On this unexciting day in August I sit at my desk writing after a few weeks of absence. It would be poetic to say that the sun is shining and the birds are twittering. Actually the skies are a dark bruised purple and look spectacular, the summer warmth building up huge thick clouds that are ready to spill their contents with the smallest tipping point. A noisy electric blower has been droning in the background, wearing on my nerves for the last half hour. I often wish we could get back to a gentler time of swishing grass cutting sythes, a good old fashioned broom and a garden rake.
Loseley can be so noisy with all the mechanical devices operated to keep the place in order. The leaf blower is being used to gather all the dropped rose petals in the walled garden. If it's not the leaf blower, it is the lawn mower or the strimmer. It is never quiet here. Added to this there is a whole army of trucks, make-up trailers and catering vehicles parked infront of the courtyard and alongside the Tithe Barn. This week Loseley has been hosting a massive film crew who are living on site. Daphne Du Mauriers' classic novel - Rebecca is being redone using Loseleys' interior as Manderley.
Am I complaining. SORT OF - Just a little bit. I do like the buzz of living in community. I just wish the droning leaf blower would shut up.
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival ) Round Room Poetry Reading. Yours truly in yellow jacket with glasses behind the sofa.
So I promised to write about the Port Eliot Festival. At the end of July along with hundreds of others I camped in the parkland grounds of a grand country house in Cornwall. Port Eliot is not 'just another festival.' It might actually be one of the first ones to form, with the now infamous Elephant Fayre being held over 30 years ago. The main focus is not on music alone. We came for a gathering of colourful, creative, thoughtful, unusual expressions of art. I worked as a volunteer for the second time and returned because I was panicked to hear that this is potentially the final Port Eliot Festival. ( Who knows, it may resurrect in another format but for now it is taking a bow as the demands of keeping it financially viable are too great.) I first attended the festival back in 2016 and I wrote more about it here ... Port Eliot Festival. I won't repeat myself. Just click on the link to read the previous post if you want to know more.
Port Eliot might have its roots in old ancestral money but there was no glamorous 'glamping' experience for me. No expensive yurt or shepherds' hut. No beds already made up with expensive crisp cotton bed linens on raised wooden platforms. Just a humble tent and a well thought out food reserve. As the self appointed 'Queen of Budget camping' I limited my expense on festival food and brought all of my own meals. Pre boiled eggs for breakfast. ( I know I could have boiled the eggs there but I wanted to limit my time sitting around boiling water on a camping stove and uncooked eggs are a pain to cart around, they are too easy to crack and break.) Honey, granola & 'live yoghurt' which I had carefully calculated wouldn't go off despite there being no fridge. (It is cool enough to leave yogurt in the shade hidden from the heat in cool dewey grass. Since it is already fermented it will not go off on such a short camping experience.) I ate couscous which is easy to make if you have a camping stove, a packet of dried couscous and a kettle to boil water. 4 tins of tuna and some salad items such as tomatoes and lettuce and celery, plus a big bottle of pre homemade salad dressing. I wish I could comment on the amazing hearty organic homemade cake I took with me but in this area I failed, resorting to a huge packet of Kit Kats to quell the desire for something sweet. Camped not too far from a water tap, hydration came from lots of cups of tea and on hot afternoons I cooled illicit bottles of beer in the river. It was easy to live off this little banquet.
The special little spot I called home where I placed my petite blue tent was nestled under a thick ancient Oak tree whose gnarled roots created a little haven of refuge. I named my tree 'Boaz' for its shelter and provision of a safe place from the rain and sunshine. A picnic rug laid against the trunk provided a great resting place for me, the perfect home from home. I knew that if we were caught in an electric storm and Boaz was hit by a lightening bolt that I would be the first to depart this earth. But that wasn't a real concern of mine. I had found a great spot of hard, flat ground above a boggy marsh which would fill up with rain in a storm but leave me high and dry under my tree. Added to this the boggy marsh was unsuitable for camping which guaranteed me some personal space which would remain empty. I forgot I might have to share my privacy with mosquitos and a million other insects which fell out of the tree branches above and into my salad. Oh and the sheep droppings scattered around Boaz did occasionally show up in the granola!
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival) Valentine Warner
So as well as mastering the art of budget camping and wandering around in a yellow day glow safety vest directing traffic and talking to irritated artists about why they were not allowed to drive their vehicle onto the site, how else did I spend my time?
I immersed myself in all that was going on. Above Valentine Warner talking about eating seasonal local produce. He touched on the subject of our current growing crisis of obesity brought on by our lifestyle of depending on ready meals and fast food. Basically too much processed sugar in our diets. Apparently if we retuned to the WW2 rations diet we would actually be a whole lot healthier than we are now. Valentines' kids live in the Pyrenees and he was talking about how much more connected they are to their food and the seasonal cycle of harvest. "If you cannot cook you are not an adult" he quipped with a naughty smile. Learning how to boil an egg or serve up a piece of fish should be in every childs' repertoire.
