That Festival Feeling

Yes, it's that time of year once more.

Another gathering of England's eccentrics, egos and sporting prodigies. So to speak. But in spite of the bizarre company, the banks of the river are as gorgeous as they ever are in summer, the setting grandiose. And I wouldn't really want to be anywhere else, for this week at least. Just driving up stirred that vague sentimentality in me: memories of new friends and old sunburn.

So. It has been as weird as ever. Normally a respectable citizen, today I found myself breaking in (sort of) to one of the more prestigious boarding houses, through a half-open window, to deliver an armful of clean kit to those who desired it.

"Oh shit. The doors... everything's locked."

And so I turned around to find Ollie. Thirteen and slightly like a sheepdog in appearance - it's the Hoggard hair that does it, I think - and something of a genius allrounder, eating wine gums and looking at me suspiciously.

"What are you doing?" A perfectly reasonable question, I suppose, on his part.

"Deliveries. Shouldn't you be doing a five mile run, or something?"

"Not five miles. Once around the grounds. Two at the most. And you? Are you trying to get in?"

I was, and eventually I did, though without a key, choosing the far more efficient method of clambering through a half-open window. The real challenge was working out where the hell I was supposed to be going once I got in. The slightly vague hint was 'upstairs', but, as I said, big boarding house. Lots of 'upstairs' to choose from.

But it is so sunny, and so warm, and there are so many people (loads more than last year), and we are having a lot of fun. And this view was only confirmed when, wandering around without Uma (who is having an operation tomorrow! Though only very minor, and dental) I came across the buddies - slightly self-important fifteen year olds with impressive tans - singing Grace, complete with Buckley-esque falsettos. The perfect musical accompaniment, I noted, whilst they demanded details of in-camp politics. Not that I know much of that. Too much sunbathing and not enough nosying, I think.

We were, however, slightly distracted by Reece trying to run us over in a golf buggy.

Not funny.

Two more days of this to go, though - whoever knew holidays could be so much fun?