Nevermind the 80s, it's still acceptable in mid-Devon (and long may it remain so)

I went back to the beer festival with my brother and sister-in-law.  Everybody seemed to be there, even the lady who won't say the Peace in church but just sits with her arms crossed staring at the floor while everyone else shakes hands. The Thorvertones showed us that you can get away with covers pretty well if you just go up there and do them with confidence in your own style, and they rocked the village with their guitary versions of Personal Jesus and Don't You Want Me Baby.  People ranging in age from teenagers to the retired were walking like an Egyptian or doing the Timewarp -- it's been a while since I did the Timewarp, and I expect it will be a while before I do the Timewarp again.  Lots of people were really throwing themselves into that one -- "great thrusting, Ashill!" as the singer shouted between choruses. It's one of those occasions when you think that perhaps you've lost something through the amount of choice on offer in ordinary life.  I wouldn't go to an event like this in a city, but when it's next door in the middle of nowhere it seems foolish to miss it, and so everyone's there enjoying themselves together, while dogs scrounge bits of pork roast and children play complicated games of tag round the outside of the tents.  And goodness there was some creative dance going on -- some people seemed to be just trying to get their limbs as far away from their bodies as possible in unusual ways.  Hurray for mid-Devon!

What's more, I have now tasted all but two of the festival beers.  There's no point my trying to remember which they are right now, though I've got marks for them all on my tasting sheet.  Tomorrow's the last day so hopefully I'll finish them then and maybe put some notes up here.