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COLUMN<br />
East of Earwig<br />
Mark Bridge finds festivals on his doorstep<br />
Photo by Mark Bridge<br />
Writing on the subject of festivals from a Ringmer<br />
perspective is a bit of a challenge. Well, I really<br />
don’t want to embarrass any of you <strong>Lewes</strong>ians<br />
with the wealth of riches we have next door.<br />
The <strong>Lewes</strong> Live music festival? I reckon that’s<br />
almost entirely our side of the parish boundary.<br />
Glyndebourne Festival? Definitely closer to<br />
Ringmer than it is to <strong>Lewes</strong>. Love Supreme? Yup,<br />
same again. And that’s before I start talking about<br />
Ringmer’s scarecrow festival, the football festival,<br />
the dance festival and the earwig festival. (Okay,<br />
I made that last one up but I’m hoping for a sizeable<br />
percentage of t-shirt sales if it ever happens.)<br />
Curiously, we also manage to promote our events<br />
without reverting to what’s become a ubiquitous<br />
means of communication across <strong>Lewes</strong>. Whilst<br />
we Ringmerites stay in touch by phone, Royal<br />
Mail, newsletter, text message, Whatsapp, Snapchat<br />
and semaphore, it seems the only way to get<br />
your message across in <strong>Lewes</strong> is by printing it on<br />
a piece of A4 paper, laminating it and fixing it to a<br />
lamppost with cable ties or plastic ribbon. These<br />
notices are often seen hanging in place long after<br />
the relevant event has passed, with nothing but<br />
acid rain and casual vandalism to help them degrade.<br />
In the aftermath of the forthcoming robot<br />
apocalypse, when automated microscopic vacuum<br />
cleaners have tidied away the last remnants of<br />
humanity and the only remaining lifeform on the<br />
planet is a cockroach crossed with a Jack Russell<br />
terrier, I reckon the bus stop outside Waitrose<br />
will still be festooned with rainbow-coloured<br />
printouts advertising a pop-up Shamanic yoga<br />
weekend.<br />
And then there’s the fashion. As far as I’m concerned,<br />
wellington boots are practical – albeit<br />
occasionally uncomfortable – footwear for especially<br />
wet or muddy situations. You put them on<br />
when the weather demands it… and you remove<br />
them when they’re not needed. Wellingtons are<br />
no more suitable for all-day wear than pyjamas<br />
or mittens. How they’ve become some kind of<br />
festival uniform escapes me. Yet switch on any<br />
TV coverage of summer festivals and you’ll see<br />
crowds of people wearing little more than beachwear<br />
but accessorising it with rainbow-patterned<br />
plastic boots and a crown of plastic flowers. Inexplicably,<br />
there’s even a trend for getting married<br />
in this sort of clothing. (Just search for ‘festival<br />
wedding’ on your favourite tax-paying internet<br />
search engine and you’ll see what I mean.) Personally,<br />
I think it’s actually an excuse for scaring<br />
elderly relatives away.<br />
Still, enough of my ranting. Festivals are supposed<br />
to be about celebration. I may not understand<br />
your desire to carry a fluorescent pennant<br />
on a five-metre bendy flagpole but I shall rejoice<br />
in your decision regardless. Just as long as you’re<br />
not standing in front of me. I’m the guy in the<br />
dinner jacket, obviously.<br />
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