Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

Bang on cue, and in true British style, the rain arrived just in time for the Bank Holiday weekend. After more than 50 days without a drop, the Reading Festival, carnivals across the country, and the Shrivenham Fete were all duly blessed with downpours of biblical proportions.

Freddie’s bright new red wellies proved perfect for splashing through growing puddles, while Jack and I compared notes on the relative merits of different lightweight waterproof jackets. Today was shaping up to be a rigorous test for technical outdoor gear. Karen and I were mostly just relieved to have actually located our waterproofs amidst the mountain of clothes still boxed up from the home renovation.

Karen’s extensive coat collection offered her multiple options for today’s inclement weather. However, whichever jacket she picked had to perform flawlessly; if it let in a single drop, it would be unceremoniously passed on next week. She is currently on a relentless mission to restock the local charity shops.

Shrivenham Fete was the quintessential British village affair. There was a collection of vintage cars, painstakingly restored and kept pristine for their annual outing, now quietly rusting and leaking under the deluge. The local brass band performed under a canvas marquee, playing mostly to long-suffering family members under strict instructions to sit out the storm and listen regardless. There was also a lovely hog roast—which quickly morphed into more of a soggy roast—though it was still thoroughly delicious.

In the ‘Main Arena’, the local dog club gave an obedience display followed by a dog agility demonstration. The word ‘demonstration’ was used loosely; it was mostly drowned dogs demonstrating against having to perform in the pouring rain for an audience of virtually no one. The dogs were visibly unimpressed, but their overly enthusiastic handlers gamely pressed on, executing a relay race at a pace only slightly faster than a brisk stroll.

Watching them brought back fond memories of the early days of our own agility careers with the dogs. These community events were always fantastic practice for the future—and brilliant fun, provided it wasn’t raining. Which was rare.

Freddie took a shine to the giant bouncy assault course—it seems bouncy castles have received a major upgrade for 2026. I dutifully handed over three pounds while GMa helped Freddie peel off his shoes and socks. Jack and Sarah secretly knew he wouldn’t actually go through with it, despite all of GMa’s unbridled enthusiasm and coaxing. As he stood wobbling on the sodden, shifting canvas, it became instantly clear that GMa was going to have to launch a joint expedition.

Off came GMa’s shoes and socks, just as the heavens opened with renewed fury. Together, she and Freddie stormed the wet, inflated fortress. Unfortunately, the combination of gale-force wind, driving rain, and unstable rubber rendered staying upright completely impossible.

The violent rocking motion of the saturated canvas virtually spat them both back out onto the muddy grass. Even a Navy SEAL team equipped with micro-spikes, tactical harnesses, and grappling hooks couldn’t have mounted a successful assault on that slippery, waterlogged obstacle course.

Defeated by the element of bouncy inflatable warfare, we trudged back to the house, accompanied by the fading voice of the relentlessly upbeat dog agility commentator still trying to whip up enthusiasm from a rapidly retreating crowd.

Still, it wouldn’t be a proper British summer without a thoroughly drenched village fete.