Nothing (much) To Report

After spending last week doing what I normally do (i.e. not a lot) I forced myself to leave the house on Saturday. It wasn't as much of a hardship as I thought it might be, except for actually getting up part. Sod's Law dictates that when you want and need a decent nights sleep, you will not get it. As, I'm sure, you are all aware.

During my perusal of our local paper on Friday night, I read that the almost annual event of the Medieval Fayre was rolling into town again. It doesn't roll, nor is it particularly medieval, but then this city is good at making something sound tourist friendly.

What it is about is a chance for some charity fundraising via the local Rotary club, I know not what for, and the pubs and shops get to join in trying to drum up a little business down Westgate Street, which usually means the pubs and sandwich shops have barbecues on the pedestrianised thoroughfare. The stalls are more or less the same that appear on a Friday, at the Farmers' Market, except the stallholders are dressed in Ye Olde Worlde costume. Some of them anyway. There were also a couple of small groups of folkmen and women playing traditional musical instruments, wandering up and down, playing little ditties. There may have been a hurdy-gurdy in action but I can't confirm either way. And, of course, Morris men.

Some very un-Medieval attractions included: a fire engine, that's been turned into a limo, essentially; a very broken-looking helicopter trying to raise funds, probably for the air ambulance, but unfortunately I can't be sure - I dashed past it rather quickly; a congo line that had no accompanying music, I didn't witness this, sadly - but I think I may have pissed myself laughed a little if I had caught even a tiny glimpse of this event.

I spent the day helping out on the same stall that I've assisted for the last 5(?) years. My memory won't allow me to remember if that is correct. The stall is Granny West's Country Wines. Well, it had to be something connected with alcohol, I wouldn't do it otherwise. That's not true. I enjoy helping Mandy out, I don't expect to get paid for it, financially or with a bottle of something (elderberry, this year, incidentally). She's based in Oxfordshire, Woodstock way and this is the only event she travels to this part of the world for and thus the only time I see her. She's produced some interesting stuff over the years - medlar, vine leaf and rhubarb, to name a very small number and all of which I have sampled. The mead sold especially well this year, the Sloe Gin not so. I bought one of the only two bottles that were sold. It's still not opened, which is remarkable for any booze in this house.

After standing nearly all day, my feet were screaming at me. There was nothing other to do than relieve them whilst quenching my raging thirst…. at the pub! A little, erm, quite a bit of cider was consumed. I left the place still able to stand, walk, and form almost recognizable sentences, a unique series of events for me. There will be is a review here of that very nice pub quite soon.

One last thing: Any man who utters "flicking the bean" more than once in a conversation, and in an entirely non-ironic manner throughout, justly deserves not to get laid. IMHO.