Snow and after

We did indeed get a dollop of snow last week, about an inch. It disappeared almost as quickly as it came but not before a glorious sunny Saturday, during which we made a five mile stomp through Wytham Woods to Swinford Bridge.

Skaters were out on Port Meadow where the winter floods, only a foot or so deep, were thickly frozen. It looked timeless, like a Dutch master (that's Wytham on the horizon).


The sun was surprisingly warm but once we reached the shade of the woods the air was cool. We had lunch on a fallen trunk but didn't stop long.



We came out of the woods at Swinford Gate and climbed the hill from where you get one of the best (and let's face it, only) views in Oxfordshire.


And from Swinford we got the bus home again. It's one of my favourite local walks.

But by Monday the snow had all gone and just this week, with the return of mild weather, I felt the first tug of spring, the first visceral hint that the spell of winter is starting to crack.


According to medieval folklore, Valentine's day is the moment when the birds start singing again. They've actually been singing for a few weeks already, but as I cycled to work the other morning I heard a song thrush in full voice and my heart did a little skip.

Even scarier

Continuing a theme, here's what they do in Sardinia...very scary indeed.

Intimations of spring

There were outbreaks of wodulation in Glastonbury last weekend as Wod supported the fabulously funky Green Angels for a French and Breton bal in the town hall. The Angels were celebrating their album launch and the event was timed to coincide with imbolc, the first festival of spring. We played for an hour and then again acoustically at the end, with the dancers pressed all around us, as seems to be becoming traditional. It was a fine night.

We stayed over (thanks again to Mike and Jane) and after a full English breakfast in the Mocha Berry Cafe, made the obligatory ascent up the Tor, the sacred Isle of Avalon. Aside from a one or two clumps of snowdrops there were few intimations of spring. Indeed, the flurries of snow quickly began to settle.





We got home after a somewhat alarming journey through a blizzard to find that a friend, Jessica Abrahams, had sent me a book, a catalogue of an exhibition of a little known Slovenian artist called Boris Zohar that she'd picked up on her travels (I'd normally add a link at this point but Zohar seems to have very little online presence). She thought, what with my interest in folk rites and all, I might find the pictures...interesting...I think his work is incredible and it deserves to be better known.


Zohar's thing is painting the kurent, a figure from Slovenian folklore, which he does somewhat obsessively. The kurenti come out at Easter time and welcome in the spring with dances, cracked whips and enormous bells tied around their midriffs. They're kind of comic and odd all at the same time.


Clearly from the same stable as the krampus the kurent is perhaps not quite as scary, but I still think our spring festivals could take a little inspiration from their European cousins.





In the meantime, with the cold snap continuing and more snow forecast tonight I guess we'll have to settle for hunting woozles in the woods.

Catweazle

The Catweazle Club is one of the jewels in Oxford's dreamingly spired crown. Hosted by the incorrigible Matt Sage, it's an open performance space which is 100% acoustic and, thanks to the quality of the listening and the sheer variety of performers, never ceases to be a magic bardic crucible, leaving everyone feeling better than when they came in.

A folk club on acid, I've been playing there now for fifteen years. This recent video captures some of the vibe, and, indeed, a little of my good self, playing a fairly new song, One More Mazurka.

See you down there, perhaps? The best seats are in the front on the floor...

Catweazle 12.01.2012 from notiamobene on Vimeo.

Interview

I did an interview for a Pagan radio station, Grove Radio, t'other day and here it is, with an impromptu version of Wood towards the end (bonus points to anyone who spots the continuity error). Sorry about the mess in the background, but, erm, that's how we live...