For me, looking in the mirror is never cause for celebration, I focus on the negatives, slap concealer on the blemishes and smear lip stick on the one positive. For a while, when I glowed with a warm, golden Caribbean tan I looked passable but as winter deepens and the sun becomes is too weak to add a blush my cheek  I am left  staring at  pale wrinkled face.

This does nothing for one’s spirits.

But some pagan feasting does.

Note golden orbs adorning the heads of the feasters

Enter RA.

GOD of the SUN.

Creator of all LIFE.

Warmer of our Freezing Winter Bones.

Ross roasted chickens, a pig lost his leg, apples turned to sauce. But, with a lack of virgins to sacrifice,  we were forced to  lower ourselves, “generous and experienced lovers’ to the slab.

By 9.30pm we were dopy with food, our  cholecystokinin levels were high and our stomached stretched,  soon stories of the kind,  and the malevolent sun began to flow.

Then the incantations began. We all chanted ‘RA’ as Jane implored the Sun God to return.

Jane’s poem to Ra, the Sun God.

Judging by this weeks sunny spell, we must have been doing something right.

RA!