I set the twisted candle in the holder and lit it. Heat may have melted it S-wise but its light remains undimmed. Something so skew suddenly so dear. To burn while the Great Bear is in the south and my north star with him.

A whole week in another land and yet at home. Incomparable gifts. The return of a blessing.

‘Soft cheese, blue cheese, hard cheese,’ he shouts, ‘they’re all good, they’re all here!’ The true cornucopia is in a northern market square, enchantment hidden behind cling film and a laminated ‘A’ board. We take two slightly humming discount pieces back, on the ecstatic edge of lactic activity, not for the faint of heart. The goat roulade is fine baked on a lunch of leftovers but the butter-coloured blue strides straight for harsh metallic tang, beating me back despite the oatcake.

We put the radio on and Rad Mac play drum n bass. I was a raver but no dance music for me in the morning: it divides up time too finely as with an old movie film running too slowly, I can see the frames and sense breaks down. Before noon I need continuity not division. My dreams, like four year olds, have already impressed assorted cutters into my mind dough, sprinkled the shapes with hundreds and thousands and declined to bake them promptly. Not yet sure if I have the cast of Teletubbies or the Iliad in there today, or what is more likely, both.

On the table, the outstretched arms of two sprigs of ivy, still green though I left then there three weeks ago. So alive even facing certain death.

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This podcast was first published here on Substack 2nd June 2026 with many images from illustrations I made of The Wake by Paul Kingsnorth , as well as full transcript, footnotes, links and more. This week, it’s worth heading over to see the full version, just click the button below.

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