15 June 2009 (Monday) – Home Again

In previous years the field at Teston has seemed rather spooky once everyone else has gone home. But there was something different about last night. We all slept (reasonably) well – there were no people walking about in the early hours this year. However, with all the tents, caravans and campers gone, the place seemed noisier. The trains were louder, I could hear cows in far away fields I’d not noticed before.

I got up at 7am, and did my usual pootle around, gathering washing up that had accrued overnight. The field did look bigger, and felt somewhat empty with everyone gone. Soon enough everyone was up, and with a concerted effort we were breakfasted, packed and away by 11am.

For all that we’d packed away fast; unloading at home seemed to take for ever. With road works still all along Beaver Road we lugged all the gear into the front garden, and then from there into the back. We then ran Tony & Brian home, and started putting the gear away. We have lock-ups in the garden specifically for the camping gear, but they are full of…. well, I don’t know what they are full of. There are two gazebos that we don’t use now we have the folding one. I *think* they belong to someone else, but I don’t know who. But neither has been used for over two years. And there are several white plastic panels and metal poles, but I have absolutely no idea what they are for. I shall sent an email to anyone who might have stashed the things in the lock up, and if they are still there in a month’s time when we come home from Brighton Kite Festival, I shall take them to the tip.

Whilst putting things away I wondered if we needed all the stuff we take camping. I suppose we could take one or two less chairs, but then if we have visitors, it’s rude not to be able to allow them to sit. And as for the rest of the kit… I think we probably need it, unless we send out for take-away for every meal. If we are going to cook, we need a cookhouse. And tables to cook on. And gas burners, and crockery and all the tackle. Unless we go down the caravan/camper van route. And with nowhere to park or store a caravan, I think we’ll stick to what we’ve got. Having said that, “Brown and Smelly” (our large cookhouse tent) is getting decidedly threadbare in places. I can’t help but wonder how much longer the poor thing has left.

Whilst at the Kite Festival, there were rumours abounding that this year might be the last of the Teston festivals. The organiser has been running them for over twenty years, and we’d heard he’d had enough. My immediate reaction was to offer to take the thing on myself. After all, how much work could it be? Liaise with the council for the use of the field, smile at the kite stall people to run a shop, speak to the civil aviation authority to get height clearance for the day, scare up a burger van from somewhere and that’s the thing organised. But then… there would be all the petty triviality of the day. Chasing the power kites and stunt kites into the area provided for them. Stopping the one-liners from getting in the way of the steerable stuff. Asking the normal people not to play football right in the middle of a kite festival. Stopping the pikeys from having a major rave in a corner of the field. To say nothing of smoothing the ruffled feathers of the chap whose kite-flying teddy bear was kidnapped for a bit of a laugh. And then appeasing the chap whose kite was stolen by someone who wrongly thought that he was the chap who’d nicked his kite flying teddy bear. Or telling senior citizens that they can’t use a drainpipe bazooka to fire potatoes across the field. Or politely asking people playing didgeridoos at 1am to shut up. I’ve since heard that the chap isn’t packing up just yet. That’s probably for the best. On reflection I don’t think I want the job…

14 June 2009 (Sunday) – A Lazy Day

Despite (or because of) the antipodean melodies which sang me to sleep last night, I was again up and raring to go at 7am. This time with no rice pudding to clear up. Having said that, it is amazing how much washing up was generated during the evening, and I busied myself with that until breakfast was ready.

I then spent most of the morning sleeping in my chair. Not so much sleeping as dozing, phasing in and out of consciousness. It’s amazing what snippets of conversation you hear when people think you are asleep, and you probably are. Simon, for example, claimed to have obtained a four foot long “implement” from his spam emails.

A quick sandwich and mid day, and then more dozing in the chair. At one point some of the children (who had been playing “spies” all weekend) were doing “Badger-Watch”. Having set up their vantage point behind a tree, they were reporting my movements to anyone who was interested via walkie-talkie.

And at five o’clock the festival was officially over. People started packing away. Some faster than others. We didn’t – whenever possible we stay on till the Monday morning and pack away then. But since there were only going to be four of us overnight we put away that which we could. Which wasn’t much really. Another smashing bit of tea, served with wine (!). And then we washed up, and made a start on the remaining bottles of beer left in the beer box. In a novel break with tradition we had rice pudding at camp in daylight. And as the evening wore on, we said goodbye to more and more friends, until finally we were one of only three groups of people left on the field.

13 June 2009 (Saturday) – A Busy Day

I got to bed at 2am last night. At 3.30am I awoke for a call of nature, and at 4am one of the camper’s babies started howling. Then at 5.30am there was a racket not unlike one that “My Boy(TM)” made when he was two years old, and was playing the drums on his mother’s saucepans. Once the clanging had subsided and I’d had another tiddle, I gave up and got up at 7am. I pootled about quietly, clearing up the carnage of the night before. I could understand there being beer bottles and plastic wine mugs everywhere, but there was rice pudding over and in everything. We only had two tins of the stuff. How could it have made such a mess?

