The Clerkenwell Festival

The Clerkenwell Festival is a sort of heaven for anyone who ever went to a club in the 1980s. We all are there in our finery, checking out the Dog Show, the vintage stalls (i.e. the clothes we used to wear when we went out back in the day), and chiefly, each other. At one point, I helplessly found myself in a triangle of people I knew from different times and places, a nightmare for a reformed introvert like me. But PP Arnold was brilliant (the sound, not so brilliant), and it was great to see Paul Raggity with a stall there, because I love his very funny and poignant drawings. I bought a set of plastic moustaches from him, and he gave me a little book he'd published; I have promised him a little book that I published in exchange. Here he is, behind his stall:

I saw Peter Momtchiloff from the Would-be-Goods three times, Dean Chalkley the photographer once, Gaye Black and Eric once, Fran Isherwood once, Emilyn Swag once, Piney Gir and her sweet little babby once, Mandy Austin and her Eric once just as we were leaving, Tim from Transglobal Underground several times, Shanne in the distance, Christina from Rochester in the distance, and countless others to chat to, or in the distance, or I didn't see them and other people did. The air was swirling with roll-up smoke and dust from the dry ground; sloshed chaps in straw pork pie hats yelled at each other amicably while their tilted beer glasses spilled beer on to the ground. The woman from The Sewing Bee gave us evils as we tried to slip to the front to hear P P Arnold and get away from the mansplainers at the back who knew just how to fix the sound by moving the speakers like that... no like that... no like that... anyway isn't it great to see her... last time we saw her was at ... and did you know she sang with... the 1960s... YES... PITY WE CAN'T HEAR HER... YES IT IS ISN'T IT!...

Dogs were bored and barking to go home, even the little titch that won first prize and couldn't care less. There was no ice cream van so I sulked a bit because I'd been looking forward to a Mr Whippy (no Flake). But all in all it was a convivial occasion, as always.