10 July 2009 (Friday) - Back to Brighton

With the car loaded up we set off to Brighton Kite festival (for the eighth year running). Eight years – is it really that long? Despite getting away promptly, by the time we’d gone to Tesco’s for a sandwich, and then gone to Middle Farm for some emergency backup beer (just in case), we didn’t get to Stanmer Park until gone 1pm. Although the festival doesn’t actually start until mid morning on the Saturday, I like to get to a festival early. After all, what else is there to do?

Tents were soon up, and Brian went to sleep. For no adequately explained reason, he’d not slept the previous night. Whilst he slept, I quietly coppiced the nearby woods. We’d planned to bring a fire pit, and so needed fuel. I had brought along an axe and some mega-secateurs to deal with the more recalcitrant dead branches. Whist I prepared the wood pile, the rest of our party arrived, and set up their tents and tea. Tea was good, and once it was scoffed, we had birthday cake and coffee. And then Lisa realised she’d left all her spare clothes at home.

Irene and I carried the washing up down to the toilet block where we faced a dilemma. Should we wash up in the ladies or the gents? In the end we decided it better to have a lady in the gents than me in the ladies, and we started scrubbing. As best we could in cold water. For some reason there was no hot water in the toilet block this year. I could have gone and whinged at the organisers, but they had plenty enough problems of their own without having to worry about my washing up. I suspect that one of the problems was the “normal person” we upset by having a lady in the gents doing the washing up. Oh – he wasn’t happy at all about that, and stormed off to complain.

Back to camp. A bit of a hike up the hill, but we’ve camped at the bottom before. It’s very busy and noisy down there. Half way up the hill we can spread out a bit, and there’s more wood for the fire pit there. Terry had brought a box of the Westerham Brewery’s finest, and we made a serious dent into that, and then saw off a bottle of port between us, whilst watching the illuminated kites flying in the dark night sky.

And so to bed. Another advantage of being half way up the hill is that you don’t get disturbed by all the commotions with which the people at the bottom do. Like the arrival of sixteen police officers. Someone had seen the flashing kites in the sky, decided they were U.F.O.s and had called the law…

11 July 2009 (Saturday) - In a Field, In the Rain

I got to bed shortly after midnight, and despite having had over a gallon of ale and a lot of port, I slept very restlessly, waking at least once every hour. Having lain awake listening to the rain for what felt like ages, I wandered down to the shower block for my morning shave shortly after 5am. It was as well that I did – I was able to pull all of the broccoli out of the plug hole that we’d left there from the night before.

Back to bed, and just as I finally dozed off around 8am, so Batty arrived with a suitcase full of Lisa’s smalls. He also wanted brekkie, Which was understandable. I wanted brekkie too. A sterling bit of scoff was devoured, and then after washing up, I went for a look round the festival. This year there were a lot more people camping than last, but I think there were perhaps less stalls. Which is probably for the best – I’m a sucker for buying stuff. In the past I’ve spent hundreds of pounds at Brighton kite festival. This year I kept it under a tenner.

There was a rather odd feeling to the morning. It was intermittently raining (which is never a good thing), and a sizeable proportion of the campers had gone off to a wedding. Two of the regulars had decided that Brighton kite festival is a really major part of their lives. I can understand that – it is for me too. But for them they felt it would be quite apt to get married whist at the festival. So for an hour or so there was a vague aura of anticipation, waiting for everyone to return so the festival could continue.

I scoffed a quick sarnie, and then I was on duty. I’d volunteered to help in the kiddies’ workshop where children (under expert (!) supervision) make their own kites from recycled bamboo canes and carrier bags, and then fly them into nearby trees. Despite the incessant rain, we had a constant stream of children wanting to make kites. In fact, after two hours we had to turn people away.

As I was wandering back over the kite field I had quite a shock. Someone hit me whilst I wasn’t looking. As I flew backwards, I was quite upset that someone would clobber me rather than have a discrete word. As I scraped myself off the floor, I saw the wreckage of a fellow kiter also laid out. It transpired that as I’d been walking across the field I wasn’t looking where I was going and I was waving at an old mate. Someone else also wasn’t looking where he was going, and was running backwards with his kite. I’m told by those who saw us collide that the entire episode was really fun to watch. I’m afraid my gob would disagree, and Bow’s back was bad all weekend after the impact.

So we retreated back to camp. The rain by now had slackened off to a medium monsoon and with all kite related activity unfortunately abandoned we started on the beer at 3.15pm. We did have an invitation to join the wedding party for a game of rounders, but it looked rather too wet for that. We decided to stick to what we knew best. As well as the five gallons of ale I’d brought along, Terry had brought over four gallons and Paul very kindly gave us a gallon as well. Those of us with hair had it platted. Those without put their bums through other people’s chairs. We came up with a dozen uses for a cheap Asda plastic poncho, the most important being a shelter under which the girlies could tiddle – our “turdis” had broken at some point. I had a really good afternoon, despite being intermittently dripped upon. The communal mess tent has sprung a leak. I must fix that at some point.

After a smashing bit of curry for tea, and the obligatory washing up, Dave & Tracy came to visit. There is a limit to how long one can hide from the rain, and I had spent all that time yesterday collecting firewood. So we had a go with the fire pit. It took some doing – fire lighting isn’t easy with wood that’s been sitting in the rain for a day, but we got it alight. Eventually.

To bed shortly after midnight – I woke up in the communal tent to find everyone else had gone to bed and left me sitting there, fast asleep….

