After many years
reflection I have come to the conclusion that (for me) the
most depressing sound is that of rain on a tent. I woke several times
during the night to hear rain. Mind you I wasn't woken by the wild
children of the Red Cross Campsite. I was reliably informed that
"words had been had". It was just as well they were
quiet - Feiglong had taken its toll.
We breakfasted in the
rain; the rain was a good test for the event shelter. The thing
seemed to leak a little along the seams; I shall squander some of
the astro club's money on getting it proofed. But the rain didn't
last much after mid morning, and soon the sky was again full of
kites. And having made a point of staying awake for the morning I was
at the kiddies kite making workshop with plenty of time to take up my
regular position of second bridler.
The kiddies were much the
same as ever; forty five per cent are so painfully shy they will not
say a word. Another forty five percent are vacant; seriously vacant.
So much so that you could poke them with a needle and get no
reaction. But ten per cent of the kiddies appreciated what we were
doing and made it all worth while. Before long we could see loads of
our home-made workshop kites in the sky.
I was rather shocked to
hear that Birghton Kite Fliers have been unable to find a sponsor to
keep the kiddies kite workshop going. If any of my loyal readers know
of any potentian sponsors, let me know - I'll have a word with the
right people.
Aftere a minor
altercation with a dalek I went back to camp. Quite a few people go
home when the festival ends on the Sunday afternoon. We said our
goodbyes; and then after a rather good bit of bit of spag bol for tea
quite a few of those who who were staying joined us for a rather good
evening. It all got rather vague (for the third night running)
and we even had rice pudding...
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