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Sunday, July 06, 2003
There are so many festivals on: Glastonbury, Garsington and Glyndebourne. (Do you think '3G' a good group description, or has the term been appropriated for something else, do you think? I can't quite remember.)
The Lady and I went to Garsington very recently. It was an exquisite evening (more about the music soon). We tried to enter the gardens discreetly (and discretely, come to that) but people do not often arrive on horseback and, for a moment, we became the main attraction, taking attention away from half Margaret Thatcher's cabinet, studiously ignoring one another.
(Ah well, if they like country house opera they can't be as bad as their subservience to 'that woman' would imply.)
I do deprecate people who draw attention to themselves and we quickly stabled Hector and Scylla and mingled with the crowd. In the literature about Garsington, I see nothing about unusual methods of transport but at least no-one had the temerity to arrive by helicopter. Our visits to 'Le Manoir au Quatre Saisons' for luncheon have frequently been spoiled by the loud thrup-thrup-thrup of rotor blades. Horses may temporarily hold the attention but, even on a bean-rich diet, they cannot drown a conversation.
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