Festivals appear to be a commonplace experience of our coastal town and last weekend was no exception. It was the International Festival. Having inadvertently volunteered to carry a flag in the parade (No, I’m not safe in an auction room!), I struck up a conversation with a steward. The topics became numerous, varied and always completely fascinating; the conclusion was a book recommendation and the promise that I would receive the ISBN yesterday. I can only surmise that my mind was so occupied with the notion of a dozen for lunch, that it became disengaged from my mouth. Suffice it to say, twenty minutes after embarking upon a seemingly routine action, I returned to my family without the ISBN; I did, however, have to confess that 30 people and a bouncy castle would be arriving on our doorstep on October 2nd. Now, how did that happen? To be completely fair, I think it had something to do with a moment’s utterly bizarre guilt at being neither Nigerian nor capable of whipping up a show-stopping Michelin starred dish, whilst dancing the can-can on a tightrope above Niagara Falls. (I’m beginning to understand the flag carrying.) The lesson learned is that one may escape from a city and be confident in ones savviness, but beware. Town and country folk are so adept at spotting an unwitting newcomer that any city slicker may only smile wryly whilst acknowledging their unsurpassable prowess!