Batty & Martin soon arrived, and breakfast was enjoyed by all. There was talk of bikinis as the sun shone. There was also talk of elastic bands being wrapped around elephants, which didn’t go down too well. Godchildren arrived, and were left with us for the day. I took them over to the kite stall to buy kites, and we spent a pleasant half an hour totally failing to fly them.

And then I suddenly found myself on my own. Those that hadn’t gone off for a sail down the river were on the kite field. I took down one of the banners and repaired it over a bottle of beer. It was one of those truly peaceful moments when God was in his heaven, and all really was well with the world.

Terry & Irene arrived to join us for the weekend, followed soon by Lisa, and then after a quick sandwich I settled down to untangle a kite line. Last August I’d got a line into a right tangle, and stuffed the thing in my kite bag. Today I thought I’d better do something about it. First of all I had to separate the broken reel of line from the broken line winder, which was a job requiring brute force rather than finesse, and then the line had to be rolled onto a separate reel, untangling as I went. I had planned to do this to quietly occupy myself for the afternoon, but before long I had attracted a crowd of helpers, so I sat back and watched people doing it for me.

Having sorted the line, I helped Terry fly a kite. I say “helped” – there are those who might feel a more appropriate term might be “put the kite in a tree for him”. Flushed with success at helping my fellow man, I then decided to help my goddaughter. She’d asked if I could supervise her practicing doing rowing in the rubber dingy. It wasn’t until she was in the middle of the river, spinning in circles, screaming for help and heading towards the weir that “Daddies Little Angel (TM)” together with a gaggle of assorted cousins and friends came charging up the tow-path, shouting in panic, demanding to know which idiot had let Thea loose in the boat, because even the most feeble minded simpleton would know that Thea didn’t have the faintest idea about oar control. Still, all was well that ended well. She crashed the boat into the side of Teston Lock, and one of the passing normal people pulled her to safety. We sent the boat back to camp, and I took her paddling in one of the shallower bits of the river, amusing myself by shouting “Look Out!!! Crocodiles!!!” at regular intervals.

And so, back to camp where I had a bit of a kip – my nerves needed it. After half an hour I was woken by shouts of derision aimed at nearby campers who had brought along a wine cooler (oh lah-di-dah!). Chip & Sam had also appeared whilst I was resting me eyes – it’s amazing what happens when you’re not paying attention.
It was then time for me to perform one of the less pleasant tasks of the camp. Having set up our camp as far as was possible from the toilets, the ladies felt it was a long way to troll up and down the field every time nature called. I didn’t have a problem with tiddling into a hedge, but apparently it’s different if you are a girly-type. So last year I’d invested in a camp toilet on the strict understanding that it was a “dreadnaught-free zone” – tiddle only. However someone needs to empty it, and that someone was me. As I took the bucket out of the tent, I found a lolly stick. Would you believe it – someone had been sitting on the thing scoffing an ice cream.

After this, the subsequent erudite conversation came as a blessed relief. I say “erudite conversation” because that is what I am reliably informed was happening. I’m glad that this fact was pointed out to me, because I may well have missed it otherwise. And then tea time – nearly twenty of us for tea. Great fun, but that certainly generated some washing up.
Bat-hunting. Over the years it has become a Teston tradition that at twilight we go down to the lock to see the bats. There weren’t any. I saw half a dozen on the walk to the river, but none at the river. Over the last few years there have been less and less bats at the loch at night. Global warming?

A few more beers, and then over to the in-laws for cake & custard, and then back to base for more beer. And then disaster struck. My nephew came wandering over. He looked as white as a sheet. He’d been sick all over his sleeping bag. Or so he claimed. His mum wasn’t well herself and was having an early night and I didn’t want to disturb her, so I went to inspect the carnage. I couldn’t find any trace of his having “blown”, and whilst we were all having a good laugh about the “Vom Hunter”, he blew again. Right in the middle of the communal tent. I can’t help but think that he fact that he’d been up since 5am in a very hot day, stuffing all sorts of food and drink down his neck might have had something to do with it.

And just as we’d settled him down for the night, had a few more beers and were pleasantly settled ourselves, so the didgeree- flipping – doo started. The didgeridoo is a traditional Australian music form which is dwindling in popularity these days on account of when you play it at 1am, anyone who might be fool enough to try to be sleeping is sorely tempted to ram said didgeridoo up the musician’s bottom. Sideways.

12 June 2009 (Friday) – To Teston (Again)

To Teston Kite Festival. My fifteenth time, and the thirteenth at which I’ve camped. We set off reasonably promptly and arrived at mid day. In years gone by, getting to Teston at mid day meant that we used to be the first to arrive. Not any more - we arrived to find several people already ensconced. Mind you, I maintain that it pays to arrive early – I usually reckon on taking six hours to get the campsite set up. Tents up, tables out, cooking gear unpacked, water fetched, banners up… the list of jobs is endless. This time we did the lot in two and a half hours. There was a minor hiccup with Tony’s tent – he asked me where it was. I had no idea, and flippantly suggested it was where he left it. He’d left it at the farm nine months ago, and was assuming I had picked it up with the rest of the camping gear on Wednesday. Whoops.
A few beers later it was tea time, and a smashing bit of tea it was too, despite my cooking some of the ingredients. A few more beers, and things became pleasantly vague. So pleasantly in fact that at one point I found myself having the difference between boy-types and girl-types explained to me. That was a revelation. As darkness fell, so the illuminated kites took to the skies and the port was passed around. There’s something about camping that makes people want rice pudding in the dark, and tonight was no exception. Sabrina had orders to be in bed by midnight, so at 11.30pm the rice pudding was cooked. It was amazing how many people wanted rice pudding.

