Wot's the price of swedes boy?

The last few weeks have been chaotic to say the least. Not in a bad way, but my usual slow pace has been even slower over these last eight weeks due to enforced idleness for knee operation, recovery and recuperation.

So, the bonus of the Bridport Literary Festival, a trip to London to see Uncle Overend and Mott The Hoople at the O2 and a house move was almost as much as a quiet country lad could cope with.

The two events I attended at the Literary Festival were a joy. I was thoroughly entertained by some of the most eloquent speakers I have had the pleasure to listen to (Neil Ansell, Tim Dee, Charles Rangeley-Wilson, David Wilkinson and Dave Goulson) had both audiences spellbound. Special mention must also be made at the entertaining and complimentary way Nick Fisher introduced and managed both events - super stuff!

Eggardon sky

In days gone by when country bumpkins arrived in the smoke to sell their vegetable delights the cockney chaps would shout "wot's the price of swedes boy?" - my journey was hell (diversions and deviations to disorientate the unwary), but worth it when I got there. A walk up to town at home takes an age, not because of the distance, but due to the chatter with bumped into friends and complete strangers met. It's just what it is like and part of the charm. It was a shock when I naively and automatically did the same with all and sundry on tube and bus and a smile was met with a head hung low on my way to the megalith that was the O2 arena. I did indeed feel like said country bumpkin.

Much better inside - a delightful Chas and Dave poster made me chuckle (I like the sound of More Tea Vicar!) and I soon struck up a conversation with Aerial Bender (not of the Allcock variety) and me old mucker Rotters. Uncle Overend and the band played a stormer and with a 74 year old Ian Hunter I felt some of the reviews were a tad below the belt - they were superb. John Robb's excellent review of their Manchester gig sums up the whole scene most eloquently.


Chas & Dave at the O2

A quick beer with Uncle afterwards and home - I stopped in the early hours to breathe in the first proper frost of the late autumn overlooking the Jurassic Coast. In the bright moonlit sky a glorious shooting star welcomed me home.

At that moment I thought I am glad I know the price of swedes and long may that be the case!