Yesterday was spent in good company, with a couple of hours of gardening followed by a visit to this year’s Fordham Park festival. It’s on a smaller scale than when Orbital played there many years ago but it’s nice to hear on a Saturday afternoon some mad punk bands thrashing it out, entertainment on the lovely named “Recknaw” stage (what does it spell backwards?) and being with local characters in a packed tiny tent loving a sound system playing top tunes (who ignored from us here at weeds to dedicate one to “anyone who’s left their washing out.”)
There was a welcomed absence of artisan flat whites, workshop tea, craft ales and ethically-sourced bagel sellers but they had their revenge in the end so we were told.
A bloke in his late 50’s (in an ill-fitting biker’s jacket with a faded Crass symbol on the back) explained to us that the estate agents, coffee companies and cupcake vendors who couldn’t get on site all got together the day before and with a bit of alchemy, influenced the bad weather we were currently having. He might have been right as it tipped it down most of the afternoon after a week of glorious sunshine. “Boo hiss” to them!
We’ve now gone back in our memory to festivals and fetes of old. Where the army motorcycle display team do that “pyramid” thing and the local police dog handlers let off big alsatians at sheepskin-wearing “villain’s” wearing big padding on one of their arms. Ah, those were the days…