12 July 2009 (Sunday) - Brighton Kite Festival

Another sleepless night. Not only rain, but wind too. Having lain awake listening to the banners flapping for an hour, I got up at 3am to take them down. I went back to bed, but didn’t sleep, and again at 5am was walking down the slope to have my morning ablutions. In the middle of the field was a duvet. I suppose there are several valid reasons why one would leave a duvet in a field. I decided it wasn’t my problem, and left it there. It turned out that it had been used for second base in the rounders match, and no one had got around to clearing it up yet.

Whilst waiting for brekkie, an entertaining five minutes was spent watching “mollusc wars” in which Lisa was fighting a slug against a snail. Unfortunately for popular entertainment, the invertebrates weren’t having any of it, and both just slimed away. And then the sun came out. We watched people flying kites as we scoffed out brekkie, and then set up the girls stall.

Seeing as the weather was against us yesterday, we didn’t bother, but the plan was to do face painting, flog candles, that sort of thing. The girls chose a good spot just where all the normal people would be crossing from one field to another. And we set up there. The wind was just a tad too strong, though. We decided to take the gazebo down – you can’t run a stall when you are desperately clinging to the gazebo to stop it blowing away.

With the girls ensconced on their stall, we went to get replacement poles. Some of the banner poles have seen better days, and some are just plain broken. We bought three new poles, and put them up to check they were OK. Two were fine. One wouldn’t come down again. Two of its sections had fused together. We had this idea to lubricate them with cooking oil. It was as well that we had plenty in the mess tent, but no matter how liberally we applied the stuff, we couldn’t separate the poles. Eventually we wondered if we shouldn’t take the broken bit back to the shop, but on reflection we decided that filling the thing with cooking oil had probably invalidated any guarantees that the shop might have offered. In the end we replaced the broken section in the new poles with a functional segment from a knacked pole. Not ideal, but it will do the job. Hopefully.

A bag of crisps for dinner, and leaving some of our crew fast asleep for the afternoon, I set off back to the kiddies workshop. With the better weather we had a queue of children all afternoon. The event was only marred by “Thugbert”, a particularly nasty example of the worst of humanity. His dog (which probably should have been muzzled) peed up the tent, and “Thugbert” could see no problem with it. I saw the twit later in the afternoon, who was ranting at anyone and everyone about the incident. Apparently he would have done something about the dog if the people running the festival had “shown him respect”. He then started screaming abuse at the world in general because an insect had flown into his beer.

Having helped the now sunburned girlie-types take their stall down, we volunteered to help tidy away after the festival. We were charged with gathering up eight wheelie-bins, and with lugging a generator across the field. A minor hiccup was that every gate we met was closed and guarded to keep pikeys out. This tended to interrupt the momentum, but then, sometimes momentum is best interrupted.

Back to camp where, with the better weather, we had more success with the fire pit. After a smashing bit of scoff we stood around the fire as the light failed, drinking beer and port, and scoffing two year old pickled eggs. (I’m quite pleased with how the eggs have turned out.) I learned that foxes don’t have opposable thumbs, and that earlier in the day the RSPCA had been selling dead dogs at Asda. (I’m sure that’s what she said...)

And then I noticed something odd on the main road. A dozen vans towing caravans had parked up, and the occupants were eying our cam site. Pikeys!! Our fire had turned out to be a pikey-magnet. In the end the travellers drove off elsewhere, but there was an exciting twenty minutes or so whist we waited in anticipation for… I’m not quite sure what we were expecting, but in the end we were disappointed.

13 July 2009 (Monday) - Home Again

A third restless night. I was packing my bags by 7am – there is only so much laying awake that you can do. Sometimes one misses having ironing to do. A minor disaster - I remembered that I didn’t have a spanner to disassemble the buggy. I’d borrowed one from my brother in law when we put it together on Friday.

And then a text message. One of the youngsters had taken a tumble on Saturday afternoon whilst playing rounders in the rain. The first aiders had diagnosed a pulled muscle. The lad had been to hospital where they found his arm had broken in two places, and would need pinning under anaesthetic to put right.

First aiders are one of my pet hates. These people had been driving around in two transit vans all weekend. They’d written “Emergency vehicle” on the side, and by not sending this youngster to hospital had actually done more harm than good. I recall another kiting injury a few years ago when the so-called first aiders were too busy sucking up to the local mayor to see to their injured. Why do these first aiders bother? Why don’t they just get a job on the ambulances? (rant over…)

I disposed of the ashes from the fire pit and the unburned firewood. And then extinguished any remaining heat in the ashes by tiddling my initials into them. We then had a quick bit of brekkie which (in a novel break with tradition) I helped cook, and then we packed up. Goodbyes were said – the trouble with kiting as a hobby is that all my mates live so far away and we meet up so infrequently.

We were away shortly after eleven, and home and doing laundry by 3pm. I even got the lawn mowed too. I feel worn out. Three nights not sleeping properly and I’ve caught the sun too.

It’s been suggested that we camp out at the Sussex county show at Ardingly later in the year. I’m in two minds about the thing. On the one hand it might be good fun, but it’s a two hour drive each way, and there’s an awful lot of mucking about setting up tents and stuff. It’s not for a couple of months, so I shall give it some thought.

The trouble with camping is that (as “Corporal Clot of the S.A.S.” once told me) there is camping, and there is being miserable in a tent. Whilst setting up our own personal tents is easy enough, we need somewhere to cook. And we need a table to cook on. And all the cooking tackle. And some sort of shelter in case it rains. After all, as we found out over the last few days, if the weather is bad, you need to be prepared for the worst. And that’s why we go so loaded down when we go camping.

I wonder if we could hire a caravan for the Ardingly weekend?