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Made up with a touch of the homemade

Sunny days are here again, which means it’s fete time. I love a fete. Most follow a tried and tested format for the bulk of their programme but pretty much every one has something that makes it different.

We found ourselves at Harvel’s celebrations on Saturday, a small village just over the hill from Snodland. It’s an annual affair attended by a pretty sizeable crowd.

There were burgers and sausages being cooked up from the local farm shop, cakes from the Women’s Institute, a raffle, cordials made from fruit gathered in the local orchards, a toy tombola, a booze tombola, splat the rat, a version of Play Your Cards Right, coconut shy, whisky bowls (bowl a ball through a series of tunnels and highest score of the day wins a bottle), beat the goalie, bouncy castle, a history display, classic cars and ice cream.

All the fun of the fair
All the fun of the fair

The Harvel Hash House Harriers running club organised short races for the children, and there was a hotly-contested dog competition.

We only expected to be there for an hour, but ended up staying most of the afternoon, combined with a short stroll to the village pub where we spent half an hour watching cricket and sampling a pint of beer that had been brewed about four miles away in a neighbouring village.

It was a quintessential English afternoon.

As we went to leave, we happened to be walking behind a couple with their young children who, I’m guessing, were staying at one of the local campsites.

“It’s lovely,” she said. “But it’s all a bit, well, homemade.” Her tone of the word “homemade” wasn’t nasty but clearly wasn’t one of praise.

“Yes,” said the man with her, “but it’s probably produced plenty of entrepreneurs.”

Well, yes, it probably has but not on a global scale and nor would many of them want that.

We’re all different, clearly, because I love homemade. I know that it will have been made with passion and care and I adore the fact I can drink beer and cordial from ingredients gathered on my doorstep and made by people I’ve met. The meat I eat comes from livestock feeding in fields I pass every day.

Knowing where you food comes from is important
Knowing where you food comes from is important

The cakes may not have been visually perfect, but you’d be hard pushed to find better tasting.

And its success was about bringing people together. Laughter filled the afternoon.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of “polished”. I’ll happily go to London and live it up in the Big City. But the thing I love most about the place are the parks. Wide open spaces are my thing and while I love to visit our capital, I couldn’t bear to live there.

So I’m glad this pair came to visit, thank you for putting your money into our little economy (proceeds from this one went to the village hall).

And if homemade isn’t your thing, I feel sorry for you. You really don’t know what you’re missing.

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