Protests

A day of protests. Mostly caused by the cycling arrangements. The high point arriving when I looked over my shoulder to see Joe picking up his bike, throwing it into the mud and then climbing over a fence to get into a forest. Mind you, he has just suffered the indignity of getting his jeans well and truly stuck in his chain and if a friendly stranger armed with a swiss army knife hadn't been around then I was about to call Mrs Smith and ask her to find us with the kitchen scissors.

Everyone recovered in time for a long mess around in the swimming pool before they created and performed a new play which involved a lot of nudity, voodoo rituals, Elvis and Michael Jackson. I need to see if it's too late to find them a venue for the Festival.