I used to live in Glastonbury, many moons ago. Although Julian Cope seems fairly convinced that the Tor is a representation of the Goddess Bridgit, it always seemed like a bloody anomalous hill with sheep all over it to me. That's not to deny the power of the place: when taken in context with the rest of the landscape around the Chalice Well, and the astonishing Gog and Magog trees in the Chalice Gardens, the Tor is even more wondrous than when taken solely on its "go on and connect me to a car battery" effect.

You would have to use 6 carthorses to get me into Glasters during tourist season these days. I bemoaned the demise of Deacon's Tea Shop and its Death By Chocolate at some length the first time I came across the Global Cafe, and noticed perhaps for the first time on that same occasion how the locals tend to use some sort of energetic sonar to keep track of everyone. They have a tendency to stare at one as if they have never seen anyone with talent before. I didn't even have my black eye at the time.

Glastonbury Tor would have been an island at one time, and I remember being able to visualise it quite clearly on any number of occasions, either when the levels had flooded or the mists had come in and left me apparently stranded in time on top of the hill. St Michael's Tower has never held any attraction for me, but I do like to gaze across to the gap in the trees where stands the Butleigh monument.

There are sites out there devoted to Glastonbury and the various theories regarding the landscape around it and its place in British history. I shall not even begin to attempt a summary of the mythology of the place, past and present. Glastonbury, for me, is coloured by too many memories to give a good overview to the prospective visitor.

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