Visiting the Rothschild house care of the National Trust, to find her grounds coopted for the surrounding borough’s summer festival. Toured the house, purchased a bottle of their wine, descended to the playground cafe with the kids for ice cream and lemonade. The playground cafe previously a stables. Kids enjoyed the swings, tightrope, slides, flying fox, festival sounds from the house grounds up the hill, local talent school band. I now have a migraine.
We emerge from the playground to the house, where school girl troupe competes in dance eisteddfod. My daughter pulls me over to the merry go round, I pay two pounds, and around she goes.
The school girls perform a Morris dance to the Robbie Williams song, “Candy”. “As you wish shall be the whole of the law/and if it don’t feel good what are you doing it for?” The axiom echos over the grounds, the girls circling each other, pagan sun over this 19th century mansion with its European, alien subtext, alien east, and further east, even to Egypt, to a pre-Raphelite mescaline imago of the East, of Nuit, Hadit and Ra-Hoor-Khuit, to a pre and also post Christianity, discarding the garment of all that, an oriental trinity reflecting the English mood, cutting a dapper figure in top hat and gloves, frames the song and the dance thus to me, a recollection (his, then, mine, now, someone else’s?) of a fantasy grimoire, an exquisitely Crowleyesque moment, a scene from the Wicker man.
My kid says: this is the song from Ibi’s party (it was too).