THE YACHT

 

“She’s been telling people that we’re staying on a yacht,” says wife to G___, the woman who owns the yurt, “so everyone thinks we’re on a boat.” G___ laughs. J___ makes a little shy face. “But this is better than a yacht.”

The view’s amazing. You can see Glastonbury Tor in the distance, and, like, an ocean of green. We’re all at sea in nature.

At sea

A lamb escapes from its field and wife turns shepherd guiding it back to its mother’s woolly embrace. It’s an exciting introduction to the countryside and we all feel quite proud of ourselves for the part we each play in wife’s success.

Wife’s success

The animals are making quite a noise as the sun sets. I’ve never heard a din like it, actually. Moos, baas, bellows, barks, all sorts. “I wonder what they’re talking about,” I say. “They must be trying to communicate something.” One of them makes a particularly odd noise in the distance. “That sounded like a sheep having a coughing fit,” I observe. “Do they do that?” says wife. “I guess so,” I say. “I don’t see why not. They must have some sort of phlegm. Sheep phlegm.”

Do sheep cough?

I piss on the fire when it’s time to go to bed. “Well, that was more satisfying than your average piss,” I say, while plumes of smoke dissolve into the darkness.

More satisfying

In the morning wife observes that when I sleep I have what she calls a “sleeping corpse face”. I know exactly what she means because a few weeks ago she showed me a picture she took of me when I was sleeping and I looked like one of those monks you see lying on top of tombs in cathedrals, my hands joined together as if in prayer and everything.

The morning

All the shopkeepers in Glastonbury seem sort of fed up, like they’ve had enough of making money out of tourists but the continued presence of the tourists obliges them to continue doing so. A few are really rather brusque, even bad-tempered, and seem rather at odds with the crystals and dream catchers and tie-dye t-shirts and wind chimes and incense and magic wands and whatnot that constitute their wares. There is no shortage of crystal shops; in fact there is a superabundance, but, as wife observes, if you want anything practical or useful you’re fucked.

We visit the abbey which is full of people lying or sitting with their eyes closed, soaking up the monky vibes. I ask a man if it’s OK to ring the bell in the little chapel there, and he says yes, so we all have a go ringing the bell. That’s a first for me. I’ve never rung a church bell before.

Monky vibes

The man in the first pizzeria in Glastonbury, which also seems to be the only restaurant in Glastonbury, has no tables unless you’ve booked, but no one seems to have booked. There is only a constant stream of people – tourists, no doubt – who haven’t booked and the pizza man turns them all away with a weary sigh, as though it is his bothersome duty to do so. We order takeaway, which we eat in the car. I buy the kids little pints of milk which they drink with straws that the pizza man gave them.

My poncho has really come into its own on this holiday. I had begun to think its purchase had been a folly but out here it’s virtually indispensable.

We keep seeing Glastonbury Tor round every corner, like it’s teasing us. I thought we were going to go up there, but I think it’s higher than we thought it was and maybe that’s put us off, so I’m not sure any more.

Lights at night

I thought Wookey Hole was going to be, like, one cave with some funny lights that you kind of just walk around looking at the drippy rock stuff, but it’s way better than that. There are loads of chambers and tunnels and the man says there were choirs down there and we are ninety metres underground and he says there’s a lot of rock on top of us and that it’s best not to think about it.

Best not to think about it

There is a circus of young girls and they keep dropping the hoops and skittles they are juggling and when they all start riding unicycles I worry that someone is going to get seriously injured.

Worried

Most exciting of all is the dead bug that R____ finds. “Look J___,” he says. “A dead bug!”

Dead bug

On the way out a man and woman dressed as a wizard and witch start talking to the kids. “Don’t worry,” says wife, “they’re used to it. They’ve got idiots as parents.” “Are you calling us idiots?” says the wizard.

On the drive home, catching sight of it in the rear-view mirror every so often, I feel like Glastonbury Tor is mocking us, like it’s a middle finger, and it’s sticking itself up at us.

“This is the best day of my life,” I say, eating chocolate in the mid-afternoon, while sitting around doing absolutely nothing in particular.

Nothing in particular

“Truth or dare?” says R____. “Dare,” I say. “I dare you,” he says, “to die.”

It’s a bit too hot in the hot tub. “Look,” says R____, “it’s steaming. The steam is doing a dance.”

We decide to run around the field naked before bed, which seems like the right and proper thing to do. The sheep are all staring at us. “We’re alive!” shouts R____. “WE’RE ALIVE!”

What are you looing at?

Before we leave I sing a couple of my songs to the horses and sheep that live there. They start running around in circles, which I take to be a sign of their appreciation. R____ thinks they’re dancing. “Thank you horses,” he shouts, “for dancing to my daddy’s music!”

We go to Glastonbury Tor on the way home. It’s dead windy, and it’s quite a steep climb but it’s no big deal. We just do it and then we go home.