Another year; another opportunity for me to look stupid in front of the entire village. Surrounded by children dressed as sheep and Egyptians, I stood cloaked rather unconvincingly in a multicoloured parachute (and I wonder why no other adult ventures onto the carnival float). Still, apart from a nasty gust of wind that threatened to add an entirely new dimension to my travel, the parade itself passed off without incident. There were fewer wagons this year, just ours and the local school, but the procession was fleshed out by assorted classic cars, the village beauty queen (rather disappointingly aged 10) and some odd men in ballerina costumes. It all looked very gay indeed.
The concluding fête had the usual assortment of tombolas, farmyard animals and weapon ranges. I spent ten pounds failing to win a large cuddly toy as the stall-holder gleefully pointed out previous winners; I upset a local breeder by comparing his flock of alpacas to aliens and the last thing I saw of the archery man was him collecting a dead pigeon - the victim of an over zealous eight-year old.
A collection of surly, overweight and under-dressed adolescent waifs and strays represented the cheerleaders of our nearest significant football team. They treated us to a near pornographic display of grinding, kicking and rubbing to the sounds of yesterday’s pop tunes. The elderly MC became quite excited by it all and when across the intermittent PA he said, “charming young ladies” it wasn’t entirely clear if it was a description or a statement of intent.
But my favourite stall each year is, without doubt, the ladies from the Women’s Institute. They really are as mad as cheese. It’s the same every time - their human fruit machine. Three rambunctious old ladies stand at the stall; for half-a-crown (decimalisation was a whim for other folk) they’ll ferret in their apron pockets and retrieve a random fruit or vegetable. It is genius. Three of the same kind, you win. And everyone won on their last go.
When I’m an old lady, that’s how I’m going to spend my summer days.
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