Qualms and Quarnivals

I found myself running a hospitality tent at a carnival yesterday (I have to try hard not to accidentally say hostility tent). It was a very jolly day - you might even say there was a carnival atmosphere. The main arena act was a pair of stallions with ladies clad in top hat and scarlet tails flinging themselves off the horses, bouncing off the ground and back onto these huge beasts. The trouble was, they made it look so easy, people didn't clap much. I recalled my foray into horse riding, and how I needed some steps and a hand to hold to mount my steed. The thought of just dropping off one side of him and pinging effortlessly onto his back (while galloping along rather fast) would have filled me with dread. I would have ended up doing an impersonation of Emmeline Pankhurst, only without the noble motive (time to feel guilty if you didn't vote in the European elections). Later on the announcement came over the tannoy that a community centre was doing a 'turn'. Expecting some ladies to perform crochet stitches, rather like that 'act' on 'Britain's Got Talent', I was very surprised when some strapping guys came out dressed in full Zulu gear (furry loin clothes etc) and did a very entertaining dance involving lots of stamping of the feet and snaking hips. I suddenly had an urge to find out whether this community centre needed new members.

When I got home, one of my sons was lying on the settee fanning himself with eight hundred pounds worth of fifty pound notes. I quickly abandoned any qualms about the demonic influence of poker in our society and extracted the rent money, which was long overdue.