Shortly after midnight there was an invasion from a neighbouring camp, explaining how their next child was to be named “Teston Toffee” – “Teston” after the location, and “Toffee” after the vodka she’d just got trollied on. When a nudey jog around the field was proposed, it was time to call it a day, and go to kip.

11 June 2009 (Thursday) - The Holiday Starts

I can’t believe it’s a year since I got my new car. I still think of it as the “new” car – even though I’ve had the thing a year. I really should look in the manual and find out what all the lights and switches do. I was up and loading the car up for the weekend before 9am this morning. I think I’ve now loaded everything except my own personal stuff, but I’ve a nagging feeling I’ve left stuff behind. I can only find one burner. And since ‘er indoors (TM) has decided to use the camping store as somewhere to hoard rubbish, it’s tricky to find everything. I’m not sure why we need to keep a broken DVD player, but what do I know?

The morning’s post brought a letter from HMP Slade. He seems impressed with the bongo mag in several ways – with the effort I went to in order to procure said literature, with the fact that he’s been allowed to have it, and with the content. I’m told it’s a tad racy. I’m glad to hear it. Apparently another inmate has asked to borrow it – he’s not so impressed about that. I then spent an hour trying to phone through to the chokey to confirm next week’s visit. After an hour someone finally answered. Unfortunately it was the nice lady who was covering someone else’s lunch break. She admitted that she didn’t have the faintest idea of what was going on, and all she could do was to ask me to call back later. She seemed quite amazed that I wasn’t keen to do so, but as I pointed out to her, it had taken me three and a half days to get through, and I was reluctant to give up so easily. She took my number, and someone did phone me back later to confirm all was OK for next week.

I then went into town for some shopping. I’ve lost my flannel, and my canvas shoes are falling apart. They were easily replaced. But my bottle opener is falling apart. Whilst you can get cheapo bottle openers easily enough, my old one had a saucy photo of Kirsty Gallacher on it. That wasn’t so easily replaced. And a holdall – the one I normally use is now part of “My Boy (TM)’s “Operation Haddock” and so bears just the faintest aroma of fish. A new holdall in Milletts was sixty quid. So I went to Argos and got something comparable for less than a tenner. It pays to shop around. Whilst I was mooching about, I ran into Martin, and Pam & Di.

To the college to help “Daddies Little Angel (TM) home with her sculptures. We brought those home in a taxi where we found “My Boy (TM) mucking about in the garden with his new fishing “bivvy”. For the uninitiated, a “bivvy” is a tent that you take fishing. The only difference between a “bivvy” and a tent is that a “bivvy” is about ten times the price of a comparably sized tent.

And lastly for the day was a trip to Asda. Whilst the catering staff did shopping, I got in some essentials for the weekend’s camping trip. A couple of gallons of ale, two bottles of port, fifty bags of crisps and some toilet roll. What more do we need?

This will be the last blog entry till Monday – “My Boy (TM)" is being left in charge at home. I can trust him with the fish, but if he wants to do a blog, he can write one of his own.

10 June 2009 (Wednesday) - Yet Another Dull Day

An early start – to the petrol station to refuel. I always go to the Tesco’s petrol station because I always have. But I don’t think I will any more. The harridans behind the counter are always so busy squawking gossip at each other, that they begrudge any form of communication with the paying customer. It’s very clear that my spending fifty quid in their shop is getting in the way of their conversation. I think I’ll take my fifty quid elsewhere next time.

To work – where I spent a lot of the day looking out of the window hoping the rain would stop. I tried phoning the chokey to confirm all is OK for next week’s visit. The phone number for visits was permanently on answer machine saying the office was closed. I tried the main prison switchboard, who couldn’t care less. That was helpful.

To the BatFarm to load up with camping gear. It was only when I’d loaded up half the stuff that I realised I normally took the seats out of the car first. Oh well, I’ll do that in the morning. If it stops raining.

In the meantime I’ve added a caption competition to the blog. I’ll let it run for a few days and see how much interest it sparks….

9 June 2009 (Tuesday) - Another Dull Day

Another dull day. I did as much as I could at work until I finally gave up. I had this idea to update some training presentations I made a few years ago, but every time I tried to look up anything on Google, the PC would crash. So I decided to work from home, and got loads done.

I see there are people digging in the holes up and down my road. Let’s hope this is a good sign – I’m fed up with having to park several streets away most evenings. After all, it’s only been six months – how much longer do they want to leave the holes there for?


Meanwhile over on Facebook I’ve started a new game – “farkle”. It reminds me of a dice game I once played with a Frenchman, the rules being somewhat variable depending on who was winning at the time, but it passes the odd minute or two.
And then a phone call from the chokey. The mucky magazine I sent in last week has arrived…