H. The Frotting Country Fete

The Annual Frotting Village Fete was something the entire community looked forward to all year long, with thrills and spills for the entire family to enjoy. There are foods and cooking and entertainments, poetry and a multitude of games for all to enjoy.

Beyond the grand entrance arch, decorated as always with the large statue of Norris, the fete monkey, the centrepiece was the open tent from the ladies institute, where most of the notable and inviting smells were coming from, though most of those were to do with the annual baking competition. The judges investigated the offerings, pinched loaves and pulled puds, although one particular entry looked like someone had crashed the custard truck all over it and so had to be tossed into the pudding hatch early.

As advertised, at noon there was a cooking demonstration followed by lunch for all those lucky enough to have tickets. The demonstration was to be held by the famous Mrs Palm, who on this occasion would be ably assisted by her five lovely daughters, and she was demonstrating the intricacies of a seafood platter. She started by showing off her clam dip, making sure to always use bearded clams where possible, before giving it a quick flick off the wrist and pushing it into the lobster kettle.

The lobster claw, on the other hand, can be used to great effect as a garnish with the traditional meat and two veg. Initially, after choking the chicken, as is the correct method of dealing with the foofy bird, you must put the lobster claw into the mustard pot with as much baby butter as you can find, until one or the other touches cloth. Then, once prepared, you must pass them through the organ grinder until you have the right consistency to put into the proverbial magic sandwich.

This topping will make any meat missile delicious.

That’s not to say that the ladies institute had the monopoly on foodstuffs, for Mr Rumpole the pork farmer was having a great deal of fun with his sausage shenanigans. From the very start of the day, where he had a great deal of fun greeting and shaking hands with the governor, he would open up his numerous fun meat stands where visitors could play any one of a number of games from ‘holding the sausage hostage’ to ‘flicking a hot-dog down the alleyway’. These spam javelins, carefully prepared for the occasion, would be hurled down a wide entry until they connected with any one of the easy targets on display, from the wizard’s sleeve which was only worth five points to the tiniest of mouse’s ear, which was worth a full three hundred points which went directly into your sausage wallet.

The largest sausage wallet on the day would be presented with Mr Rumpole’s Pork Sword, the star prize much admired by the men of the village.

Finally, all the children were invited to scour the fete grounds, for as everyone knew, Mr Rumpole was a big fan of playing hide the sausage.

That isn’t to say that all the fun was for the children, there were plenty of adventurous games and activities for the grownups too. The men’s enclosure was over 18’s only as there were plenty of dangerous sports and even some gambling.

Distance was the main objective when the lads were tossing the chips, but all were put to red-cheeked shame when Arthur Jumbler came out with his five finger knuckle shuffle which outpaced his chums by nearly twice their length. His friends were not ashamed though and rewarded with numerous surprise hugs and a couple of pints of Bishop’s Finger.

Bishop Finger himself was proudly in evidence and was having a great time discussing with people how only recently he had been talking to the Pope about his work as a missionary, until a pair of young louts intruded by kicking the back doors in and hurled their poisonous bile all over the crowd, especially the man of god, once they picked him out from the crowd. In fact, so badly did they bash the bishop that they made the bald man cry.

The matter was soon settled by Freddy Fingers, the largest of the farmhands, who halted in his nearby tilling and took matters into his own hands. He came out and grasped the louts in each fist and bumped the uglies together until they resembled a beast with two backs, so closely had they been pushed together. He then threw them over the hedge and nary a peep was heard from them, especially since it was said Freddy had threatened them with a rusty axe wound if they were to come back. He then went back to ploughing the furrow, as he had been doing before the ruckus.

The gents were soon having fun in their own special way as they had invented a few new rules for one of their favourite game and were soon playing cricket from the wrong end, though the second hand dartboard saw a fair amount of action, having been set up especially for the occasion. The loser of each event had to spend the afternoon wearing the shameful sweater that was deliberately too small and in a garish colour, so much fun was enjoyed watching the men pull on their pink polo-necks.

Over in the ladygarden, the carefully trimmed bushes of the finest ladies were on display, sometimes in a variety of shapes and colours, and though the fashion was for a very minimalist look, there were plenty of shrubbery on display of a florid nature. The younger girls, who often eschewed looking after their bushes were more interested in daisy chains, though a couple had achieved marvellous floral displays in a multitude of colours, so much so that they had been separated off into a rainbow party of their very own.

The day wore on until the sun started to touch the distant horizon, at which point the distant visitors started to go home, the sheep and pigs were called for the night, the train was seen going into the tunnel, the sun put on it’s sideways smile and the floor was cleared for the dancing.

By the side of the arena, Bill and his wife Fanny set up for the evening festivities. The days of the live band were sadly long gone and so he rigged his DJ booth while Fanny prepared her famous batter to make pancakes for one and all.

Once everyone was full to the dripping, the dancing would begin and Bill would spin his discs and the frolics would be frolicsome. His range was broad and his tastes varied so while sometimes he would play the wonders of the Loving Spoonful, the next track could easily be 10cc or Pearl Jam. From the Cradle of Filth to the Scissor Sisters, he had tracks from every era and for every taste, though with the pounded scrumpy being free also, there were oftentimes many of the frolicers who couldn’t manage to stay upright and were doing there own form of horizontal dancing.

Eventually the horn was blown, and all were invited to return to their homes, marking the close of play as per usual by the slapping of the statue of Norris as they left for good luck, and more from tradition than superstition, everybody made sure they spanked the monkey.

  1. Big Bad Jon’s avatar

    Sorry, but it had to be done.

    Now I need a word and a name for I.

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