The Shepton Mallet Matador

I'm just gearing up for my pilgrimage to Godney Farm and a performance by the mighty, mighty Wurzels.

Yes, I know that doesn't actually have anything to do with the festival, although they did cause a bit of controversy a couple of years ago when they pulled out of a performance at the festival in a diva-esque way. Turns out they weren't particularly happy with playing on the bandstand and wanted a spot on one of the stages, so they pulled out entirely.

Still, having caught them for the first time the following year (yes, I know, live in Somerset your whole life and I'd never seen the Wurzels live. Then again, I don't think the people who live in London hang out near the gates of Buckingham Palace all that often...) on the Avalon Stage - and being one of the lucky few who actually got into the tent, perhaps they had a point.





Having spent that particular afternoon spilling cider all over the people in front of me and bouncing up and down on my sister's boyfriend's foot, I was a convert and thus (as I so often do) decided that everyone I know needed to be a convert also.

So when the posters went up advertising the annual Wurzels-concert-fundraiser for the Masqueraders Carnival Club, there was no way that I wasn't going to drag along my family for the ride.

It took a little doing, to be honest, but soon afterwards, I was clinging cheerfully to tickets and in a taxi on my way out to the middle of nowhere to watch Zummerzet's finest play in a cowshed.

Seriously.

And it was a good night. I won't go into the finer details because..well, actually, I don't remember a lot of them. I know there was singing. I know there was dancing. I know there was a water trough, and a stage with hay bales on. And presumably, The Wurzels.

And I know there was cider.

There must have been, because I don't remember much about the night, and I definatley had a hangover the next day.

So this year, when it rolled around again, it didn't take much to persuade those same people to come back again for another night in the cowshed.

Yes, I know. It's stereotypical. Somerset, Cider and the Wurzels.

Get orf moi laaaand.