More things lay eggs than you might imagine...

I have just left a comment on Judith's blog, thanking her for the introduction to the Ragged Rambler's one, from where she lifted the picture of the 'Crinkle Crankle' wall in her last post.

I said to Judith that he seems to inhabit the same world as I do, though he probably has a head-start because Norfolk has been stuck in the 1950s since 1950. His last post came from Norfolk, and he describes himself as an antiquarian which - I suppose - is the same thing as the 'antiquary' that dear old John Aubrey (above) described himself as, all those hundreds of years ago when amateur academics first became scientifically interested in the pre-historic heritage of their home country. Prior to that, any stones set near a village that seemed to be too large for about 10 men to lift, where attributed as works of the Devil. The Devil must have spent most of his time playing bowls with giants, turning pretty maidens into stone (usually counted as 9, no matter how many were dancing in the field at the time), dropping small mountains which became too burdensome to carry to the next town, etc. etc.

Now I realise that this sort of subject matter is extremely provincial - even within Britain - and may not seem to be relevant to people living outside of here (sorry Grouch). It might not even be relevant to people living inside of here, but it is the world I have decided to spend as much time in as possible, and it is quite rare to come across a like-minded individual who is not a 60 year old, fatuous hippy living in Glastonbury.

Here on BBC Radio 4 (you can get it on the net), there is a re-run of a series of plays by Nick Warburton called 'On Mardle Fen'. At the moment, we are up to play three, and I think there is at least one more to go, as I remember from the first broadcast. It is set in a fictitious, eccentric restaurant in the Cambridgeshire Fens, and contains - for me - all the ingredients to keep me glued to the set for the hour or so that each episode takes to run, including a hefty dose of humour.

I briefly lived in the Cambridge Fens (with Brian Eno's ex-wife and mother-in-law - eeek!), so I know how steeped in sinister mystery the place is, and how the very landscape has been home to all sorts of witches and mal-contents for hundreds, if not thousands of years. One of the first lines in Nick Warburton's play is to do with a basket of eggs which have been put out for sale in the local market, and the narrator says, "More things lay eggs in the fens than you might imagine, and some of them are edible." That sets the scene beautifully.

When I first heard these plays, I emailed Nick Warburton to tell him how much I liked them, and we exchanged a few messages during which he said that he had the same admiration for John Aubrey as I did, then a few weeks later, I was driving along to a church near Malmesbury where I was helping H.I. restore a medieval 'Doom Board', when I heard a play by Nick which featured the life of Aubrey. The church where this rare medieval relic is situated is closely associated with the Aubrey family, and John Aubrey himself attended it regularly when young. There is graffiti carved into the pews by 17th century schoolboys and - for all I know - one of them might of been the man himself.

Like I say, I want to spend as much time in this world as possible, and with the help of people like Nick and the Rambler, I get to spend a little more each day.