Oh, and by the way, are you laughing now?

Piglet's always been a strange dog; he views Life very seriously. He's never seen the point of toys (unlike Harry who adored toys) unless it was to take Harry's favourite toy to annoy him, or playing games for pleasure. The concept of 'fun' has passed him by, and he totally missed out on the sense of humour gene (which Harry had in spades and was one of the many traits that made him so endearing). Piglet's always been more self-sufficient and anxious; I can see many characteristics in him that, in a human, would suggest a degree of autism. However in the months that he's been an only dog he's started to choose to be around us and seek our attention much more, which is nice.

Because he's never bothered about playing with our other dogs he's also never wanted to interact with dogs that we meet when we're out. He likes to ignore them if he can - he'd rather they didn't come too close unless he's met them amicably several times; if a strange dog pulls towards him he'll lunge and snap to drive it away. There were a couple of tricky moments at Cropredy when he felt pressured by dogs coming close (in a very crowded pub, for example), especially if they reminded him of dogs he knows he doesn't like (collies - they stare - and very hairy dogs mainly). However at Cropredy he also displayed a behaviour we've never witnessed before. As we were walking along past dogs of various shapes and sizes which were glanced at and ignored we saw another dalmatian; the first he's seen since Beattie left us. Piglet's ears pricked up, his tail started wagging and he pulled me towards it, squeaking with excitement. When we got close he knew it wasn't Harry or Beattie, but he was still keen to be sociable. His reaction brought tears of sympathy for his obvious loneliness; perhaps we ought to get another one sooner rather than later.

It was his and Harry's 11th birthday yesterday.

A simple garden, with acres of sky

Although I took my camera along to Cropredy it spent most of its time in the tent so I took very few photos, with the result that I failed to preserve some interesting sights for posterity. During Yusuf’s performance I was too busy wringing my hands in ecstasy to have been able to do anything as technical as clicking a shutter! That was the absolute dream come true, and could only have been better if he’d done another couple of hours.

I missed the music on the first day due to a sudden attack of projectile vomiting (and no, I hadn’t had a lot to drink), so stayed back at the campsite, trying to correctly time the journeys between the tent and the portaloos. Mostly I got it right. With the wind coming from the arena field I heard most of the Buzzcocks who sounded okay (apparently the language and spitting startled a few parents of young children), as did Steve Winwood, though I’m told he was rather self-indulgent and ‘went on a bit’.

Next day I was feeling as though I might not die quite yet, so went on the annual “Let’s watch Andy fail to find a geocache” expedition. This year he excelled himself and managed to fail to find one he found last year. In the arena field, Ade Edmondson and the Bad Shepherds were very entertaining, performing punk songs in a folk way (guess the intro), apart from one famous folk song which was sung in a punk way. There had been a moment’s panic on the way to Cropredy when Ned suddenly realised he’d left his hat at home; anyone who knows him will realise what a disaster that is! So after that set Ned & I scoured the stalls for hats (all possible ones were too small) and eventually settled for a rag (“Don’t lose your rag.” “NO I BLOODY WON’T” etc) and he became known as ‘The lovely Yasmin’.

(photo courtesy of Stu).

It didn’t rain for Richard Thompson, and Seth Lakeman was great but the bass drum thingy hurt your chest if you were within 300 yards of the stage.

Saturday’s music was opened as usual by Richard Digance, whose set was very different to previous years, but thankfully the thousands who’d brought hankies along specially for the morris dance got to wave them at the end. Then I actually took some photos(!) of Nelly and Tammy talking to Mr D (a surprisingly big bloke close to) and getting his signature.


Then Ned and I shared a Goan fish curry ("Goan, Goan, Goan, you will, you will" etc) which was delicious and next year we'll have one each. After that we wandered around between campsite and arena and village (some people were a bit naughty and stayed in the pub a bit too long meaning that the supper got a bit overdone and we missed Nik Kershaw) but we saw most of Ralph McTell’s set and then it was the traditional emotional end with Fairport and guests. The all-too-brief performance by the wonderful Yusuf was the highlight, but the version of “Who knows where the time goes” and “Meet on the Ledge” brought a few more surreptitious tears because we all knew how close we came to not being a full complement this year. But Hutters and Mel stayed to the very end, for the first time! I think they enjoyed it (I told you there were fireworks!).

