Joanna Newsom's 'Emily' Vs the Grass Snake (at some point in April)
Upon leaving the campsite in Ravenglass, and experiencing real heat from the sun for the first time (my forehead was pulsing so much, I never caught the sun on my face after, or at least I never noticed), I sparked my smoke, and bumbled down the Cumbria coastal path, which does have a name I'm sure, but, by now it eludes.
To put you in the picture, I spent the early hours chain smoking, and drinking a left over tin of Stella, to the company of Radio 5 informing me of a massive ash cloud from Iceland heading over Britain, and hearing all of its airports closing in order. I seem to recall Aberdeen or Wick being first, before it spread south then west.
Having crossed the bridge over the River Mite, that runs parallel to the train line, I had put Newsom's Y's on at full volume. I needed to drown out the vastness of today's task, a walk to Maryport, through Sellafield, near Seascale, before heading en route through Whitehaven and Workington. Some 35-40 miles of grim Cumbria coast line. Everyone always thinks of Cumbria as beautiful, but, they forget its industrial port past, from the ship yards of Barrow, to the dead fishing industries of Maryport.
Needless to say, my attempts at distraction, or slight madness I could feel creeping in, were keeping my mind fully occupied. As I stood still on an old stone footbridge (having asked a Cumberland farmer for directions, something I will never do again) to take in some of the River Irt's magic, from the walls, a foot-long (grass, or so I thought) snake appeared, unsure of my being there.
With Emily by Joanna Newsom blasting in my ears, the ear to ear grin could not have been larger, and I watched its striped back through slightly blurred eyes, circle and circle my right foot. This lasted maybe two minutes, before it eased off, and slithered a metre in front of me, before turning to face me, raising its head some six inches off the ground. I got down to my knees, feeling too good to be hurt, as Newsom's high pitch gasps covered me in such a warmth, and went nose to nose with the serpent, staring into its eyes, knowing I could not be hurt. The snake knew he had been beaten, and retreated to its hole.
After waiting in a Youth Hostel reception in Ullapool, and looking at a poster on the wall, it turned out the Grass Snake was an Adder.
Having been puzzled by why this scenario had happened, I told the tale as often as I could, looking for more insight. When I told it to the Alien Jazz Party (Daryl) in Hastings, a Tom Waits fanatic, he interpreted what the great man would have thought of it, "Newsom is an Angel, and you my dear friend, you, met the devil, he could not touch you, as her voice was too beautiful for him to get close".
Not an actual reason I understand this, but, the only one that has made sense of that day. DAVE DUKE
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