I arrive too late from the Airmid's Well Night Market to join the party. Most of the revellers have passed out on the beach or gone home.

Weaving my way carefully through the camp, I approach the brightly burning wickerman. The heat is unbearable and I choke on the greasy smoke of burning flesh. I toss my offerings of flax and green wheat ears into the giant sacrifical cage and beat a quick retreat back to the cool of the beach.