Morning dear parish,
By the time you read this I will likely be just getting out the other side of the funeral of Shane MacGowan. It began with his coffin being carried through the streets of Dublin and snaked its way down to the wintery beauty of rural Tipperary. A great, Guinness-dark river of joy and grief. Song after song, story after story. Presidents, rock stars, politicians, every type of person from every type of life. A massive tribal event, especially poignant in the same year we also lost Sinead O’Connor. On Wednesday night I’ll be telling a story for Shane at Vicar Street in Dublin, as part of an evening with the great Glen Hansard.
So we come to the last part of our Icelandic saga. It’s a rum old tale, and its conclusion takes us to some of its darkest but also most heroic moments. Thank you for sticking with this extraordinary and sometimes rather difficult story. I can feel Tolkien’s eyes all over it. As I mentioned before, there are times within it that I feel even more keenly the necessity of Christ – both a thousand years ago and today.
We are getting near Christmas. Something I’ve often watched deep in the Decembering month is a very eccentric UK TV kids show called The Box of Delights. I’m very keen on it. Mythic with a tiny budget. There was a strange spate of shows like this, Children of the Stones and Robin of Sherwood back in the day. I love their atmosphere, the music to Box of Delights gives me a very strange and delightful sensation.
The Wolves Are Running!
This link will get you into the strangeness:
THE SAGA OF KING HROLF KRACKI, (PART FIVE)