderly, as they did a while ago to a woman of 103 who could no longer pay their exorbitant charges and whose local authority refused to make good the difference. She died shortly afterwards.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard young pagans inform me that they worship Hecate. It’s as though it’s some sort of threat. The sort of ‘You’d better watch out cos I walk on the dark side’ sort of nonsense. You don’t worship Hecate any more than you worship the pensioner across the road. You befriend her, you offer your help, a listening ear; you absorb what she has to tell her, you learn.

And then you go out and try to make a society that treats the elderly with some respect, that offers them a real place in our hearts, not a place in a care home.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published next year by Capall Bann. For more info please watch this space!

Well I haven't been around much today, but that was because I was on a roll with my book and decided to go with it! So I managed to get quite a bit of writing done, and have shoved the first four chapters into three, which doesn't drop the word count but does neaten things up for me.

Have been ridiculously tired all day so am turning in and will wish you all Nos Da, hope your days have been rich and rewarding.

Brightest blessings.

I thought I’d let everyone know that the well known cynic, gourmet and shepherd, Tylluan Penry has signed up for Blog Action Day. That’s right folks, on the 15th October Blogland will get a blast from me about the Environment.

I am using Tesco’s latest magazine on ‘Green Issues’ as my guide, so you have been warned. And yes, it does contain instructions on how to save the planet.

Today there was a bit of a flutter in the dovecote, so to speak, chez Penry. Smartie, the budgie, managed to escape his cage and began flapping about like something demented.

Normally he is quite a placid soul. He likes to watch TV and loves Bollywood films. And he's only temporarily in his present quarters while we're decorating. Paint and birds don't really go together.

It took quite a while to catch him and put him back in his cage. Last time I looked in the little devil was defiantly chirping the theme from the Great EScape.....

I haven’t seen our postman, Dai Stamp since last week, when he made a point of coming over to tell me that there wouldn’t be any post until at least Wednesday this week.
‘I’m awfully sorry about it,’ he said, ‘but we’ve got to do something. We’re being cut back to the bone, we can’t do our jobs properly, and nobody’s listening.’

He’s a happy soul, Dai Stamp. Loves his job and takes it very seriously. I’m sure he’s probably based his life on some SuperPostie of myth or something. The Postie Who Made Sure the Mail Got Through.

All the same, the postal strike is going to hit some businesses very hard indeed. Anything that depends upon deliveries going in or out is going to feel the pinch and the disruption. And start looking for some alternatives to the Royal Mail.

The saddest thing of all is that people like Dai Stamp are out on the front line. He’d make a great character in a film… ‘He’s a damn fine postman’ sort of thing. The people who make the decisions, the people at the top, we never see. They control people like Dai Stamp, and the well-being of countless small businesses, yet remain invisible and largely unaccountable.

I’ve heard there’s going to be more disruptions coming up to Christmas. The Boy Scouts are going to have their work cut out then. At one time they only delivered in a tiny local area, now it’s much further afield. It’s not impossible to provide a decent postal service. It isn’t rocket science.

But it might help if those at the top, those driving all the changes, had to take their turn lugging a heavy bag up our mountainside streets, and try Dai Stamp’s job for a week or two.

Strange things have been happening with Halloween lately. Recently the Anglican Church held talks with some supermarkets asking them to stock less frightening or gruesome Halloween products on their shelves, and some appear to have agreed. (Will they be banning violent DVDs I wonder? Probably not.)

Now I’ve always liked Halloween, Samhain, call it what you will. For me it marks the real onset of winter, and everything changes. Autumn’s bright colours fade or darken according to species, you can see your breath in the morning, and even the clocks go back by one hour and we’re all scurrying around in the dark like moles at both ends of the working day.

Having a few happy games with apples on string or floating in a bowl of water, telling spooky tales and trying to scare each other was part of the fun.

I have to say I have a lot of sympathy with those who dread Halloween if it means gangs of children (and some of the not so young) go round banging on doors, demanding trick or treat and pelting the house (and people) with eggs if they refuse.

I don’t however, have any sympathy at all with those simpering ninnies who want to do away with Halloween celebrations, and call it the Autumn Festival instead because teachers are afraid it may offend some parents. This is what has happened apparently at Tonna primary school in Neath. Which parents? Which religions, exactly?

Halloween IS a religious festival. Make no doubt about it. For pagans past and present it IS a religious celebration. The problem here seems to be that commercial interests have instead fostered a great egg and flour throwing free for all which I don’t believe were ever part of the original celebrations. Think of it – we’re just entering Winter. Food stocks might not last for a community. They wouldn’t go throwing it away, would they?

It might make more sense if the school instead had a go at teaching about the real Halloween, encouraging traditions that didn’t involve a dozen eggs and 8 pounds of flour. But don’t sanitise it completely. A little fear is normal at Halloween. It is a festival of the dead after all. It is one of the great pagan festivals, which like May Day, was never entirely suppressed.

