Tarrington Village Fete held at The Vine, a substantial mellow brick building of significance with gardens that were controlled with elements of precision that take the eye from one detail to another. Formal fountained ponds, neatly encased with straight lines and paved corners, lawns and fine edges, sculptures that fit the formality, but were not born here to the brick walls, oval capped of the pigs' cots. It seemed to all fit to together although the picky would probably say 'incongruous' but I loved it all. It was a pleasure just to be in some one's garden and to wander as I felt like it.
This was England at its best. The sun shone, the clouds held the sky up with the occasional darkish cloud threatening, but producing not a drop of moisture. It was T shirt and shorts weather.
The stalls, the colour of the canopies, the friendliness of the people whether known to me or complete strangers. I was extravagant and indulgent in buying a cream tea at 1 o'clock and a jar of home made marmalade and chutney at £1 per pot. I shall relish the taste of the former with my early morning tea and toast - that is if I survive the night at Hellen's Manor.
All of this with music, games, and of course the ubiquitous bouncy castle, second hand stalls with books, handbags, jewelry etc. All this for the church fund and to retain the fabric of this society.
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