It's the law around here that at this time of year you have to go to Hull Fair which, they've been telling me since I could listen, is the largest travelling fair in Europe. The mere smell of diesel makes me feel ill these days, never mind clambering on board a rattling piece of metal at the end of a rotating arm. So, opting out of what gave me pleasure when I was a wee ride-loving lad who lived round the corner and went to the fair every night, thinking that one day my life would be like that of David Essex's character in That'll Be The Day, we merely bought food and sweets and wandered around stuffing our faces (well, you have to induce the vomit somehow, eh?). 
Naturally there are a few fortune tellers around and about. Oddly, they all appear to have told the fortune of the comedy world's Ernie Wise. I was going to take a picture of one of the fancier caravans but just as I was about to point and shoot I got a nasty look off of Gypsy Sarah Smith (erm, is it me or does that sound very, very inauthentic?) who had appeared at her front door having felt the presence of a digital camera in her midst. So, keen to avoid a Romany spell being cast in my direction, I thought better of it.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide...
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