Springtime and the Hay- on- Wye Festival

The day started well with good sunshine and the fact that yet another member of the slapper twitterati had been reported for spam by the time I checked out her ( for ‘her’ it always is), profile. Then the day took a downturn with our on-line banking account blocking Sian’s ID while she tried to help me get the necessary numbers to retrieve my points so we could get a nice voucher for Sainsbury’s before the points were cancelled due to old age. After 90 minutes on the phone and not being allowed to continue with my request for an ID number because I didn’t have an ID number, we were eventually told to go to our branch. For good measure someone must have thought at this point that it was a jolly good idea to take Sian’s number off the system as well!

As neither of us now had on-line banking a trip to Hay-on-Wye became essential. Normally this would not be a problem but in Festival Week? Oh dear! Nevertheless, as things turned out, we had a very pleasant sunny afternoon in the town. Our banking problems would seem to have been sorted within 10 minutes, although we have not actually tried the new numbers out on-line. We managed to get very quick service at the Post Office. ( If you go to Hereford’s new Post Office with more lights, counter numbers and service tickets, than actual service, it’s best not to be in any kind of a hurry at all) followed by two cones of sheep ice cream from Shepherds. A quick check in the charity shops for bargains and then an attempt to get a copy of Broad Sheep, the live arts bulletin. The bookshop where I regularly check out the latest second hand sheet music denied all knowledge of having held such a publication for distribution. As I have picked up quite a few editions from this establishment I left without comment and later learnt from the helpful ladies at the Tourist Information Office by the main car park that it is due out any time now. Perhaps the warm weather had brought the guy out from his dark hibernation into an unfamiliar world.

In the depths of the newly revamped Richard Booths Books ( now under new ownership) we discovered an excellent collection of photographs by students from the Hereford College of Art, entitled ‘Portraits of Hay’ with many familiar faces recorded. Chris Gibbon’s butcher’s bike featured in one of them which reminded us that we must get some of his brilliant sausages. This we duly did after calling in at Kilvert’s Hotel. Sian had a glass of local apple juice while I treated myself to an afternoon pint of Butty Bach. (Sian tells me this last sentence sounds like Mr Pooter: that can’t be true. H e would have made it in time for a ‘cold collation luncheon’.)
Chris Gibbons was coming to the end of another busy day when we eventually reached him with much of his stock retiring to the fridge for the night. We still had time to talk about his prize-winning Welsh Ponies and his planned showing of them at the Three Counties Show and the Royal Welsh. A man who clearly knows and loves his chosen breed. I told him of the many happy gallops I had had as a student along the sands at Harlech on a Welsh Cobb and how I regret having never got round to making a trip over the Abergwesyn Pass to Tregaron. I think this passed for as some idea of heaven for us both, and as I am always fond of saying, there is no harm in keeping the dream alive. It shows we are still here to appreciate this lovely part of the world.

The afternoon sun was now quite hot and the shuttle bus to the festival site was doing good business. The idea of the festival is great and it is an important annual boost to the local economy but it is very frustrating finding so many of the tickets are sold to Friends of the Festival before they go on general sale. The kind of thing we would like to go to is either on at 9 am or sold out, so we just soak up the business of the festival in the town and delight in seeing local businesses thriving. We see Hay as being on loan during this time and the peak summer months to those who, in a way, need it much more than we do. We can always reclaim in the damp days of winter and chat in the Sandwich Cellar with Sue and Mal when times are less fraught. Never can the phrase ‘gather ye rose buds while ye may’ have more meaning for those who have to make the bulk of a year’s living in a few summer months. ‘Visitors? Dont knock ‘em, we’re farming people now’, as a much missed farmer friend of ours once said.

Dacier