Rumpers Captures a Pixie

I escaped from the city. It had become drear. A grey, dirty, treadmill; an endless cycle of work and unconvincing play. My life trudged on in a disturbing, angular, increasingly familiar and yet less familiar setting. Taking courage and my family, we settled ourselves amid the enchanting Mendip countryside in an old inn with an acre or so attached. But that’s a tale for another day......

 So here I am, lucky enough to be immersed in a beautiful and alluring landscape with an eccentric scattering of historic, fascinating villages and towns. Mells for example, is a medieval village dotted with an array of stunning stone houses, sporting their telltale green front doors, the tale being that the village is organised still in a kind of feudal system under the auspices of Lord Oxford. Two miles away is the village of Nunney with its’ 13^th Century ruined castle with moat intact and gothic village prison and a cast of characters you might find in an Agatha Christie novel. Well, an MC Beaton anyway.

 But most intriguing of all is Glastonbury. I go there regularly for work and I love the drive there. This morning was a typical example of the simple yet heart-soaring pleasure of it. An early frost was followed by a thick mist rising from the land. As I rounded the bend towards Pilton, the fields of Worthy Farm were covered in a beautiful white wispy froth with trees atop the Mendip hills, forming a photo perfect backdrop. As I neared Glastonbury, the beautiful drama of the chapel rising from Glastonbury Tor amidst the haunting mist, gave me a lift that has endured all day.

 Then the town itself is the maddest place. Forget Iceland and W H Smiths. This is the place to find quirky little shops selling broomsticks, gongs, the latest witchy fashions, books on healing the psyche of bees and so on. Ah, but to be honest I don’t really get all that hippy, witchy thing. It’s far removed from my way of being. And well, it’s fair to say that on a trip to Glastonbury I can hardly resist a little mischief, a game with myself, spotting some of the towns’ wizards, witches, goddesses etc, in a “Hooo-ly Fuck, you canNOT be serious” sort of a way. WHAT?! Ah sure, the feckless wastrels claiming love and peace for everyone that they don’t actually seem to give......

 So.

Imagine my delight one morning back in July, when I unwittingly got to hold one of these strange creautures captive while I interrogated him. Hah!

It was raining heavily as I drove into Pilton. I couldn’t hear the wipers squeaking as they hurried back and forth across the windscreen, because Melody Gardot was giving it some on the car stereo. While the rain lashed down in a blur, I noticed a somewhat rain sodden, deceptively normal looking guy, wearing a bomber jacket and green trousers, standing on the side of the road. He was hitching a lift and I felt sorry for him getting drenched so I pulled over. I’ve been told off about giving people lifts, but I worked in the community in Tottenham for 20 years so I can look after myself. And when I see a poor devil getting soaked I sometimes give them a lift. Well into the car pops your man, and 3 seconds later I begin to regret my kindness as there is a smell reminiscent of the hen shed. I realise he’s pretty wasted and he has ceased to function at full throttle from years of "overdoing it". His speech is affected too, so it’s hard to make out what he is saying but the conversation goes like this:
 
Lady R= LR

Green Trousered Eejit = GT

GT: “I look after the earthen people.”

LR: Looking up with a glint in her eye and seizing her opportunity: “Really? How exactly do you go about doing that then?”

.............5 minute pause while he thinks.........
 

GT: “I look after the Goddess and commune with the flowers.”

LR: “Ah-hah, Mh-huh.... Are they the earthen people?”

GT: <Indecipherable>“I have to marry into fairyland.”

LR, getting into her stride now: “Ok Cool. How do you go about marrying a fairy, do you use a fairy dating agency?”

GT: *giggles* “No, it’s the fairies that does it. I'm married to a Goddess.”

LR: “Ah, did you have a lovely fairie wedding?”

GT: “Nah it's not like that. I haven't got a girlfriend”

LR under breath: “Really. Well, if you’re married to a Goddess, does that make you a God?”

GT: “No” (rolls eyes) “I'm a Pixie.”

LR: reeling slightly: “Wow! What defines a Pixie, what's the criteria?”

GT: thinks for 3 minutes : “You wear green.”

 

Dear Reader I'm sorry but I just burst into peals of laughter. To be fair, the Pixie was laughing too.

He asked me my name and I didn't want to tell him but unfortunately the first name that sprang to mind was Titania as I happened to be playing that part in the Nunney Players production of Midsummer Night’s Dream. The pixie knew that Titania was Queen of the fairies. He looked at me somewhat suspiciously......

By now we had arrived in Glastonbury so I bid him farewell. He moved in for the thank you embrace. I shot him my best "GET OUTTA MY PERSONAL SPACE YA DIRTY PIXIE!" look which he registered, so instead he took my hand and kissed it. Awww bless him. He got out. I dived for my industrial sized pump bottle of alcohol gel. Luckily it wasn't on the passenger side or he might have drunk it.

He's probably sitting in a fairie ring somewhere, telling the tale to fairies and godesses who are all laughing at the weirdo who thinks that she is the Queen of the Fairies......