The Burning of the Clocks

The fog thing now getting beyond a joke. A thick soup of it today that starts just a bit inland from Brighton, and my flight just two days away. Will I escape?

Last day at work, mercifully. Worked quite hard in the morning and then straight home for a microsleep. I feel shattered.

Then off to the Burning of the Clocks with Anton. I absolutely loved this. We huddled in a few bars near the seafront and then went down to the beach, to see a procession of mad drummers and hundreds of lanterns some of them in amazing dragon, octopus and people shapes with clocks on them. It is the darkest day and this is a new Brighton pagan tradition. The clocks were ultimately burnt on a big pyre after a symbolic sun was set on fire against the backdrop of the dark winter sea. Really excellent. And there were thousands there, and a great atmosphere too. The event was rounded off by some truly spectacular fireworks.

Loved the symbolism of it too. The year turning and a burning symbol of the things in life I would like to see gone.

Then back up to Anton's house via a brace of pubs to eat curry with Anna, before I lurched home. Skype then with Toby and my new friend the lovely Sarah in Florida. Below the pyre just before it went up. And a clump of lantern clocks.