Summer? Fete

When we heard there was going to be a summer fête in the nearby field we didn’t immediately leap at the idea until we heard the phrase “hog roast”. The hit the bell to win a giant inflatable hammer didn’t really intrigue us, mainly if MC had won said hammer LLcT would have tormented us with it until either the hammer had been punctured or he’d been strangled. So we thought we better pass!
The summer’s day was an unfortunately typical summer day at the moment with torrential rain, but it did clear and we sallied forth in search of the elusive hog roast. The ground was rather sodden and squelchy underfoot but we made our way towards the aroma of pig. We were rather disappointed to not come across a fine bronzed beast rotating slowly over a fire as the phrase “hog roast” may imply but instead a man in a van. A van containing a few cooked pork joints which were deftly carved and thrust inside a soft roll, with the option of apple sauce and mustard if desired. It wasn’t too bad but not the juicy chunks of golden porcine pleasure we’d anticipated. Never mind, we’re here and we decide that after our pork sandwich that we must go off in search of a tombola. We felt that tombola is de riguer at such a fête, where else could we win something small and entirely useless whilst contributing to the local rotary club? The general idea is that you buy a handful of folded raffle tickets and on straightening them out if the last digit is a 5 or 0, the other part of the raffle ticket will be taped to your prize. We fared very badly as after four small handfuls we netted a can of Diet Coke! For the sad losers however you could choose from a pile of booby prizes and we all ended up with packets of salt and vinegar crisps. Ah well, the only time I’ve won anything on a tombola was a bottle of tomato ketchup and you imagine how overjoyed I was with that. MC was strangely fascinated in the antique tractors and vintage motorcycles. D and I tried to find something particularly interesting about them; I rather liked the shiny red badge on the BSA! But I have to admit it didn’t hold my interest for too long.

After our failure to win big on the tombola and the decision that the inflatable hammer would definitely have to be a bad idea the only final thing to do was enjoy a Mr. Whippy 99 ice cream, with a flake naturally, as we made our way to the hall to examine the photographs of how the village used to look. An ice cream such as this has to eaten in such a way, clearly forged when we were all children. First the flake has to be submerged in the soft ice cream into the cone as far as it will go as that will be a treat for later. Next the ice cream is licked evenly round and around the top as otherwise any protruding scoop of ultra soft creamy ice cream would melt and cascade off the side. As the ice cream is consumed the flake re-emerges and you can start to eat it with the rather bland cone. I always preferred the ice cream and chocolate flake to the cone so pushing the flake and the remaining ice cream into the point end of the cone to increase the pleasure of eating the cone. And another fête stable is finished.

Shame about the rain, but if we weren’t moaning about the weather would be really be English. Our friends in the North are suffering so much worse than us at the moment and I can’t imagine how their summer has been truly ruined by the phenomenal downpours and flooding they’ve suffered and are still suffering and the dreadful reminder to us all how water can be so incredibly destructive. It does seem churlish to complain about another soggy field or cancelled tennis match when compared to their suffering.