The Rifleman’s Arms in Chilkwell Street, Glastonbury, is a proper pub. It’s the pub I measure all other pubs against, if there’s a Platonic Ideal of Pubs then the Rifle’s, as it is affectionately known, is it. I first drank in there when I came to the town for the 8.8.88 Free Festival on the Tor, and when I moved to Glastonbury in 1993 it became my ‘local’. The pub has buckets of atmosphere with its dimly lit, low ceilinged 16th Century front bar, stone mullioned window frames, old wooden tables and roaring log fires in Winter.
Christmas is a time of little rituals, some public, others particular to individual families. Now we see most of them as traditions – giving gifts, feasting, bringing greenery and light into our homes at this the darkest time of the year. It seems likely that they all originated as rituals to celebrate the return of … Read more