The Wassail.
We arrived at dusk, the boys made glittery bee planes, bee houses and lanterns in a gorgeous twinkling bell tent.
Pip the human duke box played great tunes for money, the kids danced.
Cider flowed.
Gloucester Old Spot sausages were devoured.
As the sunset striped crimson across the sky, live music played from the marquee, then with a whoop a uni-cyclist swept through the crowds carrying a flaming torch... the wassail was about to begin.
We all walked through the orchard, carrying our lanterns to the oldest apple tree, bejewelled in green glowing lanterns.
There we crowned the wassail king and queen and sang to the cock robin to ward off evil spirits and ensure a good harvest this autumn.
Despite being the coldest night this winter, it was great to be out in the darkness and feeling the spirit of winter.
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