Monday, 11 June 2012

British with a capital B

There are many things that make us British - a love of sponge cakes, orderly queueing, our habit of apologising profusely in any situation however wrong the other person might be. And the weather of course.
Well on Sunday I don't think I could have got more British. It was our little town's annual folk festival and, being community-minded, I had wanted to venture out to show our support for the event and enjoy a spot of morris dancing while we were at it.
So despite the black clouds, we got our waterproofs on and set off. It didn't take long to find some dancers enthusiastically stripping the willow and waving hankies about. We valiantly watched, and enjoyed, some very exhuberant stick bashing and bell jangling but as the few light drops of water gradually turned into a persistent downpour, we could stand it no longer. Taking shelter in the next door cafe, we dried out while I tucked into a pot of tea and a toasted tea cake, the little man a hastily prepared homemade cream cheese sandwich and some healthy fruit snacks - no sponge cake for him, horrid mother that I am. It was only when I peered out through the steamed up window that I realised the morris men, far from giving up, were determinedly continuing to weave their merry way in and out of their set, each one holding aloft a bright red spotted umbrella like a small portable awning. Rain, teacakes and a good serving of stiff upper lip - a beautiful parody if ever there was one.

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