Day Three From the Bath and West

Like Justin Timberlake, I went to the Bath and West yesterday with my mother as my guest. Having two chickens of her own, she has developed a slight obsession. Birthday cards frequently sport a nice plump hen. Gifts, though not poultry related, are likely to be wrapped in chicken themed paper. The real tragedy is Sunday lunch; roast chicken has dropped completely off the radar.
On finding out that I was a judge at the show, she phoned and summoned me over. “Think of all the chickens,” she said, “and I bet you’ve got badges.” As she had expected, the chickens were magnificent, and I did have some badges. Many of the birds were so beautiful Michelangelo could have painted them. And some, my predictable favourites, were enormous. The idea that these chickens lay eggs seems totally ridiculous; surely they lay six egg omelettes, already in a pan.
The chickens all seen, we headed for the Member’s Tent, my Mum proudly sporting her purple badge. The sun was hot enough to cook with and we were desperate for hydration. There was only one thing for it, and that thing, was Pimms. Ice cold drinks in hand we sat back in the sun, put our feet up and listened to the Calypso drifting over from the bandstand.
During a short break in the music a roar of applause came up from the Grandstand. We finished our drinks and nosily headed in. Roaming the field was a phenomenally well rehearsed marching band. “That’s the Gurkhas,” my Mum said. As they got right up to where we were, two huge blokes with knives ran out and pretended to kill each other, all in time with the music. “They’re good aren’t they.” My Mum said, “I’ve seen them before.” They were very good. They were like ballet dancers. SAS ballet dancers.
Not usually one for sentiment, a tear welled in my mother’s eye. Her father, who is no longer with us, was in the army you see. She travelled the world with him, and apparently, on army bases there were always marching bands. Here at the Bath and West Show, right at the front of the Grandstand, she was reminded of him and all the things he had seen and done.
Touring the food halls yesterday, I came across a man selling duck burgers. These were firm favourites with my sister and I as children. With sentimentality running wild I took my Mum there and bought us both some. It is surely a very good sign when even back at home, the show still goes on. As I sit and write, the barbie is being lit, the sun is still shining, and the burgers will soon be on