I thought I lived in the bloody desert! On Saturday we well and truly shattered our almost-five-month drought. I was of course out at the Festival by 9am and was shivering and drenched to the bone by 9:03. I think we made a decent effort. We kept the gates open for all of two hours, until noon, before summarily declaring the day a waste of gun powder. This is only the second or third time in the history of the Festival that Jeffrey, the boss, closed the doors on his little gold mine.That didn’t stop us though. We still had the Morris Ale on Saturday night and a good time was had by all. I split my time between laughing at the Morris dancers trying to do their little dances while utterly pished (we did have much more drinking time since the show closed early, after all) and playing poker with a variety of random people that I almost didn’t recognize the next day thanks to the dimness of the tent and the blurred nature of my vision at the time (which in one case would have been a true pity!).
Sunday dawned dry and (comparatively) warm. The reason why I was so damned cold that morning was quickly made obvious (this photo is from the end of a sunny day. All the brown bits were covered with white yesterday morning), but it again did not stop us. We opened up the show, and though I don’t know what the final attendance count was, I’m certain that it was many times the 576 that we had come on Saturday. The day was made all the better by the fact that Carrie did indeed show up and was fantastic as arm candy, making me the object of jealousy from the other guys around for once!
Yay for hobbies.
Oh, and I finally realized a way to phrase the feelings that at least some ex-Rennies get when there’s a festival on and you’re not a part of it. It’s a lot like some sort of family function where everyone has been invited except for you. You know there’s fun being had but you can’t join in. Other RenRats care to comment on the analogy?