wet wet wet

The local Anatolian Festival would have wound up any UKIP voter - the park full of turkish people, women in headscarves, eating pide. But actually it was just like most British summer fetes; lots of marquees with wooden tables and that strange tent/contained grass smell; lots of food stalls selling kebabs and burger and chips; a sound stage with echoing microphones, an over-large presenter and small children standing around looking shy; amateur acts of all sorts; and people dressed up in costumes seeming made out of badly dyed nylon.

And most importantly  - and making it a proper British May fete - it was pouring with rain, the ground was turning to a quagmire, and the marching band didn't look like they were going anywhere soon.