Busy Weekend.

Well, the Whit Friday weekend madness has come and gone. The small people (my grandchildren) and I walked into the village in the late morning and saw our local brass band play in the village centre. I suppose playing hymn tunes is a good final practice for the contest in the evening. The small people and I went on to the playground and then had sausage and chips for lunch from the local chippie which was already doing a roaring trade.

By the time we went back into the village to meet some old friends, the place was crowded, not quite so much as in warmer years but still a pretty good turn out. We watched the bands march into the village and then turn into the side street to play in front of the Delph Club where judges assessed their performance. One of last year’s trophy winners was showing off the cup they had won – not bad at all.

At one time most of the bands would have been community brass bands like our village’s band or workplace bands. A lot of schools and colleges in the area also have their own band which takes part as well. One of the colleges I used to work for has a band which won prize in international competitions.

As I walked into the village to buy the Sunday paper yesterday, I met an old chap who told me he remembers when the band contests almost died out and were usually over by 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Nowadays, having had a major revival in recent years, it goes on into late in the evening and you get bands from all over Europe. You also get some odd ones like the one who band coach I snapped.

As Friday evening wore on it turned a little damper and we were treated to the sight of bandsmen in plastic ponchos.

On Saturday morning I escaped into Manchester to get my hair done. When the train arrived at the local station, before we were able to get on we had to wait while it disgorged troops of smurfs, hippies, St Trinian’s schoolgirls and a whole range of animals. And then when I arrived at Manchester Elvis impersonators and a gang of Vikings, complete with boat, were waiting to get on. It wasn’t that everyone had gone mad. No, Saturday was the Saddleworth Beer Walk. Teams sign up with the organisers and then do a kind of extended pub crawl in fancy dress. Each team stops at almost every pub on a long walk around the Saddleworth villages collecting money for their chosen charity as they go.

I returned in the late afternoon to find the landlord of the pub next door to our house sweeping the pavement. I could hear the sounds of revelry making its way onwards into the village centre. “Have I missed all the fun?” I asked. “Yes. Aren’t you lucky?” replied the landlord, recognising the irony in my tone of voice. So I have no photos of this year’s beer walk.

Finally, yesterday was Father’s Day, an invention of the card companies, I’m sure, so that they can persuade people to spend even more money with them. In our house it turned into Grandfather’s Day as the small people arrived with presents and hand made cards and for him. Little Matthew had put some thought into the present he had bought from the Father’s Day stall they set up at his primary school last week. Intrigued, Granddad opened his present and then wondered exactly WHAT he was going to do with a ... bubblegum dispenser!!! The answer was easy, of course: hand out bubble gum to the small people.