I hate the smell of velour in the morning... Lichfield Medieval Festival

Evan/Danny/Elizabeth/Kirsty - Pre-snapping point.

We went to the medieval festival at Lichfield this weekend. My god, what a nightmare of a day. One person amongst us decided they were hungry, and went off for a sandwich. ONE HOUR later they turned up. It’s hard to walk from point A to B in a town you’re not familiar with, I’m sure you’ll agree, but c’mon! An hour! Point A was at the most, 400 metres away from point B, and the route was staggeringly linear.

When the person came back, everyone left waiting was at snapping point. We’d had to endure one child desperate for the toilet (and one adult), and another child going absolutely mental. It would’ve been quieter in Basra than waiting for the sandwich person.

Anyhow’s, sandwich person returned and off we went. We walked about 200 meters only to find out that sandwich person now had to EAT his sandwich, and that the hour-long expedition was merely to obtain a sandwich. Breaking point was looming.

The sandwich was eaten and off we went, up the hill to the jam-packed medieval street market. The view was fantastic, highlights was a ninety-year old’s arse wobbling away at my nose level (it was a sharp hill), a lovely sound it made two, as the peach velour rubbed away at the huge legs that the material clung so lovingly to. “Don’t look at that fat peachy pensioner arse” my common sense was telling me. “ Look to the ground….. It’s safe there”. I look to the ground for the next 10 metres. Bunions. It’s sunny so everyone’s wearing sandals. And the majority of people visiting this festival have an average age of about 70. “Look back up,” shouts my common sense. I look up.

Oh No, It’s another arse, this time in a velour dress that the knickers are poking out of. It was a major fire hazard in that sun, the amount of flock/velour fabric rubbing away in direct sunlight. At this point I bumped into my mate Rachel (hi!) who could tell that I looked somewhat stressed.

Onwards we went. We saw one of Kirsty’s school friends, about ten feet ahead of us, but couldn’t reach them due the gaggle of pensioners on Mobility Scooters (which, incidentally, as it was Live Earth day, you’d think they’d leave at home so that they don’t create a higher ‘carbon footprint’ I mean, they’ll be dead soon so it’s about time they ought to be out to impress the big man by helping save the planet!)

Sandwich person got stroppy at this point, as he couldn’t handle the volume of velour arse, and broke the pushchair his child was in. Now we had to wade back through the throng (who thankfully weren’t thonged) and find a shop to buy a new pushchair from, all the while my nephew was making a noise not too dissimilar to someone who had had a vasectomy by a doctor who mistook vinegar for anaesthetic.

I bailed at this point. The only thing medieval about this festival was that it was making me feel like getting medieval on the people who were making it nightmarish to get round, the one's who could see a pushchair was coming, and refused to move. This festival was too busy for pushchairs, (and mobility scooters!). We found a child wandering about who saw me and seemed to think I was it’s mom?!?! We eventually tracked her parents down watching a medieval demonstration. The parent had no teeth and looked like they were on crack. Which is odd, how come it thought I was it's mom. A: I'm male. B: Crack does not make you fat. C: I have teeth. The parents that were more interested in watching men dress up and pretend to be knights rather than look after their children acted despicably. It’s a good job it was I that the kid approached rather than someone with an evil-streak that extends further than a blog-page rant!