Lottie grew. And grew. And grew. Before we knew it we had a very large and fat porker living in the garden. Well, I say garden… she mostly ate the garden and within a very short period of time the garden was no more. And we were back to a sea of mud. Additionally, for some reason she took against Phil and would chase him trying to bite his ankles! The only thing for it was to let her live in the orchard, which was right next to us. She happily lived there, crashing through the undergrowth back to see us when we called her for her favourite treat, honey and rosemary roast potatoes. We used to find ourselves cooking heaps more than we needed just to give her a treat… I’d go outside and shout ‘Lottie! Tatoes!’ and she would crash through the orchard as fast as she could to the fence to snuffle them all up. One day the landowner came and said she had to go back to be with the other pigs, but apparently as she was so fat, she was going to make an excellent surrogate mother!
The year was moving on and Phil was feeling stronger. He wanted to start his Druidic rituals again, and so at Samhain on the 31st of October we packed our run down car and drove over to Golden Ball Hill near Avebury, where the most magical evening was about to begin…
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