And my word, the psychological impact of being in among all those hills! They aren't actually enormous but at the bottom of the valleys they aren't half imposing on your mind! They shape and mould the local landscape in a way that those of us who live in comparatively flat areas can't begin to grasp. (And yes I do call High Wycombe flat compared with what I've been surrounded by the last couple of days.)
The whole place could make a lovely background for a screen version of the Sartarite resistance vs the Lunar occupiers if only we could get rid of the pylons and the nineteenth century and after buildings.
They even have their own set of Peculiar Customs: in this case the Whit Friday Brass Band contests where Bands from all over the continent arrive to play at each village's individual contest. With a dozen villages and two dozen bands, they started playing about four thirty and finished after midnight, with huge coaches moving carefully through the narrow, steep roads and streets to get their bands to the next contest. The judges, by local custom, don't get to know who is playing but listen to the music being played outside through a curtained off window. And at the village of Dogcross I watched as the bands played under a tree lit with 'fairy lights' in the village square. Pure magic!
And I'm telling you lot all this to remind you that no matter what we try to come up with there's nowt so queer as real life folk. And to lament that I can't think of a way I can work Brass Band contests into my Glorantha....
-- Michael Cule ------------------------------
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