The only annoying occurence of the weekend was during Saturday night when the inhabitants of a nearby tent decided to have a special cuddle. Vocally. Again. And again. It didn't seem to cheer the female participant up very much - the next morning she had a face like a trod-on chip.

Other randomnesses:

1. On the towpath I saw an adult-sized tricycle padlocked to a unicycle. All the relevant parts for two bicycles.

2. Hutters went into the disabled portaloo so Mally and Tammy and I leaned against the door and only let him out when a genuinely disabled person needed to use it.

3. I learned a new rude word.

4. Hutters thoroughly enjoyed himself by winding up children with his laser-pen, and managed to avoid being arrested as a paedo.

5. When I got home I found a clothes-peg in my pocket.

But the drumbeat strains of the night remain

Oh wow! Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow! That was the most incredible experience; one that for years I thought I'd missed forever, but was wrong! It was supposed to be a secret but some weeks ago the Cat was let out of the bag, and one of my huge heroes for many decades performed live again - his first festival in 37 (or was it 27?) years. Only four songs, but so powerfully performed that it didn't really matter - grown men cried with joy. Why? Yusuf (T.A.F.K.A. Cat Stevens) was the guest performer with Fairport at Cropredy - and he sounds the same as he did 40 years ago. What a privilege to have been there.

The annual summary of the weekend will follow later - Cat deserves his very own blog all to himself.

"Don't look, Ethel!"

Other Cropredy things:

On Friday Hutters took his GPS and went caching with Ned and Stu and H accompanying him for the fun of it. After passing a couple of pubs (it would have been rude not to go in and buy a drink) Hutters dutifully followed his GPS and the others helped. In fact they helped so much that all three managed to find and sign and rehide the cache before the GPS did its stuff. Much hilarity ensued from three members of the party, whose parentage was roundly disputed for the rest of the weekend.

In fact they had so much fun they thought about doing it again the next day, but for some reason (probably good manners, because it would have been rude not to go in) they never really got past the pubs, or the beer tent on the way back (well, it would have been rude not to buy a jug), by which time Ned had a religious revelation and started Speaking In Tongues ("It bezzel" "Yes dear"), so I suggested he go and have a little lie-down. H (she's lovely, and I hope we didn't scare her too much) and Stu and I sat under the gazebo (awfully civilised, doncherknow) and chatted until I saw a bare-chested man at the back of our tent. Bear in mind that it was only about 3.30 in the afternoon and broad daylight, and our tent was right by a main walkway across the campsite. I sat up a little higher and saw .... "Oh shiiiiiiit!" I leapt to my feet and dived into the tent to grab a large covering. "What's wrong?" "He's got no sodding clothes on!". Yes, Ned had decided he needed the loo, had risen from his slumbers of nekkidness and was in danger of causing a breach of the peace. I managed to get him draped when two very nice women asked if something was wrong and could they help? "Nothankyouit'sfine" I squeaked, before hissing for help from friends who I knew wouldn't call the police. We managed to get him past the maze of guyropes and back into the tent where I got some clothes onto him before making him lie down again. But his sleep had been disturbed and he made several bids for freedom (fortunately clothed now) with me now giggling hysterically (I couldn't help recalling an episode of Father Ted when Father Jack escaped and Ted and Dougal were trying to catch him) in hot pursuit. A few cups of 'special rum' (ie very very strong black coffee) helped a lot, and with the tent doors firmly pegged shut he had a proper sleep for several hours. Which is why we missed the rest of the performances.

The final heart-stopping moment happened when we were in the queue of vehicles trying to get off the campsites onto the tarmac track to get home. Cars were converging from three different directions and often got wheelspin on the muddy slippery grass. Which is exactly what happened to a large motorhome that revved hard and suddenly got traction, shooting across the road as we were coming out in the opposite direction, missing us by inches. We nearly died.

If you really mean it

It's far too complicated to do a proper day-by-day report of Cropredy 08 so I'll just tell you some of the highlights in dribs and drabs as I recall them. The observant among you might detect a theme running through my critiques of the bands.

