Plaxtock is indeed very pleasing

PLAXTOCK

The very word conjures a feeling of summer warmth and love, and in my case a foolish hope that maybe one year, I will not go out all guns blazing in a mist of tequila slammers and dancing on Saturday night, thus rendering myself incapable for the rest of the weekend, a mere shadow of life as I crawl about the kitchen in my apron, my hair looking like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, attempting to make intelligent  conversation, pretending  that making chick pea curry for the masses is exactly what I need to be doing on a Sunday, and then lo and behold S has made vodka jellies for breakfast, and here we go again and suddenly everything is alright with the world,  and once again we are invincible.

It  would be useful to remember that  I’m almost 60 , and one would have thought that pacing would be my second name in the greater scheme of things.

Then again at Plaxtock nothing is what it seems,  and it appears that lessons are never learned amongst the cherries.

And frankly I blame the company,  who seem to misunderstand the term moderation.

The orchard. So much has happened in that lovely  field over the years.

The tent that could tell a thousand stories, whose patchwork canvas holds the imprints of songs and words, of laughter and tears, love,  voices and music, soaring brass, the patter of rain and the smell of damp as the sun comes out. The funeral march and gathering of the clan.

And the mice complain and move out for the weekend as we shake their droppings out of the tablecloths

Twenty five years. A life time.

Small children driven into a frenzy by the lead up to the boy and girl band ( think Gladiator). ” It’s not a competition” , yeah right.

Of whispering Tim and Radio Plaxtock,

A gaggle of sun kissed feral kids straight from the tipi in Devon,  rampaging on the dance floor  until they fell asleep on  hay bales, squeezing the last vestige of the summer out of August before school and hairbrushes took over.

When Clem got bitten by one of the pigs and said ” I think he thought my finger was a biscuit”.

The Plaxtock Olympics with Jon doing dressage which was so funny we cried

The water slide

Chainska

Love Grocer and The Petter All skas

The Tin Pots

Cake competition

Honey tequila and Plaxtock pleasers

Snail racing

The stuffed pepper

Frisbee in the sun

Lotte Reineger in the cinema tent that set Tashi off on her PHD

The group photo that sometimes we get round to, sometimes not, but it doesn’t  matter because there is always next year

Table tennis competition

Getting my head shoved down between a hay bale ( you know who you are)

Power cuts and drum solos

The tent pegs

Cheesy disco, the best disco all year

Lying on our backs looking at the stars

Hanging lanterns in the trees so we can find our way back in the dark

Braden’s tiny rave

Toxic Robot

Tim

Hugo

Andrea

Out of sight but in the orchard with us for always

Our Plaxtock family

We love you

See you at the weekend