Place With The Stones (v.2.0)

Did I say that it was hot last time? Well this time it must have been hot 2.0. A major new release of the sunshine product had been rolled out. I felt like my fur was turning into red goo and dripping off me. Not a nice thought when one is cursed with the encumbrance of not being able to shower.

Avebury, not far from the other place with the stones, is often thought of as being less impressive than its more famous cousin, when in actual fact the site is many times bigger than Stonehenge and just as fascinating.

We arrived whilst it was still morning and were gladdened to hear that our prudence in joining English Heritage had paid off; we would not have to pay the £5 parking fee levied to tourists upon their arrival. Bonus; say I.

The sun was beating down and all of the cars in the car park were slowly turning into the ovens they were soon to become as we headed along the footpath into Avebury village proper. We passed by a rather amusing sign by a cricket pitch which read “Beware of the Ball” rather than the more usual “Beware of the Bull” I saw more than one double-take at this subtle humour.

Upon arriving in the village we were presented with more thatched Tudor properties than any self-respecting dragon could have resisted torching back in the “Dark” times, when we dragons were feared and misunderstood by humans everywhere. I found them pretty myself, and didn’t have the slightest urge to see them razed to the ground.

It was still a little before lunchtime so we decided to go for a stroll around the stone circle which encompasses much of the ancient village of Avebury. And thus we negotiated the “Junction of Doom” and headed into the field which contains the famous “Devil’s Chair” or “Silla del Diablo” as Banshee taught us.

The construction of the stone circle was just as mind-boggling as that of Stonehenge. Considering when it was built, c.5000 years ago mankind were still torturing Dragons for fun, it is a miracle that they ever managed to erect anything so gargantuan. Add to this that they were working with little more in the way of tools than old animal bones, and more than a few Dragon brows would have been raised at the time.

We walked roundabout ¾ of the circumference of the outer circle and were quite in awe at the ditches and mounds that had been created so many millennia before. Again Undead Medic took a bunch of photos along the way and we saw many cute Dogs, and some sheep *licks lips*

We stopped for lunch, (No Sheep-B-Cue I was disappointed to find) and to gather our thoughts before heading into Avebury Manor, the shop and the two museums, prior to completing our circuit of the stones.

Avebury Manor was a strange house, in that it had obviously been recently inhabited and the modern kitchen appliances seemed strangely at odds with the opulent gardens and magisterial panelled rooms within. Couple that with a strange lack of furnishings and we were left with the feeling that we were being conducted around the most expensive prospective property acquisition on the market. We felt more like prospective buyers than paying visitors, weird.

Again I remember coming here in my youth, with some other Dragons of my acquaintance, but the old memory is dulled by Dragon-Wine and too many of those funny herbs that were going around *ahem* and I was glad of the chance to see the place again.

Avebury left me with a feeling that unlike Stonehenge the march of tourism that has crept up on the place has still left the site with a little dignity and the overall impression was one of a place that despite the commercial touches, hadn’t changed that much in centuries.

Banshee summed it up: the place still felt “Right.”

The Place With the stones (Stonehenge I think you young ones call it)

Well here I am, finally on my peregrinations. I took my time to get out in the world but it was worth it.

We arrived at a very unassuming car-park in the middle of Wiltshire on a very hot day. (No-one can fully understand what it is like to be covered from head to toe in red fur until they have experienced it first hand) Whereupon we disembarked. We were greeted almost immediately by a worldly mixture of licence plates and languages ranging from Japanese to Midwestern American English, We are truly a global village. We got out of the car and proceeded to the visitor centre, where I watched with fascination as the transaction for admittance to the place with the stones was carried out.

Now, I am a Dragon, and will probably never understand the human need for these little metal discs and scraps of paper, In Dragon culture you prove your standing by how many of your foes you turn into crispy frazzles. So I watched as Banshee and Undead Medic paid for our admittance, noting not without some ire that the subject of "Dragon Rates" wasn't even raised. But hey-ho, at least I got in for free. I had honestly had visions of having to fly across the road and meet the pair of them on the other side.

Now I remember having Dragon raves in this place back in the middle ages, when you were free to approach the stones and touch them to your heart's content. I may be sounding like an old buffer here, but I am 3000 odd years old and I'm allowed. Don't let my diminutive stature fool you! As Yoda said "Judge me by my size do you? And well you should not..." What I am trying to say is that it seems a shame that something as old and revered as Stonehenge has become yet another tourist "Cash-cow" when it is only within Undead Medic's lifetime that the place has been free to enter and relatively unspoiled by overt money making propoganda.

My penny pinching miserliness aside we proceeded along a tunnel under the road and onto the site. I could almost smell Dragon Queen Wilhelmina's breath from long ago, almost feel it singeing your fur. The stones themselves haven't changed that much, they are a little more weathered maybe, but that is all. It was nice to see that that Doctor Who mob hadn't trampled them or anything.

We had a wonderful day of it, Undead Medic took loads of photos of moi *blushes* and the stones themselves, and then we had a picnic at the back of the site, hoping that no-one from English Heritage would object to us not availing ourselves of the cholesterol filled niceties in their café.

Upon finishing our picnic we resumed our tour of the site, taking in the history as we went, with the audio guide wittering in our ears. We were intrigued to see a one man film crew somewhere near the heel-stone, recording video onto a huge MacBook Pro, and couldn't help but wonder if we might be making our TV débuts.

My thoughts on the day turned to my friends the Druids and what they must make of what has become of one of the most sacred sites in rural England.