Coming Home
January 1st 2007 09:45
“Home James, and don’t spare the horses!”
I have no idea what that phrase means, it was just something my Grandmother used to say. A lot. Whatever it means, I’m sure her love for cask wine contributes.
Travelling home recently to celebrate Christmas with my family back here Tamworth had me thinking about various things. ONe being, whenever I meet someone new and I’m forced to tell them where I’m from, I’m met with usually one of two responses:
1. “Oh, Tamworth! I love it there; it’s so nice and quiet. Why did you leave?”
And, more frequently:
2. “Oh, Tamworth! You must really love country music. I hate country music.”
The latter wears thin, but I take it in my stride. For the record, I loathe and detest country music, but I make no apologies for the Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton albums in my CD collection. They are nothing to be ashamed of. The Country Music Festival just kind of happens around me every year, while I scowl through the main street of the town trying to get the morning paper and a coffee without being heckled by a busker or asked for directions by a be-bumbagged visitor. It can be a bit fun, though – especially when it floods. There’s nothing more pleasant than seeing someone’s mattress floating down the river while they’re interviewed for the local news, saying things like: “Oh, we lost the caravan but it was worth it just to see Lee Kernagan. We’ll be back next year!”
Despite the theme of the festival being utterly grating, it is undeniably spirit-filled and people are genuinely happy. There’s a certain safe atmosphere, one which shows that the town is capable of a good party. Still, my family and I choose to be the glowering wallflowers that bitch freely about everyone else and complain about the music.
I have no idea what that phrase means, it was just something my Grandmother used to say. A lot. Whatever it means, I’m sure her love for cask wine contributes.
Travelling home recently to celebrate Christmas with my family back here Tamworth had me thinking about various things. ONe being, whenever I meet someone new and I’m forced to tell them where I’m from, I’m met with usually one of two responses:
1. “Oh, Tamworth! I love it there; it’s so nice and quiet. Why did you leave?”
And, more frequently:
2. “Oh, Tamworth! You must really love country music. I hate country music.”
The latter wears thin, but I take it in my stride. For the record, I loathe and detest country music, but I make no apologies for the Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton albums in my CD collection. They are nothing to be ashamed of. The Country Music Festival just kind of happens around me every year, while I scowl through the main street of the town trying to get the morning paper and a coffee without being heckled by a busker or asked for directions by a be-bumbagged visitor. It can be a bit fun, though – especially when it floods. There’s nothing more pleasant than seeing someone’s mattress floating down the river while they’re interviewed for the local news, saying things like: “Oh, we lost the caravan but it was worth it just to see Lee Kernagan. We’ll be back next year!”
Despite the theme of the festival being utterly grating, it is undeniably spirit-filled and people are genuinely happy. There’s a certain safe atmosphere, one which shows that the town is capable of a good party. Still, my family and I choose to be the glowering wallflowers that bitch freely about everyone else and complain about the music.
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Comment by Oblivion
Keep up the writing. It is enjoyable to read.
Comment by Joe Blogg
Joe Blogg's Blog
manchesterunited
collingwoodfootballclub
Instead of fessing up yer from Tamworth go for something more exotic and tell 'em yer from Malta.
Comment by anxiousoutsider
The Anxious Outsider
Joe Blogg - Heh, inbred wood-duck? Points for originality at least. I will endeavour to cultivate my exotic mystique for my Maltese front. Thanks for stopping by, your blog is rather charming. I'll be dropping in soon.