Party in the Paddock

THE NAME CHANGERS OF TARRINGTON
What will they do this Saturday, at 2?
Village Fetes are on the go, you know;
you knew where, by following the walkers,
the straggling talkers, and those Range Rovers.

Annually they occurred,
almost like summer rain they came.
Bring-and-buy stalls; hues in fruity jams,
jars of chutney, clear honey
with people I know standing guard
with demanding eyes, perhaps.

Confusingly, that old name transpired,
it had to go, re-brand that idea of a 'Fete'.
What sleight of hand has consigned it
to a past? Can you still look for a
'Red Phone Box' and find one?
Has Dr Who snaffled them all
and whipped them away in a sham
Police Box re-branded as a 'Tardis?'

I like the past, but like me, like it's
definition, it moves away inexorably.
Now, we have to call it 'Party in the Paddock'.
Green grass under slippy sandals, even flip-flops,
but bring the psychedelic wellies, and
Estate Agents umbrellas, just in case.

It's a fresh day. There's the freshness in
freshly mown grass - it's like an aphrodisiac.
They come in droves to this new event.
This re-branded-giving-event where the idea
is still the same.
'Git yer 'ands inta your pockets'; small change will
do as a starter and then the notes. Don't flinch,
it is only money.
Thinking of austerity will not help
the ailing in St. Michael's Hospice.
May the funds be enhanced.
I say well done.

John Edwards (C) 10th July, 2015
NB. TARRINGTON is a village in
Herefordshire and it is where I
was born and spent my first
seventeen years.