The National Trust: Avebury Stone Circle (Sunday 24/09/2017).
Forums fizz with acrimonious posts trumpeting rival preferences for The Avebury Rings versus Stone Henge.
A cursory glance reveals countless threads which usually start with a polite enquiry from a curious American tourist and quickly descend into caustic trolling.
Swayed only slightly by the current English Heritage/National Trust turf war we stuck two fingers up at the Henge in favour of inspecting the famous but mysterious stone rings.
Erected in around 3,000BC, just before tea time, you could see them as one of those inexplicable acts of human endeavour at a time when the cutting edge of technology was .... a cutting edge.
The less charitable might observe that about the same time the ancient Egyptians had finished their tea, cleaned the dishes and were instant messaging each other on their I-Tablets about how best to make Avebury look like a childish practical joke.
Theories about the precise circumstances of their erection vary from religion to astrology or even appeasement of the malevolent powers of nature.
I like the last one best, as when mead fuelled 14th Century students began the august tradition of knocking them over, the malevolent powers of nature got the hump.
An undergraduate studying Medieval History in 1348 was duly crushed by a falling 40 tonne block and he was only extracted by archaeologists in 1938, by which time his final essay extension had passed and he had to resit his whole second year.
When the 14th Century road cone stealers failed to take the hint and continued to harass the giant stones, the powers of nature decided that enough was enough and rapidly spun the malevolence knob to Max; 1349 saw the arrival of The Black Death which immediately wiped out almost everyone in the village.
The events of nearly 700 years ago still resonate powerfully in the village and even now, attempts to tip over or even climb on the monoliths are met with a superstitious response bordering on hysteria.
I nervously ushered Alex and Sophie off a weathered seat on one of the stones at the approach of a hedge haired old crone. I was right to as her fearful utterances promised a fate far worse than either pestilential death or 600 years under a heavy rock.
I am a cautious man and I was taking no chances.
Next year we'll go to Stone Henge.
A cursory glance reveals countless threads which usually start with a polite enquiry from a curious American tourist and quickly descend into caustic trolling.
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| Domino's. |
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| Pizza. |
Swayed only slightly by the current English Heritage/National Trust turf war we stuck two fingers up at the Henge in favour of inspecting the famous but mysterious stone rings.
Erected in around 3,000BC, just before tea time, you could see them as one of those inexplicable acts of human endeavour at a time when the cutting edge of technology was .... a cutting edge.
The less charitable might observe that about the same time the ancient Egyptians had finished their tea, cleaned the dishes and were instant messaging each other on their I-Tablets about how best to make Avebury look like a childish practical joke.
Theories about the precise circumstances of their erection vary from religion to astrology or even appeasement of the malevolent powers of nature.
I like the last one best, as when mead fuelled 14th Century students began the august tradition of knocking them over, the malevolent powers of nature got the hump.
An undergraduate studying Medieval History in 1348 was duly crushed by a falling 40 tonne block and he was only extracted by archaeologists in 1938, by which time his final essay extension had passed and he had to resit his whole second year.
When the 14th Century road cone stealers failed to take the hint and continued to harass the giant stones, the powers of nature decided that enough was enough and rapidly spun the malevolence knob to Max; 1349 saw the arrival of The Black Death which immediately wiped out almost everyone in the village.
The events of nearly 700 years ago still resonate powerfully in the village and even now, attempts to tip over or even climb on the monoliths are met with a superstitious response bordering on hysteria.
I nervously ushered Alex and Sophie off a weathered seat on one of the stones at the approach of a hedge haired old crone. I was right to as her fearful utterances promised a fate far worse than either pestilential death or 600 years under a heavy rock.
I am a cautious man and I was taking no chances.
Next year we'll go to Stone Henge.
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