We were lucky enough to be asked to play the legendary Cheriton Beer Festival at the Flowerpots again. Thanks to the incessant rain we were all available, and, once again, the crowd were noisy, drunk and hugely appreciative. The drunkenness was a tad intrusive, as one gonk fell off his mate's shoulders onto the stage. About halfway through the gig, Charlie (who wasn't on the stage at all and was therefore in a bit of a huff) abandoned any attempt to make himself heard and caught up on some correspondence, and even did a few early Christmas cards. And some farm accounts. And a bit of knitting. And finally got that troublesome blackhead out of his beard. So not an entirely wasted evening.
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