14 August 2011 (Sunday) - Teston Kite Festival
I woke at 7am to hear lots of chattering outside. Assuming that I was the last one up I got up to find everyone still in bed, but a child of fellow campers was sitting at our table conducting bellowed conversations with people in various parts of the world. I told him to shut his racket, and he seemed quite taken aback by my attitude. I suggested he might like to walk over the field to speak to his friend (rather than scream the length of the field). He assured me (in all sincerity) that he didn’t want to walk anywhere – it would be rather too physical. So I suggested that he might like to bellow from the vicinity of his own tent. He told me that he couldn’t – his fellow campers had told him to clear off somewhere else to do his shouting. So I told him in no uncertain terms to bugger off back to his own campsite. Given the option to go under his own steam or to be dragged there by the ear, he pootled off on his own.
I had my wash and shave, and put the kettle on. Not for tea or coffee, but to tackle the five bowls of washing up that had appeared overnight. Five bowls full. Where does it all come from?
After a super bit of brekie the Rear Admiral took me as his co-pilot to go shopping. We’d heard reports of a branch of Asda which was “Over the bridge, keep going and you can’t miss it”. We went over the bridge, we kept going, and five miles later found ourselves back where we started. Eventually we found the Tovil branch of Tesco, where we stocked up on necessities. And apple turnovers.
Back to camp, lunch, and then I took “Daddies Little Angel TM ” shopping for fags. We eventually parked the car – the normal people were out in force this afternoon. We then made our way to the lock for the second annual pooh-sticks race. It was fun, but the water was running slowly which rather dragged the race out somewhat. Perhaps future events need to take place at the earlier Teston festival when the water runs faster. And perhaps I’m being an old grump, but those marshalling the event in inflatable boats need to keep well away from the sticks floating down the river (rather than constantly paddling over them, and then paddling them into the weeds!).
I then spent an hour or so taking down the banners and putting away my kites. There was a minor disaster in that there would seem to be a spar missing from my new sled. It was there to begin with – the kite wouldn’t have flown without it. I wonder where it went. I’ll get in touch with HQ kites and see if I can’t order up a replacement.
And then we had the sad part of the festival – saying goodbye to everyone. There are so many people whose company I enjoy that I so rarely see apart from at kite festivals. Perhaps I might be able to do something about that once the caravan arrives next year.
We had a late dinner today – the Rear Admiral had made beef stew. He’ll be making that again!
We then sat outside our mess tent watching the bats in the twilight. Having trooped down to the lock to see the bats every night, we saw so many more right by our own tents. “Daddies Little Angel TM ” came back from her walk to tell us that both her and her mate had had bats crash into them that evening.
As the stars came out we had an impromptu stargazing masterclass. The Rear Admiral and I had both spotted the constellation of Cygnus. Unfortunately they weren’t the same constellations of Cygnus. And our summer triangles had something of a strange geometry. In the end we both agreed on Arcturus and had some more beer whilst waiting for ‘er indoors TM to arrive back from Yorkshire. She got back about 10.30pm, had her tea, and then after a swift beer (or two) we toddled off to bed around midnight.