Upton Blues Festival 2013
It had been a good evening and there was no clue to the dark events that were to follow. The banter, beer and music were good. Sartorially, a couple of us had made the effort; some looked like they had pulled on the first old rags they could find in their wardrobe; one rather portly gentleman wore an old kaftan which first saw the light of day during the Isle of Wight Festival in 1969; and an old gentleman dressed in green from head to foot in an attempt to merge into the undergrowth.
At the end of the evening everyone made it to the bus stop on time… though the portly gentleman, supervising his son for the evening (though it was difficult at times to see who was actually supervising whom) forgot he lived in St. Johns and went to the Tewkesbury bus stop instead…luckily his son was on hand to remind him.
The mood at the bus stop was friendly and we chatted to others there. It was only when the bus hove into view that the mood changed dramatically. The Boughton contingent formed a rolling maul and charged the doors, handing off would-be passengers and allowing the four giggling students to slip unnoticed down the blind side and claim the love seats towards the back of the bus. During the journey they forced every passenger getting on or off to run the gauntlet of their vitriolic remarks…a sad indictment of today’s Yoof Culture!
The bus had hardly crossed Upton Bridge when the elderly gentleman got into deep conversation with the Lithuanian hunchback bus driver. He barely knew a word of English, but the driver was surprisingly able to understand him. The driver - no doubt with his company’s policy of keeping nutters off the bus printed indelibly on his brain - convinced the elderly gentleman that the next stop was indeed Broadheath, whereupon he alighted. The doors closed and almost immediately the elderly gentleman seemed to realise his mistake, but in order to avoid loss of face he hugged the nearest tree and was heard to say “Matron thank goodness you are here to meet me” as the bus pulled away.
A little further on, one of the earlier front-rowers at 11.13 pm proceeded in a westerly direction to the front of the bus and performed an act of gross indecency. A full moon emerged from his khaki shorts and Mickey Mouse pants, so big and white that if Neil Armstrong had have been there he would have planted the stars and stripes and claimed it for the USA. The four giggling students giggled even louder and at a higher pitch, the portly gentleman momentarily blinded by the reflected light called “OUT!”, and one or two of our party experienced some inexplicable stirrings in their own nether regions. The mooner at once realised his shame, produced his warrant card and arrested himself and will appear before magistrates on Monday morning.
The bus journey ended with no further incidents but left some unanswered questions….would such scenes be repeated at Worcester Beer Festival? Would the four students’ voices have broken by then? Has the mooner ever tried waxing?
It’s been emotional.