When the fair comes to town

Every September a fairground appears right outside our front door. We live close to what was the village green, though a middle sized town grew up around it during the twentieth century. Last weekend bunting appeared on the lamposts and trees, on Wednesday the car park was closed off and the bigger fairground rides started arriving. By the time Billy came out of school on Friday afternoon most of it was in place, including the huge marquee which houses the charity raffles and tombolas, the craft stalls and the flower and produce show.

Billy looks forward to this weekend all year. I suppose eventually he'll become jaded, but at 9 years old it is magical for him. I think he feels quite proprietorial about it as he watches it grow over a few days.  We always enter the handicrafts competition, and this year I've put some carrots that I've grown in my garden into the novice class at the horticultural show.

At 7.30 this morning, two and half hours before anything actually opened, Billy and I were wandering around the rides.