jack.h...@gmail.com
Forget Druid rituals and celestial alignments, the truth about Stonehenge is far more prosaic – it was a prehistoric stop-over on the ancient 'A303' of its time. Imagine it, not as a mystical monument, but as a bustling Neolithic motel, complete with fast food and questionable discounts.
Picture weary travellers trudging the dusty track, laden with flint implements. They squint towards the horizon, not for celestial omens, but for the sight of towering megaliths – the iconic roadside sign of the prehistoric equivalent of a 'Travelodge' or a 'Premier Inn'.
Instead of chanting bards, it was the rhythmic clang of blacksmiths hammering out spare ox shoes. The stones themselves? Forget solstice alignments, they were cleverly positioned to provide windbreaks for weary travellers. Those iconic lintels, tragically missing now, were not celestial pointers, but sturdy awnings – perfect for sheltering from the drizzle.
And the surrounding area? Not a sacred landscape, but a rest stop ecosystem. Yarnbury Castle Fort, a mere six-kilometre stroll down the ancient 'A303', wouldn't have been a pilgrimage or military site, but a budget motel.
Astronomical theories? Those were just marketing ploys by the "Druid Family," the enterprising clan who ran the whole operation. Imagine them hawking Stonehenge Tours at a discount on solstices, claiming their stones held the secrets of eternal life.
Of course, not everyone could afford the Druid Family's premium package. For the budget-conscious traveller, there was always the "McDonald's of the Megaliths" – a ramshackle hut serving mammoth burgers and questionable mystery meat stews.
So next time you gaze upon Stonehenge, cast aside the whispers of ancient rituals. Instead, picture weary travellers, haggling over flint arrowheads, swapping campfire stories, and arguing over who gets the last megalith-sized McRib.
Stonehenge: the Neolithic rest stop you never knew you needed.
Jack