Avebury Rocks

A friend, with whom I did much entirely materialistic shopping (though without any significant, or even meaningless and nihilistically inspired, buying) in Winchester the other day, is game for a trip to the Avebury big ones.

She tells me it is a very exciting place, probably made so mostly in her mind by the occupancy of Julian Cope, who recently played in her neck of the woods in a mad, heavy and passionate way that looked set to go on all night. She took herself off after a decent show had elapsed. Julian Cope, respect...

Anyway, the plan is to go and spend the night there. This will require a BnB, as we are not so intrepid as to haunt the stones as the moon lights up strange thornbushes and the sound of preternatural wolves can be heard in an echo of medieval rites and passages.

And now that I've abandoned any concern for the direction of causality in my pursuit of coincidences (which arguably removes the coincidental quality, but heyho), this could count as the third mention of the Avebury Stones. Especially as Julian Cope could have been a story she told me incidentally - it just wasn't.