So, at the end of August I ran away to Whitby for the folk festival (again). I've written about it here before, and... well... much the same sort of stuff happened. I did some dancing, some playing music, some listening to music, some drinking, some eating and lots of catching up with friends.

( Flash clog dancing, the generalised idiocy of rapper teams, and a surprise from Coventry )

On Saturday the mother (who was visiting) and I were up bright and early, on an overground train to Camden Road. We were heading to Cecil Sharp House (headquarters of the English Folk Dance and Song Society) for a day's clog-dancing.

( George, the elephant, went on his holidays... )

This weekend, it was time for the annual slog up to Leyland for the Lancashire Wallopers' weekend of clog-dancing classes. The Wallopers are a long-established clog display team - not that that stopped me from feeling slightly risqué when I googled from work for "wallopers weekend" a week or so ago. (If you care, I didn't find anything particularly ( Read more... )

When I said I was going away this weekend, I got accused of having a social life. Well, kind of - it depends if you count clog dancing conventions in Lancashire as "social life".

( A mouse lived in a windmill in old Amsterdam )