We took the Chums to a local Steam Fair on Monday. I love a bit of Country Fair-ness, and this one certainly hit the spot. It had everything: overpriced fairground rides, dodgy crafts, hobbyists with their steam engines and tractors, delicious and greasy food from unsavoury looking characters in vans. Bliss.
A high point was the Catapult stall. 10 shots with a REAL, LETHAL catapult to try and hit a target. The prize? A real and slightly less lethal catapult of your very own. My brother gallantly attempted to win one, he stepped up to the mark, fired off a metal ball bearing towards the back of the tent and then ducked as the bloody thing ricocheted off the metal poles holding up the target and grazed the side of his face.
On chatting to the bloke running the stall, it transpired that he’d seen a stall like this the other week so bought himself a tent and some catapults to ‘give it a go’.
‘Hmm,’ he mused, ‘I maybe should have covered those poles with foam, what do you reckon? Also, I’ve lost a couple of hundred ball bearings, I think they’re going through the back of the tent’.
I have visions of a pile of injured bodies piled up behind the tent. The languishing corpses of a hundred innocent Fair Goers, struck down in their prime by stray catapult bullets as they perused the stalls trying to choose between a badly drawn door plaque (Beware Of The Wife) or a dream catcher with a lop sided wolf woven into it.
|What’s not to love? Tractors, portaloos and caravans. Life doesn’t get any better than this on a Bank Holiday…|