On Saturday took train to Wokingham to see old college mate of mine, Ian (Leicester University BSc. Physics with Astrophysics, year of 1978). We had rather lost touch over past couple of years, but I put my email address in last year's Xmas card to him & turned out he's also a computer geek (with email), thus we have since been in much better contact. Arrangement was that we, i.e. him, his girlfriend Heather, and another friend of his called Eddie, were going to Reading Real Ale and Jazz Festival.
To cut to the chase, left about 7:00 to go into Reading in the car. Actually, drove past Dave Langford's house, but didn't stop to invite him along. Festival took place in a park with section of it cordoned off and a large tent in one corner. One side of tent was full of beer barrels, with adjacent side stage for band. We sat on grass outside, it was warm and pleasant evening, and as night progressed and halves of beers called things like 'Clatford Clout', 'Old Vectis Venom', 'Old Growler', and (to cap it all) 'The Dog's Bollock's', were consumed a certain benign ambience started to take hold.
As started to grow dark, with Jupiter high in sky, and cold, we moved inside the tent where there were benches and tables. There were two jazz bands that evening, but both were indistinguishable consisting of men in bowler hats and stripy shirts staggering through New Orleans standards. This is my least favourite form of jazz, but as alcohol took hold found myself dancing with gay abandon.
Eventually, like all good things, it came to an end and Ian and I carried Eddie back to the car. Heather drove us back to the house, via curry emporium, and we collapsed onto various chairs and sofas. Ian decided this was a good time to put on his video of pilot episode of Star Trek:Voyager. I'm afraid even amount of drink did not aid my suspension of disbelief, and hasn't actress who plays Capn. Janeaway got one of the most irritating voices ever? Thus we never did get to the end before I insisted on the erection of the camp beds, we left Eddie collapsed on the sofa, Ian and Heather disappeared upstairs, and as I lay awake listening to Eddie snore I thought what an excellent day it had been.
When we arose from our slumbers, at around mid-day Sunday, the question was what to do? One possibility was WOMAD (World of Music Art and Dance) a 3 day World Music festival, on in Reading, of which Sunday was last day. Now I'd been to one before and thoroughly enjoyed it, Ian was keen since he'd heard a Brazilian lady called Margareth Menezes was going to be on. He'd discovered her when he spent a year in Brazil as part of his job, and had actually played me some the previous afternoon which I'd thought was OK but nothing to write home about. Well, consensus was reached, even tho' was going to cost 19ukp each, and off we went.
This festival was taking place in a huge park with entrance through a leisure centre. It's difficult to describe, but there were avenues of stalls in a field, selling ethnic knick-knacks, musical instruments, tee-shirts, and (one of the best bits) every kind of multi-cultural food imaginable. All this surrounding a tent, which was smaller venue, and off to one side a much larger outdoor stage. It's all a bit 'Save The Rhino', and hard for me not to sneer, but as we walked around, it was easily twice the size of one I'd been to fiveish years before, occasionally refreshing ourselves from the Beer Tent, it was hard to deny the good vibe.
First band we saw were 'Capercaillie', Scottish, play their own stuff on traditional instruments, sort of bit like 'Heart', I wasn't that impressed. I shall cast a veil over 'The Singing Shepherds Of Sardinia'. We saw start of set from 'Viki and Linda', two half Polynesian gospel influenced singers from Australia, but Margareth Menezes was soon to be on at the main stage.
She was absolutely brilliant, right from the start when the compere shouted, "And now from the Northern Bahia region of Brazil ...", I have rarely seen such energy. Bounding about the stage, singing her heart out, band consisted of drummer, percussionist, sax, trumpet, lead and bass. Dig those crazy Samba rhythms! I get a high from really dynamic music comparable only to that available from drugs, but it doesn't do you any harm. "If you could bottle it", I remember thinking, "You'd have a bottle full of stuff like this". It made sense at the time.
Finally it was over, we met back at prearranged spot, having been separated, and cleared off back to Wokingham. I'm sure you won't mind if I don't bore you about my trip, with Heather and Eddie, to Oxford on the Monday, enough is enough. A bloody good weekend!