The world from my window

Mr Grigg, the Sheepwashes and I are recovering from a village charabanc trip to the Sidmouth Folk Festival. Living in the square meant the coach pulled up right outside our house. It really was door-to-door service and the one-legged trip organiser pledged to be legless on the way back. Super Mario and Princess Peach nestled in to one of the seats up front while we spread ourselves out in the back seat just in front of an already inebriated General Custer. There were 35 of us in all, most from the neighbouring village. One of the highlights was the drunken community singing on the return journey, led by a man with a guitar and his tipsy wife in a flowery straw hat. We all joined in, apart from Mr Sheepwash who spent the entire half-hour with his mouth agape. The seaside town was full of mellow folk, with jingly bells on their legs, carrying double basses in cases, dancing in pub gardens, enjoying picnics in public parks, queuing for the lavatories, sitting outside genteel hotels whil...