Day 2

1st August 1982 (Sunday)


I was awakened by the sounds of 'Strickly Hardbean Rising'. It was already the eleventh hour of the day so we cooked up a really good brunch. The weather was dull but not wet.

I wasn't sure if I'd dreamed about buying some good garments or not but we decided to anyway. So Hardbean and Parting spent the afternoon browzing in the Casbah. I came away with a luverly leather jacket, a nifty pair of green trews, a stripy collarless, a trendy tee and a bright American baseball top. The lot only came to £30 so I was as chuffed as arseholes. Hardbean got a couple of tees and paid the full price for 'em...honesty! After that little realisation he had to go and crash out for a couple of hours.

I wandered aimlessly around and ended up watching INCUBUS THEATRE. Another damn good show. These travelling players really work jolly hard.

Incbus Theatre Performers

I joined up with Hardbean around teatime and we watched a ridiculous Ugandan (how did we work out he was Ugandan? - Ed) ruin...or enhance (depending on your head) every gigging band he could reach. Me and Strickly thought it was funny but when we caught up with him again five hours later he had become boring.

We walked all the fucking way up to the Big Top to watch 'The Greatest Show on Legs', looking forwards to another good show...
Strickly summed it up by the angle of his straw hat (very battered). Milde summed it all up with one word: Boringgggzzzzz....

The Greatest Show On Legs

We danced in The Moulin Rouge, drank wine in the middle of nowhere and became foolish around the fire. Strickly invented the 'Sideswipe Method' of apple-eating and me and Burfy (Kate Burford) followed suit, crunching and tooth-hammering this poor little apple in every imaginable way. With my beaver-like teeth I got gallons of pleasure out of slicing downwards with the whole head while bringing the unsuspecting green thing steadily upwards.

The result: Devastatingly wonderous. A beautiful sculpted groove.

Then I stood on a Frisbee. Nice spongy experience. I immediately grabbed the thing and hurled it at Strickly. "THUNK!" Got him right in the hat. He flung it back and caught me a beauty in the chest.


It must be said that we weren't being aggressive, it was just so dark (1.30am) that you just couldn't see it. But I know we were both enjoying seeing the other's unfortunate attempts at catching the thing and then seeing it at the last second as it came out of the gloom, trying to dodge it unsuccessfully. I was cackling like a demented hyena. Great fun.

Went back to tent and slept like a dormobile. Strickly said he did as well in spite of forgetting to bring his sleepo bag.

Just a quick mention about my Breadmat. Marvelous purchase, bright green, definitely sleep-inducing. They mocked it cruelly on it's debut but we (me and breadmat) kept a stiff upper lip and have come through swimmingly.

Day 1

31st July 1982 (Saturday)


“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

Chiverton Cross

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.

Roche Rock near Roche...with clouds

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.

previous year's logo

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.

The 'Playmonster"

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