Yes, that is rain on the window. Bristol weather has never been kind to me and this time is no exception. Pouring rain as I tried to comprehend the “it’s so easy” bus schedule. The handy-dandy rain poncho was close at hand, however, so I put it on and looked for TF. Found it–a covered shelter–and waited with a half dozen others for the 376.
It was a bit time-crunched today–unlike most of my trip so far. The B&B wanted me here between 12 and 2, otherwise I’d have to wait until 4. So I was happy when the road repairs in Bristol gave way to the winding A road that comes up to Glastonbury.
We made pretty good time, even when we changed drivers in Wells. Here’s Wells Cathedral from the window of the bus.
That’s leftover Bristol rain on the window.
I’ve been to Glastonbury three times now and I was glad to have my thinking cap on when we turned into the High Street. Instead of getting off mid-way down the street and having to walk back uphill to get to my B&B, I popped out of the bus at its first stop at the corner and went on my way.
The B&B is a little farther away than I’d like but it’s on the site of Dion Fortune’s house and temple and it overlooks the Chalice Well. When I came in today (both times) there were people in the walkway up to the Tor, filling their bottles from the White Spring.
As is inevitable with such things, I went to a potluck today with the worker bees and organizers of the conference. I stopped by the former Truckle of Cheese and got cole slaw and three bean salad to bring with me and then kept asking until I got to the Goddess Hall. On the way, I also found the botanica where I have an interview this week to talk hoodoo.
I met some good folks almost immediately and sat with a girl named Sophie who had been roasting potatoes for the potluck all afternoon. We laughed and ate delicious food. I finished up with some Victoria sponge cake. Yes, I did. Then climbed the hill back to the B&B.
I ran into my friend Helen who is in town until Weds, conferencing while her family is in London. It’s always funny when you see someone from home when you’re so far away. She had just been to the Tor and was heading back to the High Street.
I am sad about Truckle of Cheese because it was a good name and the people at the counter were old locals. Now it’s called “Artisan” and it has almost no personality at all. Proving once again that Glastonbury and Asheville should be sister cities. That’s exactly the shallow “progress” Asheville loves.