The spoils of war...

Instigated by a need to show that gripes and hissy-fits aren’t all I’m about, I believe a bit of positive blogging on the delicacies of local life is on the cards.

In the weeks just passed, Shire fringe dweller Trafalgar felt the need to remind us of its existence with it's 'Battle of Trafalgar Festival'. This particular shindig began in 2005 - the bicentenary of a naval battle off Cape Trafalgar, on the southern coast of Spain, in which the British Royal Navy wiped the ocean floor with the wreckage of 22 French and Spanish ships. It was one of the biggest naval shellackings in history; not a single British vessel was lost. Some tech savvy Spaniard peasant live blogged the events as they unfolded from the shoreline.

The Battle of Trafalgar, as Seen from the Mizen Starboard Shrouds of the Victory.
  Willliam Turner 1806-1808. Oil on canvas. Tate Gallery, London, UK.

In Trafalgar 2010 however, not a single galleon was lost. For a festival that is named after an epic sea battle, I would suggest some kind mock battle in the outdoor pool with rubber dingies and pitchforks. At the very least, the local community of 35 y.o. men still living in their parent's basements could stage a recreation with their Man O'War sets (not to be confused their other Man O'War collection)

   My Dad always scoffed at small town festivals:

“Only towns without character hold festivals.” 

   I don't think Trafalgians should loose any skin over this one, as Dad himself only has character when holding a beverage or two... 

Merit permitting, any town can hold it's head up high over festivities held. But in judging merit, one must determine if the bare minimum requirements of a rip-roaring communal gathering are met:

Were lurid acts of public nudity encouraged?      Fail.

 Was the mayor carried home in a wheelbarrow? Fail. 

 Was anyone burnt at the stake?                            Fail.    

                                                                           

Traffers however found itself making up ground with a nifty town wide garage sale. Once mapped up, festival goers could make their way to one of the 50+ households who opened their carports up to public scrutiny, presenting multitudes of useless crap, adorned with price stickers and contrived anecdotes of how much use and joy said items have brought them over the years.

I'm a dead set sucker for useless crap. Check out my swag:

45" Single: The Proclaimers - 500 Miles

 7" Singles: Cyndi Lauper, Split Endz, Moscow, Cliff Richard

Wicked texta drawing of baked women getting dinked on bike by hideously disproportionate partner. 

Digital set top box & DVD Player/Recorder

And last but not least, quite possibly the most bitchin' action figurine ever to come in my possession: with 26 points of articulation, there is no move this Spidey cannot bust. The kid I bought it off for $2 got burnt. Big time.