The headteacher, Lloyd Jones has apparently promised there will be ‘a little disco that everyone can enjoy – whatever we decide to call it.’ And thereby lies the rub. Why would they want to call it something else anyway? And who gave him the right to change its name?

In any civilised society, I always think apologies are important. The secret of a good apology is that is should be prompt, heartfelt and unequivocal. Not like the one I once received that ran ‘I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong, but I haven’t.’

Whereas a good apology would have had me counter-apologising, instead I ended up frothing at the mouth.

However, it’s one thing to apologise to someone close whom you know you’ve hurt or offended, it’s quite another to make a general apology to a group whose names you don’t even know. How to do it?

Well, back at the time of the Millennium a Cardiff accountant with a penchant for folk dancing seemed to have found the answer. After a particularly riotous night out, he paid £150 to place the following advert in the Western Mail newspaper and apologised publicly to :

"the entire staff of the Cardiff Hilton Hotel, several city centre landlords, the residents of Prospect Drive, a man called Toni at a fish bar, two passing police constables and the council cleansing department".

It must have been one hell of a night out!

Yes folks, the riveting adventure of my day is drawing to a close. I have finished the tidying. Just about. Well, as much as I'm likely to tackle this side of Christmastime....

Mr Penry has very kindly done some gardening today, planting the last of the bulbs and doing some repotting; taking my pelargoniums to a Better Place (the Hutch, where our bunnies live). The dogs have been helping.

It was a very profitable tidy-up; I found things I'd forgotten about (especially books) and things I never knew I had (such as a giant blanket - I have no idea whose it is or where it came from. Why has nobody reclaimed it?)

It was also sad, going through old photo albums and occasionally having a good cry...

Now I'm off to make tea (pasta :) and then do more on my manuscript... Happy Days!

Well, I'm covered in dust and I look as though I've just finished the night shift.... and I'm still nowhere near finished. Where does all this stuff come from???? Answer - I hoarded it long ago in the mistaken belief that I couldn't live without it. It's all my fault and I must deal with it!

Right, back to work..... see you soon (I hope)

Not an inspiring subject I know, but unfortunately I have to do some serious clearing and tidying today. Still, it's in keeping with the waning moon, and with a bit of luck I'll see some improvement in the next few hours.

Or not.... usually I get sidetracked and start reading a book before I can decide whether to keep it or not. Wish me luck! Be back later!

I know a number of you share your dreams and so I thought I'd ask two questions that have been bothering me for some years.

1. Do you dream in colour? I have mostly met people who dream in black and white, but my dreams have always been in colour.

2. Does anyone here dream in foreign languages? I do - past languages include [inter alios] : Latin, Welsh, French, German.... Norwegian (truly weird - I don't know what I was saying)

Yesterday it was revealed that the RAF managed to lose a practice bomb during fighter plan training. Nobody’s sure where it went, it just sort of ‘dropped off’ somewhere between north east Scotland and Northumbria. Pretty shocking stuff, eh?

Makes you wonder how they do it, particularly since a spokesman (where do they find these people? ) said that human error was not to blame. Presumably the bomb just got bored and decided to do a bit of exploring. The alternative – that it’s possible to drop a bomb without even noticing – is too horrible to contemplate.

But it’s not the first time the RAF have sustained embarrassing losses. Eight years ago, somebody reported a body in the sand dunes near Newborough in Anglesey. The police were alerted, a search was begun.

And then the RAF admitted (shamefacedly I imagine) that they’d recently lost one of their rescue dummies.

I rather suspect they eventually found the dummy and then put it in charge of the practice bombs…

A Haiku for national poetry day.....

Thought I'd write Haiku
Then thought why should I bother?
So I never did.

Well, I've spent a few fruitful hours on my manuscript and am well pleased with that. If I do any more I am going to get the mother of all headaches, so it's time to give it a rest. Writing is an important part of my life but it's not the be-all and end-all.

So now I emerge from my darkened silent room. Why darkened? I just cannot write with the curtains open. I like to be shut away, cocooned. I haven't tried writing in a cupboard yet, but it's a possibility. Why silent? Ditto. I cannot write with music in the background. I like silence. Silence is comforting, warm, embracing. Noise just does my head in.

I feel like a mole emerging into the world. Outside the sun is shining and I'm sorry to have missed it. I check the online newspapers and I'm not sorry to have missed them. It's mostly all the same stuff : death; yobs; disaster; David Cameron made a wonderful speech without any notes; David Cameron had a cheek not bothing to prepare his speech but just rambling on; blah; blah; and herbal medicine.

*stops and takes a deep breath*
Well, does it work or doesn't it? On a normal day I would probably rant about this at length. But today, I am calm. I am serene. I am knackered from writing. (The Manuscript is already 60,000 words and growing).
So all I am going to say is this. It works for me so I take it.

There.

Apologies for not writing a proper blog entry today - I am just a bit pressed for time.

In particular I need to finish the research on my book and knock the first three chapters into better shape. It's just that whenever I sit down to work all hell seems to break out.... someone knocks at the door, the telephone rings (it went one better this week and actually broke, just for good measure! )or whatever....

