Hello there. I meant to post yesterday to tell you all about Towersey and such but failed because I slept through until noon and then found myself spending the rest of the day in the kitchen for one reason or another until P came round for dinnerunnamovie, as M would say.
Anyway. My Fair Lady was, as expected, fantastic. A brilliant, tight production, skillfully conducted by W. Some brilliant acting and singing, and the hat that Audrey Hepburn wore for the Ascot scene in the original film was somehow acquired and worn by our very own Eliza Doolittle, which was quite something. The Ascot scene itself was, of course, hilarious, as was a lot of the rest of it.
Towersey was brilliant. The weather (oh, I am so English, but it seems like a good place to start) was surprisingly good and aside from a little drizzle on one or two mornings was pretty good, even very sunny in places, which given the downpour I was getting in University Town beforehand, and the subsequent hellish weather I’ve had here in Home Town, was quite surprising.
Days were spent hanging around at the tents with all of P’s friends, who were all very welcoming and made me feel right at home and not at all as if I’d only met most of them once or twice at most. H and I became closer than ever, bonding over gossip, scandal, and angst, as well as far too much ale on one or two occasions. (Yes, that’s the other thing – I’m turning slowly into a real ale girl, under the careful tutelage of P. Next up, wine. But that’s even more baffling, which you wouldn’t have guessed). There was also a lot to look at on the main site – beautiful stalls full of beautiful things abounded and lots of money was spent on beautiful things like harem pants (I had my eye on them for several days and whenever I tried to explain what I meant I had to call them ‘aladdin trousers’, so that is what they’ve become. Incidentally my spellcheck is picking up ‘trousers’ as being wrong…damn Americanisation! It also doesn’t get ‘damn’ or ‘Americanisation’ – clearly I’m just too English to exist). Evenings were taken up with music and dancing, although we missed all but one of the ceilidhs, which was a damn shame as P is a brilliant dancer and made me feel like I knew what I was doing ceilidh-wise, which isn’t usually the case. On the second night we drank far too much and I got possibly a little fixated on being the ‘hot girlfriend’ (someone referred to me as ‘P’s hot girlfriend’, a fact which I felt the need to repeat to everyone, but I put this down to a lack of confidence in myself as being either in the role of girlfriend, or being ‘hot’); and also possibly got a little too close for P’s comfort to H (this is apparently not one of those relationships where cheating is OK so long as it’s with a girl, and in the presence of your boyfriend, but then, I never thought it was, DrunkJenny just likes to push boundaries…). So I spent the next day being disgustingly hungover with H, and rather annoyed at myself. The Spooky Men’s Chorale the next night was hilarious (or would have been had I been in a better mood), and Shooglenifty were brilliantly danceable, as expected.
There was a moment, actually: at one point a middle-aged woman who was standing in the middle of the dancefloor to listen to Shooglenifty (whoever stands on a dancefloor to listen to a band when there were plenty of safer places to stand further back where the sound and view is just as good, I just don’t know) tapped me on the shoulder and viciously shouted at me, ‘that’s three times, three times you’ve stood on my foot now and not a word of apology, and I’m wearing open-toed shoes. Now can you just piss off?’ Now, this stunned me a little, and I was just about to meekly stutter out some kind of terribly posh apology probably involving the phrase, ‘Gosh, I am so terribly sorry’, and not meant in the least sarcastically; but then Pete cut straight in, seeing my stricken face, leapt to my defence, saying, ‘Oi. You do not speak to my girlfriend like that’. And so on, and so forth. Heated discussion resulting in an apology for us both from the rather guilty-looking woman. No-one’s ever stood up for me like that before, it was almost overwhelmingly lovely. Anyway, that’s beside the point. You should check out Shooglenifty because it’s good dancing.
You should also listen to Jim Moray if you get the chance – find his Myspace or look on Spotify because he writes beautiful songs. And the Spooky Men are very very clever and funny.
It was also wonderful to see P and his sister and others in the guise of workshop leaders in the end-of-week showcase – during the day there are classes for young people in various kinds of music-making and dance and such, and so each morning P would leave me to go and teach – and a very good job he did too, if the resulting concert is anything to go by.
The last night was a pyjama-themed ceilidh (although again, we missed the ceilidh proper because we were getting drunk in the bar). I would love to show you photos but that would involve completely revealing the identity of me and everyone I know; so photos are remaining on facebook where at least I have some control over who sees them. Anyway. Lipstick and negligees were involved for everyone concerned, male and female, such that in the end we decide to differentiate between the genders with the bizarre rule that ‘if you have a vagina, you must wear a hat’. Insane amounts of ale and ginger wine were consumed, and stories could be told but I’m not that cruel… .
So yes. Another lovelier world, to which my words cannot do justice at all. Lots of wonderful new friends and new experiences. Some fraught moments as with Larmer Tree, involving serious sadness and uncertainty and fear, but so many wonderful moments to make up for it. And now I’m back, and finally free to continue to actually enjoy my summer since the exams finished on the first day of Towersey, and I don’t have to find out how I did for eight days yet.