
The sun may have only just burst from behind the rain clouds to rake the tableland of the Marlborough Downs, but the people who have come to see these elaborate patterns are oblivious to the damp: they're lying down, head to head, their bodies radiating like the spokes of a wheel. The energies, I'm told, are still fresh. And we mustn't knock the rain. This month's bad weather has helped crop-circle aficionados by delaying the harvest.
Farmers in Wiltshire are wearily used to their corn being flattened into geometrical shapes. One of them has put an honesty box on top of an oil drum, in the hope that visitors will enable him to recoup some of the money he has lost from the crop. I notice that it is an old box. Crop circles are like truffles, mysterious but geographically specific, and they appear year after year.
We take off from a field near Alton Barnes, the centre of the phenomenon. Obviously the best vehicle for viewing crop circles would be a spaceship. But this helicopter, laid on as part of the Wiltshire Crop Circle Study Group's summer conference, which took place last weekend, is the next best thing, whisking me into a magical space where Silbury Hill looks like a suet pudding on a plate, and you spy on the gardens of manor houses that are invisible from the road.






