Fayre and present danger

Attending a wedding "fayre" (don't you just hate these misplaced American spellings?) in the lush grounds of Normanby Hall, with its giant boar statues, walled gardens and herds of marrauding deer and marrows. There was more originality and heart on display in the grounds than the fair, which was booming out with the sounds of Deafman DJ and some woman dressed as a Narnian snow queen playing nonsense on a white violin, under some pink and white balloons shaped into a ceremonial archway, next to a magician called Uncle Dudley, probably. The PA was blasting out tunes that no-one likes but are played at weddings regardless (Hold Back The Night by the Traaaaaamps for example) which would give my 91-year-old grandad a double hearing hernia, and out front, you could take a ride in a pink limo. We resolved to have nothing to do with limos, or brainless DJs or ice queen violinists, and do it our way. You'll be getting our invites to the reception at the local allotment society soon ...