The Elegant Rubble

Yes, I'm back home in East Providence, RI, now. As promised earlier, here are a few of the details. 

Travel is easier.  It's been eleven years since I last flew, and I was surprised by how little hassle I had getting to and from England. The security and customs process on either end of the flight is little more than theater these days; no doubt the fact that both countries have fairly porous borders takes a lot of the urgency away. The most unnerving discovery I made is that airport food has improved. I expected the usual vile slop, inflicted on travelers who had no other choice; getting a genuinely decent burger and good beer in Logan Airport left me wondering if I'd somehow slipped into an alternative timeline or something. 

London is London. I shouldn't like London. It's sprawling, crowded, raffish, and not especially clean, but for some reason I always feel comfortable there. I took several long walks through various London neighborhoods without any hassle at all. It's a polyglot jumble of people from all over the planet, as it's been for the last three centuries or so; if that distresses you, I don't recommend going there. To forestall one of the obvious questions, yes, there are a fair number of people in Muslim dress there, but no more than I remember from eleven years ago; for that matter, most of the big new religious buildings I saw there were Hindu temples, not mosques. 

Glastonbury is weird. This will doubtless explain why I like it so much. It hasn't changed appreciably since my two earlier visits; the used book stores are still packed with obscure occult tomes, and eccentrics parade down the streets, so I fit right in. The various ancient sites haven't gotten any younger, and of course neither have I -- I climbed the Tor in decent time, but had to stop and rest twice on the way up, which I hadn't needed the last two times.

A good time was had by most.  You can judge the character of London these days by the fact that of the three readers I met my first day in London, one is Mexican, one is Irish, and the third is a British descendant of Indians expelled from Uganda by Idi Amin. Inevitably, we ate Thai food for dinner. The next day I walked for a few miles to have lunch with an editor of the online magazine UnHerd, where some of my essays have been posted, and then took the Tube to meet one of my publishers in Clerkenwell. 

I had two book signings in London, one at Watkins Books on the 3rd and the other at Atlantis Bookshop on the 4th. Both were well attended. The second was enlivened by two people fainting -- they're both fine now. Then it was off to Glastonbury, carpooling through London traffic and then through green countryside and dubious roads into the west. Readers and friends started turning up almost immediately on my arrival. So did pints of Mena Dhu, a Cornish stout that makes Guinness seem just a little thin and pale. (You can literally eat the foam by the spoonful.) Friday we wandered through the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey, visited the White Spring, and then climbed the Tor; Saturday and Sunday we met, around fifty of us, at the Glastonbury Assembly Rooms for a variety of talks, and then went to the George and Pilgrims, a fifteenth-century pub, to talk until closing time. I also did Essene Apprentice attunements for eight people, ordained two Gnostic priests, and consecrated a Gnostic bishop. (I'll give her a proper announcement sometime soon.) 

Monday the 9th I was back on the road, carpooling with more friends, and stayed the night with yet another reader and friend, an alternative-health practitioner who cheerfully calls himself "a back-street quack." To describe our conversations as strange would understate matters considerably; that is to say, I enjoyed myself immensely. Tuesday I squeezed in time for a video interview with UnHerd -- I'll post a link once it's available -- and then I was off to Heathrow and on my way home. 

The 11-year itch. It didn't occur to me until I got to Britain that I've gone there at 11-year intervals: my visits there have been in 2003, 2014, and 2025, always in June. I'd like to go back a little sooner than 2036, but partly that depends on the return of the arrangements that allowed freighters to take up to 12 passengers, which closed down during Covid -- I don't feel I can justify air travel more often than I have to, given the ecological impact. Nonetheless, it was quite something to celebrate my 63rd birthday in Glastonbury with a substantial gaggle of friends. I'd be remiss if I neglected thanks for Oliver Rathbone of Aeon Books for arranging and facilitating the London end of the adventure; Brigid Brennan for making all the arrangements for the Glastonbury end of things; and all the other participants who helped make this a memorable and pleasant experience. Thank you, one and all!