The Island of Glass

'I've got lesions!' She roared as we walked in; the landlady/proprietress of the Covenstead B&B was in fine form, barring a diagnosis of Hodgkin's disease. I did not understand the details. 'Don't worry, I'm wearing gloves in the kitchen!'  The food was excellent and she was the same as ever, full of laughter and outrageous stories, her samoyed padding up to grin at us and roll around for attention. Our companions were given a room full of dark wood, fur and horns. We had the same hippy-charmed pad as before, my bed was  in a purple paradise by the window, piled up with cushions... and yet, I slept very badly. Next morning Elvis Diary recounted that she had crept out of her own bed to tiptoe across to the en-suite, and let out a barely audible teeny fart, at which I  sat bolt upright and yelled 'WHAT? WHAT?' at the darkness. I recall the yelling, though not the cause. In general I love the vibe of the covenstead - the walls on the upper floor always remind me of some 70s rock album:





Next day, fortified by a massive and delicious breakfast, we wandered the town. Under the all-pervasive New Age patina there's still something very pleasant about Glastonbury, but I noticed more beggars than before. One was a strange shambling crusty sitting on a wall. 'I know everything,' he mumbled at me as we passed. I didn't know if he wanted money - he had no hat out or anything -  so smiled at him and walked on. 'Your Dad!' He yelled after me.  A strange painted lady had parked herself on the pavement,  'Bless you,bless you, go with God, do you have  any money you can spare for me? No? Well, bless you, bless you, go with God...'  And part of me can see these all as part of the fairy tale narrative,while another part posits the extent to which delusion and drugs colour Ynis Witrin, Island of Glass...possibly Island of the Looking Glass. Then we made our way up Wearyall Hill. After that, we all split up to do our own thing. I went to the Tor, and met some extraordinary people...A lady excited about finding wish-stones, a couple with four beautiful Northern Inuit dogs...then returned to the White Spring Reservoir on Well Hall Road, and visited the Chalice Well with Elvis Diary. Once again, completely failed to visit the actual abbey ruins.  But we met the others at Glastonbury's latest vegan restaurant  - named 'Excalibur,' - and from there to the George and Pilgrim, where we ensconsed ourselves happily for the rest of the evening.

That night, I slept long and peacefully, dreaming of white springs and red springs, and cool clear water...and leaving my poor chum to fart in peace.