Phil Rickman - The Chalice

Ceridwen, Oliver, Archer – THIS was the Inner Circle. These were the people playing with the volatile Glastonbury atmosphere. I don't like to even imagine what went on down in that disused reservoir, the 'perfect temple', as Powys called it because of its alignment – an alignment they strengthened in the hope of somehow taking control of the Tor. They nearly did it too. With the proposed Restriction of Access, the Tor would very soon cease to be everyman's temple. Much of poor Woolly's paranoia seems to have been well founded and it makes you fear for Stonehenge. Without Archer's influence, I suspect the Tame the Tor Bill will fade ignominiously away. As for the road – well, for a start, Diane's instructed Quentin Cotton to tear up any agreement for the sale of land to the Department of Transport. She insists she'll actually invite the eco-guerrillas on to her property if it comes to it. I suspect, in the end, we might at least force a change of route. We'll fight, anyway. We have a lot of battles ahead. Not least to clear Woolly's name. I want to have some kind of Woolaston memorial – this is very important to me. And I want to publish The Avalonian before March. One of the issues I want to raise with Diane. The earth tremor? I don 't know what caused it. Was it a timely geological anomaly? Or was it the conflict of good and evil forces in a psychic hothouse climate? Some are saying it was the Tor announcing its refusal to be tamed. Others maintain it was a manifestation of God's outrage at a bishop attempting conciliation with the pagans. It's interesting to me that it happened when the two great spiritual forces were represented on the top of the Tor by two distinctly weak links – Wanda and the bishop, not enough power between them to keep a cigarette alight. If you imagine a fuse box: when the power overloads, it's the slenderest thread that breaks. I think if you'd had Ceridwen up there facing… well, maybe even me, the way I was feeling that day and maybe still am… then perhaps the tower would have come down. I'm not kidding. You may have detected that I'm feeling so much better, more energised, much more positive about the town, about its future. Yes, I believe we can all live together. I believe we must invoke the Grail, which stands for tolerance and acceptance. (I won 't say peace and love.)

And the Dark Chalice, the anti-Grail? I never saw it. Thank God. With Don Moulder's permission. Verity (she wouldn't let anyone else touch it) placed the grisly item in the black bus, exactly where the radiator grille was coming off. And then we set fire to the bus. Well, we didn't know what else to do. We burned that damned bus to an absolute shell, and then we paid to have it taken away. We figured maybe the link was broken with the end of the last male Pennard. The speculation in the papers is that Pennard killed his son by accident while attempting to drive out New Age travellers setting up some kind of squat in the disused reservoir on his land. The fact that one of the people seemed to be a well-established Glastonbury citizen was one of the puzzles requiring further investigation. Another was the apparent murder of Councillor Edward Woolaston by Archer Ffitch's agent, Oliver Pixhill, at his father's former house. Verity is still staying with a somewhat chastened Wanda. I am expecting the Home Temple to be dismantled. Diane says she hopes to persuade Verity to run Bowermead until she decides what to do with it. The Rankins have gone, of course. Just disappeared. Hardly a surprise. Sam's been going to Bowermead to feed the hounds, convinced he can 'reform' them. When I start to get depressed about Woolly and Jim, the thought of Sam as some kind of Pennard consort – and particularly what that will do to his revered father – always brings me round. I mean, can you IMAGINE Sam with the hunting and shooting mob at meetings of the Country Landowners' Association? I just love it. As for your Glastonbury book, co-authored by JM Powys and myself – we may well get around to it, although it's unlikely to contain much of the above. We're taking things day by day. And night by night. Love,