13 August 2011 (Saturday) - Teston Kite Festival

I have mentioned in the past that if I were to compile a list of the sounds that I dislike the most, the sound of rain on a tent would be high up that list. It is a thoroughly depressing sound. And not having got into bed until 1am the previous night, I lay awake from 4am listening to that rain. I got up to ablute at 6.30am, and struggled to find a dry surface for my towel. Simon wandered over and made coffee, for which I was grateful.
Perhaps it was the sound of the rain, but everyone seemed to be up early this morning. We were breakfasted by 9am, which is good going at camp. And with brekkie sorted we went shopping for the makings of lunch, some bottled beer, and some gloves for “Daddies Little Angel TM: her hands were getting rather sore from the crutches.

Back to camp, and on the way back from fetching water I popped into the kite shop: as part of the festival there was a stall selling kites. I’d never heard of the firm before, but should any of my loyal readers find the firm “High As A Kite”, they would be well advised to turn around and walk away. There were those at the festival who described the woman running the stall as “eccentric” or “a bit of a character”, but she was neither. She was plain rude. Within thirty seconds of walking onto the store she was about six inched from my face shouting “O.K.-O.K. –O.K “, and then took offence because I didn’t know what response she was expecting. I turned around and walked out, telling the other shoppers directions to a kite shop in Whitstable that wasn’t so threatening.

I then got out my Pyro-Fish kite and proceeded to tangle up everyone on the kite field. It never fails to amaze me how few tangles I get on a four-lined kite, and how many knots I can get on a one-lined kite. And having wreaked havoc I went back to camp for lunch. You can’t beat a lump of bread and cheese washed down with a bottle of stout. After a bit of a kip we fed left over bread to the fish in the river, and then went back to the hospital. “Daddies Little Angel TM‘s ankle wasn’t getting any better, and the nice man at the hospital did say to go back if things weren’t improving. I personally had this theory that the leg would benefit from being strapped up in some way, and that is what the hospital did. A double-thickness length of tubi-grip was applied, and improvement was immediately obvious.

Back to camp, where we had a wonderful curry for tea. Irene & Terry did wonders in the kitchen. And having washed up we watched an impromptu skipping match. As the sun set we all (mob-handedly) made our way to the lock to look for bats.
We then spent a little while admiring the most beautiful sunset, and then opened a bottle of port. Cheese was passed round, and then we had pink port. I’d never tried pink port before. It’s nice, but needs to be chilled. More cheese, and then a third bottle of port. The third bottle was possibly a bottle too many, as several of our number were making their way to bed, but there were a hardy few who made it as far as the drunken midnight rice pudding party. The final three of us found the rough port that no one liked on Friday night, and sat up till 1am drinking that. After several bottles of ale and three bottles of decent port I found myself being rather accommodating to the rougher stuff.

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