This Sunday Phoebe and I went to the Seething Folk Festival. I would never have believed such goings on in Surbiton: a wonderful parade of cheese headed women, bats, a brass band, umbrella contraptions and a neon fish called Jean Claude. All these strange creatures retreated after the procession to the Lamb Pub, where morris men lingered in corners and the giants head burned as we sung the legend of the goat boy.
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