Forever Blowing Bubbles

I spend the morning drinking cider while he drank Carlsberg, colouring pictures and blowing bubbles, watching people slide down the muddy hill on pieces of cardboard.

We bought masks and feathers from the fairy shop for the masquerade ball. The entire crowd was wearing masks while we watched Steep Pulse, a load of Reggae grooving Rastas with masses of dreads and bongos, while blowing bubbles. What a beautiful way to spend an afternoon.

My ch’i was perfectly centred and completely in love with the whole thing. You really must see it. But you must arrive with decent karma and a lovely nature so as not to throw off the balance of it all. There are no yobs. Everyone helps and it’s like living in a little commune. There is yoga in the morning at the top of the hill, and giant wicker people floating between the tents. There are robots and scuba people, kilted folk and wellies. Kiddies spin circles. Boys wear tutus, no one cares.

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