The only real disappointment music-wise was Supergrass who were headlining the first day. Okay they can play well, but what band doesn't play their best-known hit ("Alright" in case it'd slipped anyone's mind)? Everyone thought they'd do it as their final encore (especially as they'd come on for an encore and said they'd do some tracks of the tracks from their 'I Should Coco' album of which it's a highlight), so when they went offstage again after three more songs the crowd kept calling them back. The MC came onstage and asked the crowd "Do you want some more?" " Yeeeeeeeesssssss!!" came the reply ... there was a pause while someone scurried onstage, whispered him a message then scurried off. "Errmmm .. sorry, they're not coming back on. That's it. Thank you and goodnight!" Poor bloke, he was as surprised as everyone else at this blatant snub to all the people there. So, oi Supergrass! Are you listening? You spoilt the day for a lot of people (judging from what I overheard as we dutifully trooped back to the campsites) and left the impression that you're a load of divas who haven't learned who it is who buys your records and pays your bills. Grow up.

Right, we'll put them out of our minds and get back to the Good Stuff! The music on Day 2 was brilliant. It was opened by the brilliant
Family Mahone who are consummate professionals and hugely entertaining to boot (ie not vanishing up their own backsides)! If you ever get a chance to see them, seize it - you won't be disappointed. Especially if you like Drinking Songs. Another great set was done by Siobhan Miler & Jeana Leslie who fully justified their winning of the Radio 2 Young Folk Award. They were amazing. Good luck to you, girls! May you go from strength to strength!

Before Friday's headline act was Joe Brown performing with Dave Edmunds. What can I say? What a treat - stunning musicianship and a real joy. They seemed to really be enjoying themselves (I suppose with Joe Brown being 67 now he's only doing it because he loves it and isn't just drawing his pension) and gave stunning performances. He's a mere whippersnapper at 64, but makes up for that by having survived a quadruple bypass.

The headline act was The Levellers (Q: why do Levellers only drink Herbal Tea? A: Because Proper Tea is theft.") who again know what an audience wants and did their hits at intervals during the set, so everyone was happy. Another band who Delivered The Goods.

The Saturday was unfortunately very wet, as opposed to the previous days which had been showery at worst. Due to circumstances outside my control (mainly the weather, Beattie, and Ned!), about which I shall blog another time, I only got to see Richard Digance in his usual graveyard slot, who did exactly what at least a small part of the audience wanted, the details of whuich will undoubtedly be told far more eloquently by the main protagonists! Always a terrific performance to get an audience warmed up. Regretfully I only heard the rest of the music from the campsite - I'd have loved to have see Midge Ure, whose music I've liked for years before the Main Event which is always the Fairport Convention finale, and always worth being at if at all possible. Still, there's always next year, which will be the 30th anniversary of their first Farewell concert held on this site ...

I will wear the green willow**

Cropredy was fun, if very wet. Lots and lots of things (and Things, both current and new) happened, about which more later. Richard Digance was great and read out a request and luckily the right response was given.
*apologises for the blurry photo and blames the rain, not the champagne

**Looks for milliners in Yellow Pages.

May be the last time

Okay, so I was wrong. The previous last-blog-about-Cropredy-2007 has been superceded by this last-blog-about-Cropredy-2007. The Mike Harding show on Radio 2 tomorrow (Wednesday 10th) is featuring the live performance of Leige and Leif that a regathered as-nearly-original-line-up-as-possible Fairport Convention presented for their 40th birthday celebration. 7pm to 8pm. Be there - we were!

This could be the last time ...

... this year at any rate, that I post a blog about Cropredy. But at last! Someone's put up this year's version of Matty Groves, and the follow-on choon. Remember that this is very near the end of a four-hour set, with only the finale to follow.

Ahh, magic! That's why we go to Cropredy each year.

