It must be hard, soul-destroying work being a modern witch. Not only do you have to do all those tedious magical things, like collecting newts’ eyes, harvesting mandrake and sacrificing the odd virgin, but you also have to spend an inordinate amount of time hanging around popular tourist spots in Glastonbury looking really, really sinister. It’s a tough job, but I guess that someone has to do it.
A particularly sturdy young witch was on duty in the Abbey Gift Shop a couple of weeks ago. Clad in a curiously fetching albeit distinctly unseasonal heap of purple and black taffeta, she was wearing really interesting Goth-style makeup and absolutely loads of ironmongery. She was also clutching a slightly bedraggled funeral wreath in one hand and a black coffin-shaped PVC handbag adorned with a pentacle in the other (a bit of a give away, I thought).
The poor dear was making a huge effort to look mysterious and evil and it was a crying shame that none of the other tourists seemed to so much as notice her. They might at least have pretended to be a little bit nervous. It was such a hot day and she looked so uncomfortable and under appreciated that I was sorely tempted to buy her a rum and raisin ice cream.
