It was the first time in some years that the town and surrounding cliffs weren't dressed in shades of grey for my visit. I love Sidmouth when it's all misty and mysterious, but I have to say, the sunlit view along the coast to Beer Head was just stunning.
The moment we walked into the town centre, I heard the opening bars of a familiar piece of music, and as we rounded the corner, there were Blackbeard's Tea Party busking on the pavement. My nephew, David, is in the centre on the djembe, and his girlfriend, Laura, is playing the fiddle. Before the first song had finished, people were dancing in the streets (me included).
... and hat stalls to patronise ...
...plus all the other sights and delights of folk week in Sidmouth.
In the end, they ran out of CDs to sell, and had a great festival (apart from Paul having a head-on collision with a drunk driver six miles out of Sidmouth, but that hasn't happened yet in this account, and anyway, he was uninjured, though the car was a write-off). It would be really good to see them somewhere more official next year, though. The Ham Marquee would do.
There was just time on the way back to the car for a last bit of magic. Writing in fire. Poetry.