You may remember last year's Blaston Show, held in a big tree-ringed field between the eponymous village and my own. More of the same this year, but with stifling heat thankfully coped with this time by very locally-produced bitter drawn out of racked-up barrels. A lot more cherished vehicles lined-up, including this export Triumph- shamefully I didn't check out the radiator grille to ascertain TR2 or 3. I got excited by the classic stencil lettering on the bar ("Stop photographing tables and just get the beer in"), and was particularly impressed by a local farmer tipping-up with a completely unrestored tractor. The book tent was there again, but I restricted myself to a 1951 Rupert Annual for two quid. Very tatty and biro'd outside, perfect within. Second Son got himself another Beano Annual for his vast collection, Youngest Son immediately spent all his money on an inflatable hammer shaped like a shark which promptly burst when he hit me over the head with it. But I was very pleased that he insisted his candy floss was wound onto a stick for him properly, rather than just stuck into a polythene bag. And at least he didn't shove his money into the workings of a fire engine like last year.
Michael Wolff's musical musings part 2.
11 hours ago