Like little sugars and spice

Another highlight from the weekend was the wonderful conversation we, as a group, had with two delightful little girls who were with the family group sitting in front of us. They must have been about nine and seven years old, and had been extremely well brought up. They were confident but not cocky, and extremely good conversationalists. The elder approached us first, and asked us in a very polite adult manner whether we were having a good time, and whether it was our first festival. We chatted with them about this and that, and they showed us the strange alien-in-an-egg toys they were playing with. At some point, and I'm not sure how it happened, the matter of Omally's identity arose, and somehow the words 'King of Sweden' were uttered. The younger girl's eyes opened very wide, and she sidled over to Ned and asked him if this was true. When it was confirmed (we'd have looked silly to have denied it!) she asked how Ned knew that. Manfully resisting the opportunity of using the obvious Monty Python quote as being unsuitable, Ned said that he knew this because he was his cook, and received a very hard stare. She went over to Mallers and asked him, if he was a King, why wasn't he wearing his crown? The temptation to say it was at the dry-cleaners was almost irresistible, but the reply was that he was in disguise because he was on his holidays. There followed a very earnest conversation about how differently things are done "in our country" as we all struggled to keep straight faces.

I wonder if that little girl will go through life thinking she met the King of Sweden at Cropredy Festival.

It all comes round again

This year's Cropredy Festival was just the most brilliant few days I've had in a long time. Wall-to-wall sunshine (apart from at night, of course. That would be silly). The whole thing was just fantastic. The weather, the company, the food, the beer and of course, the music.
Waiting for the kick-off.

An imitation of that well-known Belgian statue, the Mally'king Pis.
Stu did some very impressive juggling with various artefacts of different sizes and weights, but for some reason declined my offer to throw an axe at him to incorporate into the flow. No idea why - he was wearing his boots after all. Be careful with that axe, Eugene mallet, Stu.

After a busy session of signing CDs, Richard Digence seemed rather pleased to be able to use bigger writing on an LP sleeve.
Some of the line-up I've heard before - some I liked and wanted to see again, and some who kindly gave me an opportunity to catch up on sleep! Then there were some that were new to me; Mad Agnes stood out as having a wide range of styles and seemed more than competent. Hummingbird were well worth listening to (Maris, Edwina announced she was trying to keep her voice deep because last time she was told she sounded like Minnie Mouse!). Jools Holland was great and Lulu can still do 'Shout'.

After being voted the Most Influential Folk Album Ever by Mike Harding's Radio 2 audience, the surviving Fairports of that line-up reformed and performed the album live, with Chris While standing in for Sandy Denny - a real treat. The final day was opened, as usual, by Richard Digance who never fails to get the crowd 'warmed-up'.

The high point of the whole festival (incidentally all tickets were sold out a fortnight ago - the first time that's ever happened) was of course Fairport Convention's own closing slot. They came on stage shortly after 8pm and kept up the most amazing energetic enormously professional performance for four hours. This year was the first time they've had a back-screen showing the performers themselves, which meant that everyone got close-up views of just how stunning the musicianship was. They also had the lyric for their famous (!) hit "Si tu dois partir" so that everyone could sing along;

and the film produced for the enhancement of "Matty Groves" was a sheer delight! The weekend was brought to a close by the traditional finale of "Meet on the Ledge".

Other memories: much Thinging was done on Friday night, with several new Favourite Things thought of but forgotten by the morning; the burger-stall's music system, which thankfully couldn't take the pace and died on Saturday morning; Cropredy Virgins' amazement at the standard of the 'facilities'; watching what must have been the space shuttle (a bright orange light that traversed the sky from horizon to horizon every 20 minutes or so) with Mallers; Beattie being an absolute star - I'm not sure she really enjoyed it (she had to stay up well past her usual bedtime) but it was better than not being with us, and there were loads of trodden-on chips to hoover up when we relaxed our guard; Stu's paddling pool that he kindly shared; Mally's super-soaker that he not-so-kindly shared (!) ... it just goes on.

It was the best time!

Water music

With only two and a half weeks to go till Cropredy we thought we'd take a look to see if they've started the preparations yet. The short answer is 'no'. The residents of the festival field itself are still there, doing their best to get the grass short enough.
As far as the camping fields go, the good news is that there won't be a lot of effort needed to push in tent pegs. Sewn-in groundsheets will probably be a good idea, and wellies are definitely recommended.
More good news is that the waterlevel's fallen a lot and is still draining. Nobody had told a fish that we saw trying to make its way into the field!

It looks as though the emergency camping fields will be used again, as they were in 04 when the conditions were similar. They're higher and drier, but not as peaceful; they adjoin the railway line. At least at midnight on Saturday the trains go onto Sunday service.

It all comes round again

Hi kids, we're home! We went to Cropredy. It was fabuloso.

