I’ve been doing traditional Nottingham
things the last couple of weeks. Well, one is very traditional. I went to Goose
Fair, which in case you don’t already know about it, has been going since 1284,
it’s thought.
When we first came to Nottingham, the
schools had a half day on the Friday of Goose Fair, so the children could go,
and the nursery school children were taken to see the rides being put up, on (I
think) the Wednesday. Nowadays, the rides are mostly just sort of folded out from huge lorry trailers, like a Transformer. It only ran from Thursday lunchtime to midnight on
Saturday. Now it seems to open on the Wednesday and still be open on the Sunday.
It really is enormous, and when we had much younger children, it was always a
bit of an issue, because of the noise, dirt and crowds – but you couldn’t not take
them – it would have been like Father Christmas not coming.
Then later on, of course they wanted to
go with their friends, which involved tense negotiations about what time, how
long, where money was to be kept, how they would get home, or be collected,
staying together etc, etc.
Well,
now, I have to say, it’s a much more tolerable experience. There was some lottery money used to restore
the Forest ground, and the drainage seems to have been sorted out. It used to
be horribly muddy, even if it hadn’t rained, but it isn’t now. I don’t know whether it’s new regulations or
what, but everything is cleaner – the ground, the rides, the fair attendants,
the games stalls – and especially the food stalls, which are actually
reasonably tempting, which they most certainly weren’t, years ago. It all feels
much calmer and safer, although I imagine Saturday night is still a bit hectic.
Some
things have gone – the boxing booth, the man who guessed your age, the wall of
death, mouse town, which was a bit rubbish, but the kids always liked it. I’m
sure there was the odd freak show thirty five years ago, too. But there are still the old fashioned riding
horses and the cake walk, and the helter skelters and ghost rides, and hook a
duck, where you always win something.
As
I said, the food stalls are much more appetising than they used to be, and have
gone somewhat up market. I don’t think I could ask for mushy peas and a cappuccino
with a straight face. But they still do the fresh doughnuts, which float down
the river of hot oil, flipped over with an automatic paddle and, unlike any
other doughnut I have ever tasted, are delicious.
So the second Nottingham tradition was the Beer
Festival. This is obviously a lot more recent. This year it’s actually called the beer and
cider festival. There are literally thousands of beers and hundreds of ciders. I wasn’t tempted to go until I heard that
there was cider too. I don’t really like beer, but I do like cider. Mind you,
there are fruit beers, which I probably ought to try. Blackcurrant and cherry
sound as though they should be nice, banana and coconut not so much.
It’s held in the castle grounds, which is a really
lovely venue. The first year I went I discovered Old Rosy cider, which is
reasonably widely sold now. But I began to get an almost overwhelming urge to
lie down on the grass and go to sleep, and Phil had to take me home.
Fortunately, it’s practically next door.
Last year, I realised that eating solidly throughout
would be beneficial, and discovered
Granny’s Weapons Grade Ginger Beer, and roast pork sandwiches.
This year, with help from a friend, I discovered a perry called Impeared Vision, and the
restorative effect of a large fruit filled flapjack. I think it’s the sugar.
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