“Let’s start at the very beginning, it’s a very good place to fart…”
After a lift up to Chiverton Cross in THE MIN*, we settled down on the starting grid in second position due to an exceptionally something or other Friday night. Even so, Hardbean and I felt that we had a good advantage over the field in our freshly purchased roll bags: much more pleasing to the contemporary punter’s eye. Neat, compact, tastily toned…not unlike our good selves in fact.
Number one (hitchhiker) got away after twenty minutes (a pleasant enough Brummie with wild ginger locks) so Strickly and me moved to the front and in no time at all (well ten minutes really) along came (Greg) Garnham, odious sort of potter creature with sickly moustache and nervous eyes. Pleasantries exchanged he moved on.
*Parting's beloved green Mini
Now the first half hour had passed and Strickly had already eaten his packed lunch. We were still jovial and I was quite nonchalant even with the morons that persist in using boring old sign language whenever they see a hitchhiker, gestures which normally send me into a Titanic rage and leave me lying breathless by the kerbside.
We breezed through the next hour by elaborating and exaggerating old stories and during a timely gap our first lift arrived: A nice yellow car being driven by a boring “actually” person with an anecdote for every occasion which he delivered in drab monotones punctuated by girlish giggles. Still, he did give us a ride and dropped us off at the Roche turning, remarking, “there’s always a cloud over Roche.” Which I thought was bloody good…and Strickly ignored.
We were now at the good end of Gosmoor and being treated to an endless line of emmet Traffic. A brown Cortina soon gave us a ride...he was going to Plymouth so we decided to spend a couple of 'daze' at The Elephant Fayre.
As he let us out at the St. Germans roundabout it started to drizzle. There were two miles to walk to Port Eliot and we didn't mind that but after 200 yards we discovered that the roll-bags (coffins) were EXTREMELY difficult to carry when heavy. Still, onward ever onward. The rain was trying harder so a kindly Citroen stopped and took us to the village.
We wasted half an hour trying to find a cool way in...then decided to do the decent thing and handed over the notes.
We found ourselves a nice little spot and after a count of three we both said "ZAP!" and the tent was up. Amazing.
After a goodly meal of whatever it was we took a leisurely wander around the festy. "Yes!" we uttered...Hardbean and I were both of the opinion that this was a much nicer affair than the year before and we immediately set about having fun.
An enjoyable two hours were passed watching the antics of The Son of Circus Lumiere Theatre Co. I could not do justice to this gallant body except to say that it is one of the funniest/cleverest(?) performances this writer has ever seen. The evening was rounded off with a gathering of friends around the fire. Hardbean and Parting departed to their tents at 3.30am after a damned good day.
By Milde Parting 31st July 1982