Steeleye Span was just brilliant. I’ve wanted to see them live for about a zillion years and I wasn’t disappointed. Happy 59th birthday for tomorrow, Maddy Prior; your voice is still as stunning as ever. I missed the music during Friday because I had to go to work, but got back to the site in time for supper then to go and see 10CC who were incredible. Hit after hit after hit, from Graham Gouldman’s 60s tracks recorded by the Hollies and The Yardbirds etc, to 10CC stuff, both before and after the split with Godley and Crème. Cracking.

It was on Friday night I learned I had more children than I’d realised, when someone called Benjamin called at the Blogring Manor (Mal and Maddy, Lorry and Kronky and Ned and I were all camped together, with a gazebo in the middle so it was very sociable) first asking if we had any ice for his sister then offered to sell us some jam, and sat down (“Is this your dad’s chair?”) when Ned had gone off to the loo; he then said perhaps he shouldn't talk about jam in front of 'your mum' – meaning me. Hmmm. I was known as Mum by all for the rest of the weekend. I’ve been called worse!

Saturday saw Dave Swarbrick’s return to the stage after his double lung transplant (he calls his band Lazarus) and the premature (in 1999!) publication in the Telegraph of his glowing obituary. (He was in hospital in Coventry when he read it. Apparently his reaction was “Ah well. It’s not the first time I’ve died in Coventry.”)

The weather was pretty rubbish on both Friday night and Saturday night, and Fairport’s Saturday set was more suited for a warm, mellow evening; the sunset had been so promising.
Great sounds but not jiggy enough to help people keep warm. But it was good, and I got a few hours of ‘travelling’ – getting into that mental state where you’re not quite awake, and not asleep, and your mind forgets all the issues that have been worrying you for so long. All without the use of any substances, either legal or illegal! There was an annoying group of yoofs very close by (William Anker, Tom Osser, Richard Head, Charlie Unt and Paul Ratt) who would be greatly improved if they were disembowelled. They either lurched off after an hour or so or shut up. They weren’t missed. And Lorry had made some lovely gloopy splotty stuff which was perfect for warming our frozed insides when we got back to the homestead at the end of the evening, and the rain started to chuck down.

It wasn’t as good as previous years – it was the first time we’ve preferred the earlier evenings’ music to the final evening. But I wouldn’t have missed it. Who’s coming along next year?

'King Mally appeared to fall off his chair before even bothering to unfold it this year.

How do you like my feather bed? How do you like my sheets?

I like them lots! Though it must be said last night I was as snug as the proverbial bug in my fleecy sleeping bag liner and my other sleeping bag and another one over the top. The airbed still had a bit of buoyancy and I lay on my back feeling all cocooned. That was at 1am ish after the festival ended and my legs and feet and back and arms ached from dancing and my throat ached from adding my voice to the 19,999 others singing ‘Meet on the Ledge’. A brief summary:

Thursday, setting up camp and meeting Mallers and going to the field and getting rather tipsy in the sunshine listening to ‘Tickled Pink’ was great. Ned hadn’t had any sleep after his nightshift so got very tired and I started getting concerned that he might not last the evening. I was also a bit concerned about Mal too, especially when he picked up Ned’s feet and tried to tip him backwards off his chair. It didn’t work anyway, cos Ned just folded. My suspicions about Mal were confirmed when, after informing me that he thought Ned might be drunk, he fell off his chair, so I suggested a little lie-down might be sensible. So we parted with Mal at his tent and said we’d phone before we met at the main gate at about 8. Ned did indeed need a little rest because he didn’t wake till 7.30. The next morning. At 11.22 Mal had texted ”Blimey! That was a good sleep! You guys awake?” I reckon he guessed we weren’t.

Friday’s line-up included Big Eyed Fish, Edwina Hayes (great singing voice, very squeaky speaking voice), the Muffin Men (I missed them because I was back in the 'servants' quarters' roasting a chicken) but Ned said they were good), the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain (great entertainment), Richard Thompson (who it seemed that only death would make leave the stage) and rounded off by the Dylan Project (see previous blog). We went to bed, bloody freezing – you could see your breath. That’s not right for August.

