Page 1 of The Cake Fairies
Prologue
When people think of Glastonbury, they will inevitably think of music, mud and drugs; an Instagram-worthy rainbow arching neatly over the iconic tor on her luscious pea-green hill; that impossible to miss bump on the Mendip skyline where a young and sexy Sting once filmed his MTV music video, giving the locals an absolute field day.
If they’re historians or pilgrims, they will think of holy thorns and holy water, what might have been if the splendiferous Abbey hadn’t been reduced to cinders. And did Alfredreallyburn his cakes twenty-one miles away on the marshes of the Somerset Levels, as legend would have it, or might his oft-bandied-about similarities to Arthur suggest they were… drumroll… one and the very same bloke?
Meanwhile, tourists wonder if they are treading in the gorgeous Guinevere’s footsteps as they coil their way around candle and crystal emporiums, high on the vapour trails of sandalwood, sage, and something for the weekend. Will the cafés on the High Street serve raw vegan cheesecake and tree bark tea? And wouldn’t it be oh-so-unconventionally-mainstream-cool to chance upon another impromptu gig outside St John’s church by one Edward of Sheeran masquerading as a busker?
They might even think of the cows, or the carnival, or the town’s infamous Egg Man, Wilf Peddle.
The last place they will think of is Middle Ham; the unsuspecting village next door where our story truly begins. The last person they will think of is little old me; the woman of no fixed abode who doth love to meddle.
I am the wallpaper.
I am the orchestrator of your love lives.
I am the wisp that made you do a double take… even before you had your tarot cards read.
