Towersey Festival -- Buckinghamshire, England

We should abolish 'work'. By that, I mean abolishing the distinction between work and leisure, one of the greatest mistakes of the last century, one that enables employers to keep workers in lousy jobs by granting them some leisure time. 

~Theodore Zeldin 

Jack had Friday off of work, so after dropping Violet off for an afternoon friend date, we drove down to The Three Horseshoes for lunch and a session. Jack is not overly fond of folk music (other than the part where he gets to crack jokes about it), but Charlotte and I sipped our pints and tapped our fingers and feet in pleasure to the upbeat tunes. Everyone in my English family seems to have a natural affinity for music -- Jack sings and plays the piano, Harry plays the drums, Violet sings opera at the top of her lungs (incessantly, I might add), and Charlotte is particularly good at the guitar and whistle.

"We'll have to come back with my whistle and shakers so we can join in."

Bright-eyed and enthusiastic, I promptly agreed.  There's something about pub sessions that just makes me vibrantly happy, in the tingly sort of way. I love being in a room where people are creating music or art. It's an energy that inspires and restores. It's a caffeine kick-start for my soul. Or carrot juice. Something that improves health and energy. I exit the building (with varying degrees of wobbliness) and feel the consuming urge to create something -- be it a knitted hat, a pastel painting, a one-act play, or a new and improved recipe for kale chips. And believe it or not, I usually do follow through with this creative urge, albeit with varying levels of success (depending on my degree of wobbliness).

SESSION! 

Pub session. This fellow was incredible.

Pub session

After lunch, we drove into Thame to do a bit of shopping for the weekend. I showed Charlotte the independent health food shop I'd explored during my last trip down the Phoenix trail, and she bought kombucha, candied ginger (for chutney), and an orange geranium dark chocolate bar.

Something that disappoints me about the UK is its marked lack of fermented drinks such as kefir and kombucha. While I can survive quite happily without kefir, kombucha is a drink I sorely miss. This is a tea made effervescent by fermenting it with a culture comprised of bacteria or yeast, and to which I am most dreadfully addicted. In Grand Junction, my "I had an absolutely miserable day and must make myself feel better" routine was to go to Vitamin Cottage and purchase a package of nitrite-free bacon and a bottle of Guava Goddess Kombucha. Bacon (in all its forms) is plentiful in the UK, but I've only seen kombucha in two shops, one in Cardiff and one in Thame. Charlotte is very interested in health foods, so I half selfishly and half altruistically suggested that she might like to try it.

It was immensely satisfying and refreshing to sip my feel-better drink after nearly three months of forced abstinence.

I met Charlotte's family this weekend. Her sister, her sister's fiance, their two adorable little boys, and a hilarious bug-eyed dog named Stella. Because of the extra bodies in the house, I relocated to Violet's bunk bed for Friday and Saturday night, trading my lovely loft for the room of a seven year-old horse girl/drama queen. I felt very comfortable indeed.

The family arrived Friday evening promptly after we'd finished our homemade sushi dinner (Charlotte made fantastic rolls, but mine seemed to just fall apart. New life goal: Learn how to make sushi rolls that stick together long enough to reach my mouth). Once again, I tried to hug Charlotte's sister (can't seem to break that habit) and was met with a kiss on the cheek. I opted for a firm handshake with the fiance, cooed over their two boys, and rubbed Stella behind the ears. These greetings went over much more smoothly.

Goodness, the evening was splendid fun. Full of laughter and wine and stories (most of which I remember, believe it or not). We moved the festivities outside after a few drinks, lit a fire, and settled into lounge chairs. I sipped my white wine, felt the heat of the fire, absorbed my pleasant surroundings and merry company, and once again felt tremendously lucky.

This is the best part about traveling the way I do. I am sitting around a campfire in the back garden of a beautiful home in Buckinghamshire, drinking wine and enjoying the company of one of the most supportive, loving, fun families with whom I've ever come in contact. Who gets to do this? WHO? I do. I don't know how or why, but I do. 

However, caught in my state of complete bliss, I believe I took a couple too many blissful sips of wine. The evening culminated with me curled comfortably around the toilet, a peaceful expression on my face and very much asleep.

So.

 Life experiences in the UK include:

Ireland: first hangover
Wales: first time not remembering bits and pieces from the night before...
England: first time found asleep in bathroom

God only knows what will happen when I finally reach Scotland. 

Charlotte cooked up a glorious breakfast the next day -- a full English complete with sausages, bacon, potato waffles, hashbrowns, beans, and eggs. After consuming a heaping plate of this fatty, flavorful goodness and a brisk bike ride in the rain, I felt nearly human again.

Nearly human and eager to head off to the festival in Towersey. The festival itself was an expensive musical affair, so we happily contented ourselves with the area just outside of the big music tents, as it was much cheaper and still full of food, craft tents, music, dancing, and strange circus paraphernalia.

I really do adore pottery. There's something so satisfying and grounding about working with clay. I've found that most people who work with clay also garden. As a gardener, I feel like I ought to explore this medium more thoroughly. The only experience I have thus far has been with the little snake pots and an afternoon with a friend in the pottery room at our university.

These spinning toys (diablos) are absolutely everywhere at festivals. Ach... I suppose I don't have the experience required to factually state "everywhere", but they were all over the "Big Cheese" festival in Cardiff and the festival in Towersey was certainly full up with whirling spheres on sticks and strings.

Puppet show for kids.

English dancing!

English Stick Dancing! 

Charlotte's nephew. Cutest, calmest little boy ever. If all children were like this, I would have at least a dozen. Thank the good lord I've come in contact with enough rambunctious screamers to give me a healthy fear of infants. Primarily from the terrifying stories my mother tells me about myself. It's a wonder Mrs. Bourget had three other children after me -- I'd have sworn off them altogether.

Appalachian dancing! In England. I felt like I was watching Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

Appalachian Dance! 

These cross-dressing fellows finished the dancing act in fine style.

Charlotte took a few yoga pictures of me before I left. And a few pictures of me attempting to spin a hula hoop around my right foot (which I managed to pull off for a total of ten seconds before the whirling hoop smashed into my teeth).

That night we dined on many varieties of tasty cheeses and I drank my pints of hard cider responsibly.

I was determined to find my way to my own bed, come the evening's end.

Preconceptions:

None today.

Challenges:

Two performing arts challenges. The session and the dancing. I'm finally getting a few for England!