:: GussetBLOG ::

:: Tuesday, May 31, 2005 ::

Summer Bank Holiday

"A photographer eats with his camera, sleeps with his camera, even makes love with his camera." Or words to that effect, are uttered somewhere in the Killing Fields. I prove that I am only an armature by forgetting mine on this occasion.

Yesterday was the Summer Bank Holiday in the UK, which means sun, beer, barbeques, rain showers, and shopping. (Or DIY if you don't fancy going outside.) So what did Mr and Mrs P get up to? We got the shopping quota in at the awesome (but poorly web serviced) Book Barn in Zummerzet. ("Holy over-compressed jpeg, Batman, isn't that second picture just a screen shot from Raiders of the Lost Ark?", "No, Robin, it's worse than we though. That's real.")

I managed not to buy anything mainly on account of my annoyance with their haphazard filing system. I'd really love to get into the record section and spend a few days organising it, for a reasonable payment in records of course, and it was all I could do to stop Amanda reorganising the sci-fi/fantasy section as she was browsing. She'd tell you this is because we are both Virgos. I'd say it was because I have an anal fixation, but that's another story. At least we managed to leave them some stuff to sale.

So onwards to Kilmersden Village Day. Predictably, this takes place in Kilmersden village, which happens to be the home of a hill that is immortalised in song thanks to a massive head trauma caused to a small child.

Here we are subjected to the far more terrible trauma of Morris Dancing. This is where the lack of camera causes a problem, because one of the two accordion players providing the dancers musical accompaniment was probably the oldest person ever to have successfully stood and played an accordion. The wrinkled face, the curling lower lip, the distant look in the eyes of this pale and hunched figure was the physical embodiment of what Emperor Palpatine would look like if he had not been killed in Return on the Jedi but had merely retired to an English village to quietly and reflectively wither away. The image will haunt me forever.

We also arrive too late for the Hog Roast so only get an undercooked chip buttie. This disappointment was quickly vanquished, however, by a gorgeous slice of almond cake, a pint of Butcombes, and mild sunburn, making it everything I expect for a good English Bank Holiday.

As we left I discovered that Summerset village days use exactly the same promotional techniques as city centre club nights, when I was handed a flyer promoting the nearby Chilcompton village day in July. And it's going to have ferret racing! See you there!

:: Dan 31.5.05 [Arc] [0 comments] [links to this post] ::
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