Okay, this is getting ridiculous…
We went wassailing this weekend.
Yup.
Wassailing.
Apple wassailing, to be specific. Or, as it is traditionally known in Sussex, howling. It doesn’t have anything to do with Christmas (or wassail); wassailing is an ancient pagan ritual performed in apple growing parts of the South of England. The locals dress up like elvish hobos, offer bread and cider to the trees and fire off shotguns to scare evil spirits away from the orchard.
You people think I make this shit up, don’t you? Well, I don’t. Every day in Angle-land is like King Richard’s Faire, but with older costumes and fewer chubby virgins.
I was going to tell you all about the ritual and shit, but for once in their miserable lives the locals started a ceremony early. We got there right on time, which was just in time to see the boogie-scaring fireworks and the traditional wassail bowl paraded back into the pub. Then everybody got pissed as newts on cider.
We did get to see the mummers in the pub, though. Yeah, you know what? I’m going to go lie down for a while.
But, hey, I get to keep my debit card.
January 12, 2009 — 9:00 pm
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