Going back to another time

I heard about her exploits on Monday, which mostly included drinking copious amounts of cider, starring in the Freak Show where she made a handful of new best friends, listening to what she described as “the best band ever” and gorging herself in the food hall.

I went to the same event, but my experience of it was very different indeed.

“Didn’t you look at the tractor pulling, watch the dancing sheep or watch the steamrollers moving at half a mile an hour around the field for hours on end?” I enquired.

“No, of course I didn’t,” she laughed. “I did see a few minutes of Monster Trucks though, but that was only because it was so close to a brilliant band that performed in a marquee behind it.

“It was sort of accidental. Anyway, my dog Basil had a great time, just like I did.”

I didn’t take my beautiful but very naughty boy with me, because I was too worried that he would be stolen by circus folk in order to teach him to dance on two legs for shillings.

Instead, I was whisked off around the entire site for ten whole hours surrounded by century-old steam engines, crowds of people not that much younger and the Farmer-type.

I sound scorning but actually it was romantic. There is something impossibly special about the golden age of steam.

Fortunately, as the Farmer was about to launch into ANOTHER lesson on country pursuits (he thinks I am townie and a bit dim just because I don’t know how a car starts, what a thresher does or wear clogs) I saw something exciting through glazed eyes.

It was that old-fashioned circus game - the High Striker - where the strongest and most clever man has to hit a puck to strike a bell, which is about a mile high.

There were several very big, red faced men puffing heavily and looking like they were about to combust as they tried their hardest to ring the bell - all of them High Striker fails.

I looked at the Farmer, who is not only very strong but very tall indeed – like a real-life giant.

“I bet you could hit the bell. Go on try, I dare you.”

The crowds started to gather. He went quite quiet.

“There is a technique to it,” he said.

“I bet you could do it, go on, go on. Please. I will cheer you on.”

He marched in, picked up the very heavy mallet and without even breaking into a sweat he rang the bell THREE times, LOUDLY.

The other men disappeared, their heads hanging down. Probably in shame.

Sigh. My Hero.

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