Don't know what a circle game is either, but I'm lolling in my hammock with my chilled freshly made punch that they're serving at the bar right now. It's made from freshly squeezed oranges and lemons, with lashings of gin, which the committed bar staff have been spending hours preparing (that's why they've been so quiet and couldn't help Spaw on his mission).

I've just bought a bamboo flute and in this world where dreams come true, I've mastered (mistressed?) with eaze its elusive notes and fingering, and am playing the most romantic slow air of all with its woody deep tones.

The faeries are dancing. In the distance, a group of elves, Tolkeinesque, are singing. The sound of their sweet voices marred only by the sound of Spaw's gentle snoring (he's fallen asleep from exhaustion)....

Will you come by the hills to a land where fancy is free?
To stand where the peaks meet the sky and the rocks meet the sea
Where the river runs clear and bracken lies gold in the sun
And the cares of tomorrow must wait 'til this day is done.

Will you come by the hills to a land where life is a song?
To stand where the birds fill the air with their joys all day long
Where the trees sing in tune and even the wind blows in time
And the cares of tomorrow must wait 'til this day is done.

Will you come by the hills to a land where legend remains?
Where stories of old touch the heart, where we're led to the days
Where the past it is lost and the future is yet to be won
And the cares of tomorrow must wait 'til this day is done.

Will you come by the hills to a land where fancy is free?
To stand where the peaks meet the sky and the rocks meet the sea
Where the river runs clear and bracken lies gold in the sun
And the cares of tomorrow must wait 'til this day is done.

I could stay here forever. Sigh.

Catrin