The Party

Me and my brother have been hosting in my parents house. We have just had an evening of copious hedonistic pleasure, and the following morning everyone gets the bad news that the owners of the house, my parents, are back, earlier than expected. During the evening everyone had had so much fun that they can't be bothered to tidy up.

Needless to say, the biggest upset to my mum and dad was finding this scuzzy deadlock hippie couple sleeping in their bed. There is not much point in hiding anything now, as it's clear to them this was no ordinary party, yet I am still hoping that the sex toys are not randomly lying around.

How we are going to finish is beyond my comprehension now. P and a few of the more awake, have moved into the poly tunnel to give them back their space. P has a vague plan to try and include them in the activities, thinking that after a little bit of massage, they will relax and get in the spirit of things. He shows me a bottle of special oil, rose hip oil, which he says is good for opening the heart, and particularly effective for Christians.

My parents have retreated to the kitchen table, while general morning tidy up happens around them. The kitchen is like something out of a Salvador dali painting. The table has really high legs, and the chairs too. How one manages to get on them easily, or even at all is a mystery. High up on the table a basic lunch is served. One of the reasons the table is so high up, is to get away from the mud of the farm yard. My parents own a farm with cows. The kitchen table is in the middle of the court yard, which in this weather is ankle deep in cow shit and mud.

A mug has fallen off the table into the cow shit. My dad wants a drink, but is unable to clean the cup, so my brother offers him milk in the dirty cup. The white milk gets mixed with the brown shit and makes a creamy chocolate color. My dad drinks it anyway, saying that people in the past learned to live with this kind of thing.

Back up on the high table we now engage in a conversation about power and I talk to my dad about the Rosicrucian order of the golden dawn, the late Victorian secret society, born out of free masonry, practicing ritual high magic. He asks me, "but are they people of the earth, these people who are part of this cult"? I explain to him that they are a bunch of aristocrat's, artists and poets experimenting in magic, but have to concede, no, they are not common folk, they come from a class of society above the common as muck, farmers and peasants. " that's how we know about them," i say "as they had the wealth to pass on and write down the teachings. . we don't really know what the common everyday low magic was ."

Now a cup falls off the high table and cracks on floor. I climb down off my wobbly chair, to see if I can mend it, but it's a lost cause.