Well we survived Cropredy. Actually that's not saying much as this is one of the more genteel festivals, in keeping with the advanced age of most attendees. You park right next to your tent (no lugging of stuff across muddy fields, in deference to those of us with dodgy backs), the loos are a cut above the norm (they even have proper porcelain ones!), you can plonk your folding chairs on a prime spot first thing in the knowledge they will stay put all day and there's a special shop selling pipes and slippers. I'm joking on this last one of course - but only just. There is in fact always a surprisingly large number of youngsters there but they're probably the offspring of hardened Cropredy veterans (it's been going over 30 years) and are pre-programmed at birth to head, zombie-like, to this corner of Oxfordshire in the second weekend of August every year, come what may.
For those who don't spend all day dozing or pottering around in their caravan, there's some music of course. Given that Cropredy is run by Fairport Convention, it's known as a folk festival but anyone expecting fingers firmly placed in ears, wall to wall beards and Arran sweaters would be surprised at the eclectic mix on offer. Last year we even had Status Quo and they don't come much more non-folky than that. Unless you count the Buzzcocks and Nick Kershaw, other recent beat combos to appear. This year's equivalents were UB40 and the Blockheads. The final headliners are Fairport (natch) who always do a 3 hour set on the Saturday night. Yes you read right: 3 hours. It's quite an endurance test, for all concerned. The saving grace is supposed to be the "special guests" who come on to do a turn. A couple of years ago we had Cat Stevens/Yusaf plus Richard Thompson ("or God, as he's known around here") and before that, Robert Plant, no less.
But things are going downhill. Last year we were treated (I use the word not just loosely but incorrectly) to a large chunk of some rock opera-type thing called Excalibur. I won't bore you but when I say the creator of this magnum opus is a French bloke you will be thinking, quite rightly, that we are slipping rapidly into Spinal Tap territory. This year wasn't too much better with Fairport doing the whole of their 1971 album Babacombe Lee (it's not great) and the closest we came to a special guest was Ralph McTell. With all due respect to good old Ralphy, he's no Robert Plant. At the end of this 3 hour marathon, Fairport always finish with Meet on the Ledge. It's the law. Everyone holds hands or waves their arms about and sings along, fireworks go off and we try and forget that the writer of this excellent song (yes it's Richard Thompson again) left the band about 40 years ago, since when they've done nothing new that comes close. Then we head off for one last night under canvas in a state of bliss...or something.
Never mind this though, Cropredy remains a great few days in the country. Cropredy's a super village, with a shop, a cricket club, two pubs and a canal. Or is it a river? There's narrow boats anyway, oh, and a canoe club. You know you're at the right place when the huge tarpaulins in front of the PA either side of the stage are not advertising a mobile phone but real beer: Wadworth's 6X to be precise. Tanker loads of the stuff are sold at what is apparently the largest outside bar in the universe. There is no backstage bar so you get to hobnob with the stars, even if the best we did was "whispering" Bob Harris and Steve Gibbons. But Robert Plant was spotted too, only spectating this year. Oh, and one of the blokes from the Coral.
The Coral were excellent by the way. But the real stars of the 3 days were Hayseed Dixie. They were absolutely fantastic: not only very funny patter plus of course their trademark bluegrass versions of hard rock songs (e.g. Highway to Hell, Ace of Spades and...Bohemian Rhapsody!) but boy can these blokes play. I may not be a bluegrass expert but I've never seen playing like it. I didn't know it was possible to play a Mandolin that fast. They finished with Duelling Banjos, which went very well with a T-shirt I saw someone wearing which carried the exhortation "paddle faster, I hear banjo music". No point me waffling any more - I'm sure there's plenty of Hayseed Dixie videos on Youtube. Check 'em out and if you get a chance to see them, GO.
Our festival season's not quite over. The boy is dragging his girlfriend off to the Green Man festival in Wales tomorrow. Rain guaranteed. Let's hope it's not the end of a beautiful friendship and let's hope he drives safely. But as for us oldsters, one dose of camping is enough. So until next year, it's...."meet on the ledge, we're going to meet on the ledge, if you really mean it, it all comes round again..."
See you on the ledge. By which I mean the bar.
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