Saturday: Disappointingly unsunny in the morning. Mallers collected Tammy while we did our daily trip home to find that the Boy had yet again failed to look after the dogs the way we’d told him to, so came back to the site in a bit of a grump. Richard Digance opened and as usual worked the crowd well. Then ‘T and LaTouche’, a reggae band from Manchester, came on and sadly brought the rain with them. Shame, cos they were very good – sunshine music with dampness. The audience reminded me of pictures of Bridlington in the rain, stoically sitting under brollies and tarpaulins but determined not to miss out. After a few hours getting decidedly soggy, and the rain dripping off the umbrella into our beer, we reckoned another interlude was called for, but we had to rush back clutching sausage-and-egg butties so as not to miss too much of Beth Nielsen Chapman, who was excellent. Then at 8.30 it was the main event – Fairport Convention and guests (once more it Richard Thompson took some shifting). What more to say? They were fab.

One of the nice things about Cropredy is that the performers aren't too high and mighty to come 'front of house' and mingle with the audience and watch the other acts. I had a chat with Simon Nicol about Tabasco (on the plane he'd been bewailing the fact that they ran out last year so when he was at Cox's Yard we gave him his own sepcial bottle), and also to Peggy about the lyric of Matty Groves (cracking song, performed superbly last night) - he assured me there isn't a definitive version, so Lord Darnell, Lord Arnold or Lord Donald are all equally acceptable.

It was a lovely weekend made even better with the great company of Mally and Tammy (and no, I still don't believe that photo of my 'blonde' bits). I’m already looking forward to next year and submitting an order for sunshine ...

Did you miss me? Yeah!

Mally and chums 

Hooray! The computator has been mendified and we’re back!

We've learned that next time we go away we'll have to take one of the dogs with us. Boy told us that Beattie had her tail between her legs most of the weekend, and the stress drove her to lick a patch of hair off one of her front legs. So she is going to have to become a Festival Girl. I shall practice getting her used to wearing a bandanna, because everybody wears silly clothes at festivals.


The Thinger 

I suppose this picture really ought to be posted in the Favourite Things forum, because it is evidence that Omally has successfully thung the Tilley T3. This picture was taken while we waited for Fairport to start their set, but Mallers still hadn’t imbibed quite enough to enjoy to the full being swept into an impromptu reel when a few bars of the “Dashing White Sergeant” were played. (If I recall, his words were along the lines of “You’re both wombatting mad”, but without the benefit of the filter.) He needs a few more lessons in hair-letting-downification. And I know just the people to do it!

Good time, feeling fine

The question of the day is; will I manage to get this blog completed? I'm having to scribble this at work because our home Peecee missed us so much it attempted suicide while we were carousing at Cropredy. The man is coming tomorrow to hopefully mendify it. I do hope so. With no computator we have had to watch TV and talk to each other.

Cropredy was fab. The musical highlights included the Family Mahone whose repertoire consisted mainly of drinking songs interspersed with the occasional toping song, and, for variety, the odd swigging song. It's a shame their spot was so early, but apparently it was their first Cropredy and they were very nervous. If their spot was too late they would have needed so much Dutch courage they would never have made it.

Richard Digance was good, despite having nearly electrocuted himself recently and so not able to play as many songs as normal without his arm dropping off. I was standing very close to Terry Pratchett at this time, and he seemed to be enjoying it too. Morris On were great - Ned and I had a lovely dance to some of the jigs, and watched in awe as the dancers on stage performed unusual acts with brooms.

A final afternoon getting sunburnt was followed by a great evening's entertainment from Fairport, and chatting to Omally and his chummingtons (nice guys - pictures to be posted when the PC is better!). I did feel very left out when they and Ned had 'quality boy-time' ogling the laydeez in their various states of undress and physical variations. Try as I might, there seemed to be a distinct lack of male eye-candy (present company excepted, of course).

Then home on Sunday to admire the Boy's new car that he collected on Saturday. It's a nice red VW Golf, J-reg, with only 78,000 miles on the clock. We've been taken out for a spin in it, and it seems to be a good deal; the engine runs smoothly and the only rust spots we can find aren't structural. The poor lad was a little crestfallen coming home to have a stone flung up on the motorway and his windscreen cracked. It seems harsh to have a prized possession damaged before you even get it home.

CNPS: 121