Thursday, 16 August 2012
Our village is blessed with an annual stonker of a show. It's beautifully sited on windswept fields, with views across to Pendle Hill (which reminds me - I haven't even mentioned the anniversary of the witch trials...) and it's a hive of farmyard activity mixed with bouncy castles and the odd community tent.
You've probably been there done that, but indulge me for a moment as I expose my ignorance and take you into the poultry marquee.
The sides are stacked high with prize-winning birds. Look for the red rosettes and you can see who's won 1st prize. Then look closer in a vain attempt to determine why. "Superb crest," I find myself saying. "Luxurious feathers..."
More challenging is the table of egg specimens. Plates of blue eggs, grey eggs, dark brown, light brown... alongside plates of cracked open eggs! Here my powers of discernment fail me.
I'm strangely relieved the next day when a friend mentions that her dad once won with eggs bought from Asda. (Shhhh, don't tell the judges.)
We've arranged a house swap for a week over the Olympics! A
Lancashire farm for a Hackney terrace. Magic.
We're the only people we know who actually got Olympic tickets first time round, then we carelessly move away from
and rent out our house. Doh. London
Fortunately, some friends agree to guinea pig sit and brave the boggy moors while we borrow their scooters and indulge in a bit of park and pavement life.
It's awesome. From the pink volunteers' welcome at Kings Cross station, through the smartened up and relatively empty
streets, to a vibrant Olympic Park and a treasure trove of medals. London
Not a good time to consolidate plans to stay up north.
Then again, returning to blissful sunshine, Agricultural Shows, riverside capers, biking with Bradley Wiggins... we're definitely seeing the best of both worlds.
The Olympic bubble will burst and the
Lancashire rain will return. And us? Well we've decided to take the path less travelled by, at least for a little bit longer.