Fair fatigue

On a gloriously sunny June day I duly obliged my committment to the village fair by appearing in the stocks at the allotted time. I recommended the use of an old bar stool for next year's fair since standing at an obtuse angle with a gravity fed pot belly was quite uncomfortable on the small of the back after a while. Nevertheless, grown men and kids alike took great pleasure in hurling wet sponges at my miserable visage for 12 minutes and 40 seconds.
A large crowd turned out for the fair and both the George and the beer tent were packed full. Although splendid for takings - probably the best day of the year - there is nothing worse on a hot sunny day than working a sweaty bar and running out of glasses, warm beer, ice, staff and patience (particularly with Joe Public). - pass me that boiled sweet, these grapes are sour.

Business was reassuringly steady at the White Hart throughout the day and takings were boosted when the battle fatigued fair organisers decided to dine late-on.