Peace, man

Over the weekend it was sunny and warm, and the Leamington Peace Festival was on. A proper festival, with stalls and bands and everything, all for free and about 100 yards from our front door. All the regular stalls were there - every religion you can think of, charitable causes and pressure groups, weirdy hippy healers, clothes and hats that seem like a good idea at the time but you can only wear at other festivals, and millions of knick-knacks made from crystal, wood, glass, hemp, silver, scissors, paper, stone, gravel, porridge and elephant dung (only three of those are made up). I don't buy very much at these events, I've got enough rubbish in my house already.


I did buy a brownie from a stall that makes the best brownies I've ever tasted. I bought one last year as well. Once a year is probably enough, although they are damn good. The rest of the time I sat on the grass listening to the music, trying not to get sunburned and taking photos of interesting things. I took quite a lot of photos of hats this year.

The majority of people at these events are probably ordinary types, with proper conventional jobs and houses and families, but because this is a festival they wear the ludicrous clothes and hats that they bought at the last festival. Pink-faced, bellies bulging, tattooed arms, necks and backs (and that's just the women). Some are odd but familiar: the man who wears no shoes, corduroy trousers that are too big for him and has cotton wool in his ears was there, dancing to the music. I last saw him at a Medusa Touch gig at Kellys, long ago. My favourite, though, was the man dressed as a tap, collecting money for Water Aid. He looked so fed up, and I sympathised. It's a hell of a costume.

Mr A came with me on Sunday, but didn't really enjoy it so he went home and mowed the lawn instead. I had a lovely time, sitting on the grass or wandering about, watching people in the sunshine and listening to the music.