B&Q boo-boo

Well, we've had a pleasant weekend - how about you?

On Saturday, me and Julie went to a place called Michelham Priory. It's a wonderful place, full of history, and is reputed to be the most haunted place in Sussex - should you believe in the supernatural. There is plenty to see & do at any time, but they also host a lot of special events - such as the Medieval weekend which we enjoyed. Wonderfully, the entry price is reasonable and isn't jacked up when a special event takes place. Visit the Sussex Past page to see more.

In keeping with the desire to show living history, the priory grounds also has a working forge, worked and maintained by a skilled blacksmith.

I have to admit, I loved the bellows.

When we arrived, the smith was fashioning a number of hooks for one of the event participants. The lady in question was hanging around, completely at ease in her heavy gown. As we watched, I felt myself almost lulled by the rhythmic tempo of the smith's hammer strikes. In addition, the sound changed, according to which part of the steel he was hitting, and where upon the anvil he had placed it.

After about five minutes, this competent worker had nonchalantly turned out a strong and serviceable hook.

The hook is made to rest over a wooden beam.

Unfortunately, just as the crowd were admiring the smith's handiwork, Julie decided to pipe up...

Time to move on, methinks...

The emperor's old clothes

Following on from Monday's post, we're talking about the Abba tribute evening we went to last Saturday. Specifically, the outfits that some of the folks were wearing to the gig. We had all been encouraged to dress appropriately for the show, so there were lots of flares, as could be expected. Some missed the chronological mark by some distance and dressed up as 1960s flower power hippydip peaceniks, but others came in white, sequinned catsuits, which was fine for those that had the figure for it. I'm sure I don't need to go into detail. Another thing that these people in the white outfits could have done with realising is that, when wearing such pale attire, you'd be best advised to not wear black, chunky underwear. It sort of spoils the effect somewhat.

We had considered going in fancy dress ourselves, but there were two things wrong with that idea. Firstly, I wear pretty much the same kind of clothes as I did in the 1970s, albeit scaled up several notches up the scale. Shorts, polo shirt and sunglasses. I'm comfortable, so why change it? As far as Julie was concerned, there was a whole different problem...

This one was an 'eyes closed while I process this' moment. I know all the words, the grammar is passable and there is an underlying logic. However, the whole thing is just... wrong somehow.

Bonus Tuesday: Handy instructions.

Yes, I know I don't normally post on Tuesdays (or Thursdays - so keep an eye out then too), but I wanted to share a couple of instances with you. Instances that didn't involve Julie.

Today's little bonus Gem happened when me and Julie went to a barn dance. OK, the barn was technically a beer tent in a field, but that had its own little benefits (*ahem*). We had a great time, even accounting for (or maybe including) the utter ineptness of some of us and the fact there were a few young children wandering around.
There was one other factor that helped the evening go well - or at least along in a very entertaining manner. You see, barn dances generally have someone known as a 'caller'. The Caller, usually a man, needs to have a fine set of lungs - barring that, a half-decent PA system. This is because, he is the man upon whom everything depends.
He is the man who keeps track of things.
He is the man who needs to be adaptable to the vagaries of the 'dancers' in his care.
He is the man who needs to give clear and precise instructions for said 'dancers'.
Er....

That's cleared that up, then.