As soon as the osteopath sorted us out on Saturday morning it was time to turn our attention to the Eurovision fancy dress outfit. Alex barred us from the top floor and when this Moldovian Jew appeared in our cottage Blue and I were taken aback. I realise there's a recurrent theme here. Since I started this blog of our lives, Alex has a penchant for dressing up. Maybe a psychoanalyst could make something of that but as a documentalist I am easy about it. The best part of the Eurovision party, costumes aside, was watching the geopolitical voting patterns.
On Sunday we hit the road to South Wales to meet friends of Alex's family visting from Vancouver Island. Bob's claim to fame was that he had been in the US Peace Corps in India back in the day, had dogded the US draft and absconded to Saskatchewan and never went home. And there's more .... He had his photo taken with Bob Clinton in a remote outpost in Canada but more impressive was that Pete Seeger played and sang in in his front room in San Franscisco. Now, I went to see the late Kirsty McColl in concert many moons ago on the Euston Road. Her dad, Ewan was married to Peggy Seeger who is Pete's sister. So there you have it - six degrees of seperation.
Monday, we dropped into the festival at Hay on Wye en route back to the Piccadilly Line. A glorious day, the tented village hummed with readers, writers and us lot. It's a glorious location with bleating sheep in the background. Kicked ourselves that we did not plan things better to spend more time there. Sill, we managed a refreshing Pimms watching the literati go by ...
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