It’s all gone a bit Wicker Man in town this weekend. I was sitting quietly in The Bridge, minding my own business, when I glanced up and saw a man staring across the bar with glowing red eyes. No, really – they were glowing, glowing and red. ‘Oh my God,’ said the people sitting at the next table. ‘He’s seriously scary. What the hell is he?’ ‘I don’t know but he looks fabulous,’ I said and jumped up and went and said hello.
‘Great look. Love the eyes.’
‘Thanks. Can’t see a bloody thing though. Hope I’ve got the right beer.’
Nice chap. See, appearances are often deceptive. So I popped into the Ladies and found two girls adjusting their bindis and rearranging their boobs in jangly bras.
Children with shaved heads and dinky DMs were running in feral little gangs. You couldn’t move for guitars and fiddles and drums and bits of ribbon and, for some inexplicable reason, a lot of boxers (my favourite dog). Oh, and a traction engine, belching smoke.It’s the Dulverton Folk Festival and TheBridge is having a beer festival to coincide so, as you can imagine, Adrian is as happy as the proverbial pig in shit. Not the folk so much (he was more into punk and rock before hardcore classical stole his ears) – but he had a good deal to do with the beer selection. James wasn’t so keen.
‘I’m scared of Morris men,’ he said, shuddering. ‘I think I have a phobia.’
Well, I get there is something a little unsettling about blacked up faces with staring red eyes; about masks and long pointy noses. It’s all very raw and primitive. ‘I’m scared of Morris men,’ he said, shuddering. ‘I think I have a phobia.’
‘They’re rude, they are,’ said a chap outside the church. ‘Downright rude.’
I frowned. ‘But the ones I spoke to were lovely, really friendly.’
‘Oh no,’ he replied. ‘They’re nice enough. I mean rude as in, well…’ He lowered his voice… ‘….sexual. Honestly, it’s the wrong time of year.’
Eh? Sex has seasons, like pheasant or salmon? Who knew? ‘Oh, I dunno,’ I said with a grin. ‘Any time of year works for me.’ He looked a bit startled but grinned back. ‘I guess you’re right.’
So, we wandered from pub to pub, catching a bit of music here, a bit of dancing there. Listening in on folk wars and stifling grins. ‘Is that a banjo you’ve got there?’ asked one woman innocently in the cafe, pointing at a case. Eyebrows raised, eyes bulged and two fingers flashed across one another in a warding gesture. ‘Banjo? BANJO? It’s a mandolin.’
The only sour note came from a severe case of I’m Very Importantitis. Last night a party of four bustled to the table next to us. ‘We’re the committee,’ said a large florid chap in a bright sweatshirt with COMMITTEE or CHAIRMAN or summat of that ilk written across it. Well, there's a surprise. And, frankly, why on earth does being on a committee mean you get to be unpleasant and unfriendly? ‘It’s very tiring organising this, you know,' he blustered, when we didn't genuflect with suitable awe. 'We need our food. We need our table.’ And who precisely was stopping him from having his food and table? Ah, *sigh*. Whatever.  |
| graphic by Sarah Diggle - perfect image! |
Then, this morning, I pitched up, a trifle late, for my kettlebell class by the river and saw our little group facing off – yup - Mr Bumptious again, this time with two henchmen. Turned out he was objecting to us doing our class on “their” festival weekend. Apparently we would ‘steal customers’ from the festival and we were ‘taking advantage’ of “their” weekend for publicity. WTF? Six local women slinging kettlebells around off under the trees at 10.30am on a Sunday morning? Ye gods, the festival goers were still sleeping off the excesses of the night before. It was raining. Nobody was even performing or dancing. Who the hell did they think we were going to steal?
He spluttered and pontificated and clearly wanted to intimidate Trish into cancelling the class. Honestly, why is it that some people feel the need to throw their perceived weight around? Is it that classic case of big fish, small pond – a very shaky ego that needs bolstering? But really, it was bullying and it pissed me off so I threw my toys out the pram a bit and, given I couldn’t lob a kettlebell at the pillock, I unpinned my Folk Festival badge and thrust it into his hand, stifling a laugh at myself for such a totally pathetic gesture. 
Anyhow. Forget him. I love anything really that brings people into Dulverton. I just hate petty-mindedness and small thinking. If you’re around the area tomorrow, there is still beer left at The Bridge and there will be music wherever you go (yes, we have four pubs in town - greedy eh?). And there will be more dancing and mayhem and misrule.
I reckon we’re just missing one thing… A good burning to round off the festivities!
(tell me you've seen The Wicker Man? One of my all-time favourite films).