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival )
There was colour and delight around every corner. As our team of volunteers were informed at our briefing session - 'The Port Eliot Festival is unique in that there is no main stage. There are no huge gatherings of crowds. Just an array of magical corners of delight where unusual things are happening. People arrive and then disappear into every nook and cranny of the woods.' There is drama, dance, music and poetry readings. Campfires and hidden fields where naked people do yoga! ( A pair of volunteers laughed about walking through a session of naked yoga by mistake.) There was life drawing and pottery workshops. A place to let the creative imagination run wild.
(Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival ) Downes Syndrome Drag Fashion Show
This one took me totally by surprise. The most life affirming, joy filled half an hour where Molly, Otto and Danny strutted their stuff on the cat walk.
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival)
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival ) Fashion Foundation.
One session I really enjoyed was put on by the IDLER Academy. An Iranian British magazine editor, Kahmin Mohammadi, who talked about how her busy successful life in London had cost her dearly, impacting on everything from her skin to her hair to her relationships. A driven lifestyle with little space or real connection with other people. She lived with her head down dying a slow death inside. A turn of events, an unexpected redundancy and she found herself in Florence, Italy - writing her first book about growing up in Iran. This led to a new connection with the world around her, time to talk to strangers, eating slow meals. Squeezing ripe tomatoes in the market place. She talked about arriving with spots, extra weight and dull hair. She was advised to drink 4 Tablespoons of good olive oil a day and eat lots of ice-cream!
Sounds familiar to 'Eat, Pray, Love' ! Yes it is. All fairy tales end with a romance and a happy ending and that is exactly what she received. Except that this wasn't a fairy tale and her story continues to this day. An Italian husband, a life in Italy and an olive grove. Looking a the photo below you can see how radiant and alive she looks.
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival ) Kamin Mohammadi - Bella Figura
Another brilliant evening was spent in the boozy Black Cow Saloon where 'Daddy Long legs' an American band caused the saloon to burst at the seams, rocking us into the small hours with an eccentric Southern feel. In this same location on my final stint of volunteer duty I watched a man dressed only in his underwear climb up a pole and struggle to remember how to get back down without losing all sense of dignity. Panicked by all the attention he was getting he let go of the pole and fell straight off onto his head. Fortunately there was a hay bale waiting underneath to break his descent. Being the only member of staff on duty I should have immediately called in the first aid crew. But to be honest I was laughing too hard and having spent the whole weekend listening in on dramatic radio messages like ... "there are 2 unidentified adults skulking around the ornamental pond..." I didn't feel like adding my own element of comedy to the airwaves with an emergency call notifying the team that a man in his underwear just fell on his head. (He explained later that having refused to pay for the second session in pole dancing classes he had not mastered the art of the elegant dismount!)
Of course there was too much for one individual to take in. I wish I had attended the One Minute Disco , a spontaneous dance party that might show up at any destination at any point in the weekend.
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival )
But I missed out on this one. There was music and dancing and trees covered in knitting !
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival ) Daisy Lowe - Spelling Bee quiz.
And then there was the spelling bee. Who'd have thought that you could have so much fun with 'the spelling bee' but we did. Yes, I guess when I reflect on it all you could accuse the Port Eliot Festival of drawing a slightly intellectually pretentious crowd of punters.
But learning new expressive words is right up my street. I know it does seem to be rather too much intellectual banter, but the more you read, the more you pick up new words, and the the more weapons you have in your written artillery. See the photo below of different teams enjoying a drink and working out how to spell lots of clever and unusual words while hosted by the lovely Daisy Lowe.
Pretentious, Yes probably. I had to laugh one morning when I woke to hear a man in a nearby tent talking to an irrate neighbour on the phone.
"Hell, Yes, Ok, What you are saying is that my dog is blocking your firing line on the golf course. Blimey, You are playing golf early ... Oh, you are not playing golf ? Shooting rabbits you say!!
Well I am obviously not there. Contact my wife. If the dog is out she must be somewhere nearby! "
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival )
I couldn't finish this tribute to Port Eliot without mentioning - the River Tiddy. With its tidal influence, this river was a great place to hang out and enjoy a swim when the water was in, or a place to wallow in the mud when the tide was out. One evening I watched a fully clothed man in a suit jump into the mud much to the delight of the cheering onlookers. From dawn till dusk a sailing boat was anchored to the river bank. It hosted an unusual bar, distributing tumblers of distilled spirits and herbs from 4 huge glass jars sitting on a wooden plank and served alongside the boat. A teeny little kitten played under the plank, sleeping beneath a wheelbarrow, its' cuteness added to by the spotted handkerchief it wore around its neck.
Swallows and Amazons eat your heart out.
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival)
This beautiful lady was reading to us what a tree might say if it could speak! Yes, I know its completely eccentric but that is exactly why I love it and why the Port Eliot Festival will be so seriously missed.
“It’s like falling from the sky into a magic garden where you will be constantly surprised and delighted; where you can drink, dance, discuss, dress up, camp, explore, get lost, fall asleep under the stars to the sound of Andrew Weatherall, and wake up to the ringing of church bells.” Port Eliot Festival
( Photo Credit - Port Eliot Festival )