I hate the summer solstice. I hate it for two reasons:
- it means that summer is already on its way out, even though it hasn't even got going yet;
- it means that a whole pile of new age idiots, and people with made-up religions (is there any other kind?) will be up at the crack of dawn to clamber over England's most famous ancient monument:
An estimated 21,000 people today gathered at Stonehenge to watch the sun rise above the ancient monument on the longest day of the year…
Before dawn, King Arthur Pendragon, 51, the head battle chieftain of the British Council of Druids, led a troop of warriors—all anthropology students from the University of East London—in a dance honouring mother nature, whose effigy was held aloft and illuminated by fiery torches.
That's right, some bloke who thinks he's King Arthur and a bunch of bloody anthropology students have been titting around at Stonehenge. I bet they were carrying bloody crystals too, and feeling each other's auras.
I wouldn't mind (well, no, actually I would), but the so-called Druidic religion was invented by a bunch of misguided Victorians who fell hook, line and sinker for the invented poems of the invented ancient Gaelic bard Ossian (real name, James Macpherson). The real druids died out in Roman times (with a lot of help, it has to be said, from the Romans). We don't know much about them (other than what Tacitus wrote, and he was hardly impartial), but one thing we do know for absolute certain is that they didn't bloody well build Stonehenge—that was waaaaaaaaay before their time.
So what gives these modern-day impostor-druids and other assorted weirdos the right to descend en masse on one of our most iconic landmarks and act the goat?
Answer me that.