Hopefully I shall be back again later (maybe with more firework stories? )

The season of the bonfire and the firework is upon us, and verily, all hell is likely to break lose in the next few weeks. Most valleys boys are secret pyromaniacs. Even the elderly ones build huge bonfires on their allotments under the excuse of getting rid of leaves. Mr Penry is no exception and the worried neighbours have occasionally called out the fire brigade to quench his larger creations.

I well remember the first bonfire I ever saw Mr Penry make. We were newly weds, and he made this huge bonfire out of bits of wood, branches and cardboard, topped by a strangely deranged looking Guy, wearing a black hat. We’d had a bit of damp weather that week, so he decided to strengthen the mix with some petrol. We’d invited some friends and family to visit for a Bonfire supper of sausages and jacket potatoes, and we all stood around expectantly as Mr Penry advanced upon the bonfire with a box of matches.

I tried not to be too startled by the initial Whoosh!! even when the flames leapt into the air and straight through the washing line and its wooden prop. I even tried to keep a straight face when I saw my aunty’s face covered in dark smuts, her eyes wide with pale rings around them. What totally cracked me up was seeing the Guy literally flying over the neighbours’ gardens with his bum on fire. We never did find out where he landed.

Ah, those were the days…..

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info please watch this space

You have to hand it to Tescos, they’re not exactly modest. Take this glorious promise on their website press release:

http://www.tescocorporate.com/page.aspx?pointerid=91F80D0FB73944CEAEFBD3D48DCFEDF9

Ink-Jet cartridges to save planet and help find cure for Cystic Fibrosis
I mean, saving the planet might be enough for some people, but not Tesco. They really can walk and chew gum at the same time.

If, like me, you are intrigued then you can read on to discover: Tesco is to call on its millions of shoppers to help save the planet and simultaneously fund work to find a cure for Cystic Fibrosis, by recycling used Ink-Jet Cartridges (IJCs) rather than throwing them away and clogging up the environment.

And then, back in the real world, mosey on down to the fresh produce section and look at their mushrooms which are the produce of…Poland.

That’s right folks! Here in the UK with our horrible wet climate and muggy weather, we appear incapable of growing mushrooms that are mushroomy enough to please Mr Tesco. It’s not as though mushrooms require conditions beyond the scope of your average gardener. There are some inner-city bedsits that have conditions damp and dark enough to satisfy the most demanding, epicurean fungi.

Even I have grown mushrooms (sometimes unwittingly) in dark and festering airing cupboards. There must be growers in this country who could roll up their sleeves, shovel a bit of well rotted manure and start growing to feed local towns and villages.

Instead, Tescos buys them in from Poland. This means the humble mushroom, which could be grown locally, is instead driven/flown/dragged the long journey from Poland by a company that prides itself on ‘Saving the Planet.’

Saving the planet from what/whom? I wonder. From commonsense maybe?

Okay, rant over. You can all come out now!

As regular readers of this blog will no doubt remember, preparations are in hand for my granddaughter’s wedding. This has involved much agonising over where to hold the reception. Since it will be a small wedding (in the tradition of all Penry nuptials) it follows that it will be an equally small reception.

Much hangs however on one's interpretation of the word ‘small.’ We were thinking of say, 25 to 30 guests maximum. That seems to be right off the scale as far as most venues are concerned. They seem to consider small be to somewhere between 80 – 120. Luckily they've found somewhere which will happily cater for 'up to 30 guests' which will keep the costs more reasonable.

The next question of course is ‘What sort of food do you serve at a reception nowadays?’

Some food is memorable for all the wrong reasons. When I was very young I was a bridesmaid for one of my cousins, and remember a clumsy waiter dropping a bowl of soup into the bride’s lap, ruining her dress. At another, they served crepes suzette for desert and managed to singe one guests hair when flambéing them. After saving for three years, a friend of mine suffered severe food poisoning at her wedding and successfully sued the caterers.

Nothing however comes close to what happened in a Pembrokeshire pub called the Stable Inn. One day about eight years ago, (unfortunately, as far as I know there was no wedding reception in progress at the time – if there had been it would have made a great story) three coppers turned up, demanded access to the kitchens and began searching the fridge and freezer.

They were, apparently, acting on a tip off from a wildlife lover who had told them the pub was serving up wild herons (a protected species if ever there was one) for lunch.

Now I have been in some dodgy pubs in my time. The sort of places where if you used flash on your camera all the punters would hit the floor or run off screaming into the night. I’ve eaten meals at the sort of places where strange men with thick accents have knocked the back door while carrying a bag of freshly caught salmon.

But I have never, ever, in my life met anyone who has been tempted to eat a heron.

Eventually the mystery was solved. On the menu was a dish of marinated herring in a dill sauce. Some wombat had clearly mistaken heron for herring. Did they overhear someone placing an order? Or was it the result of a bit of botched calligraphy? Alas, we shall never know.

One thing’s for certain though – there won’t be any herring (or herons) at this wedding…