Solstice Shubby. Here she is, the one and only, the splendid, the ineffable Black Goat of the Woods With a Thousand Young -currently on holiday in the Plateau of Leng and hence not in the picture. She’s commanding us wretched souls to have a fab Solstice in spite of the all-pervading crap that’s engulfing us. Milady’s cortège think (but not say; not aloud anyways) that she is, indeed, glorious and incomparable and unutterable but she has no social graces whatsoever. I say nobody’s perfect. And she means well, I’m sure. Follow her advice and do try and have a great Transition. Things are very unlikely to get any better but at least Apollo is turning his chariot around and heading back our way. Any time now, snowdrops and wee buds. Menos da una piedra…
And un po’ di mu’ seasonal. (I know, I repeat myself. But I love this song and it’s not everyday that a couple of eccentric Scots write a song for me just to cheer me up.)
Stay sane, folks!