Cannibalism and Window Cleaning
To the Editor,
I write today with a curious mixture of horror and determination, spurred by two events that, at first glance, appear entirely unrelated: the revelation that human bones found in a Somerset pit 50 years ago point to Bronze Age cannibalism and the much more mundane (though no less daunting) news that I’ve finally found a window of dry weather to clean my house’s windows. One involves the grisly remains of a prehistoric massacre; the other involves me balancing precariously on a stepladder with a spray bottle in hand. And yet, are these two stories really so different?
Let us begin in Somerset, where archaeologists have pieced together a chilling tale of Bronze Age mayhem. Cannibalism, they say. A massacre, no less! But was it survival? Revenge? Or perhaps just a badly thought-out dinner party? The evidence is striking, though I admit I’m struggling to see how they knew it was cannibalism and not, say, an unfortunate accident involving too many blunt tools and not enough social etiquette. One shudders to think of the cleanup involved after such an event, though I suppose prehistoric folk didn’t have access to microfibre cloths.
Meanwhile, back at my house, I’ve finally been gifted the rarest of British treasures: a dry weather forecast. Inspired, I have vowed to tackle my windows, which currently resemble frosted glass despite being perfectly transparent underneath layers of grime. Yet, as I squirt and scrub, I can’t help but wonder: will future archaeologists look at my efforts and similarly draw wild conclusions? “Ah,” they’ll say, “this cleaning ritual must have been a sacrifice to appease the gods of sunshine, likely performed after consuming a feast of microwaved leftovers.”
The parallels are undeniable. Much like the Bronze Age massacre site, my windows tell a story — a timeline of weather events, failed attempts to shoo pigeons, and what I suspect is some sort of moss. And just as those Somerset bones have been misinterpreted over the years, I fear my neighbours might misinterpret my window cleaning determination as me trying to signal for help.
In closing, I am left pondering the great mysteries of human history and household chores. Were the Bronze Age people truly cannibals, or were they just bad at tidying up after a party? Will I actually clean all my windows, or will I abandon the task halfway, claiming it’s a modern tribute to the chaos of our ancestors?
Yours in scrubbing confusion and archaeological curiosity,
A Cleaner of Glass and Finder of Unexpected Parallels