out popped

In previous years the Woodhall Show was the local big-hitting tourist event, but ceased to exist some time ago and is unlikely to recur given that the land on which it used to be held has become more caravan park. The latest thing is the Forties festival, featuring more endless droning on about the second world war and the Dambusters and so on and so on. It just happened to be on on the same weekend that my sister and I could make visits coincide and the website had indicated that there might be some vintage tractors parked outside the old electrical shop which might be of interest to wingpiglets, so we wandered around the village for a bit until we ended up at the playpark next to the pool, where (despite being on watch-out-for-old-faces alert) I failed to recognise one of my old swimming teachers (though to be fair he had fewer moustaches than he used to and was wearing sunglasses) and instantly recognised two people from school, to whom I demonstrated that twenty years have done little for my social abilities. I felt much more comfortable on the way back through the woods, where the boy got to pretend to be a troll and I got to demonstrate that even twenty years' absence cannot remove twelve years' woodland-navigation knowledge.