There were people with cows and bulls,
and owners and breeders of all sizes with their sheep.
This being Somerset there were a great many tents selling cider along with all the usual show ground favourites,
and some good music from the Harlem Rhythm Cats.
Then we went into the flower marquee. The smell of crushed grass, the strange tented light, the perfume of flowers, all so incredibly nostalgic. There were gardens on plates,
and 'tea for two'.
Cucumber sandwiches, of course!
The same chap seemed to have scooped most of the prizes.
"What do you cook with an onion as big as 'e?"
I suggested batch cooking for the freezer and ratatouille.
We agreed that the first prizewinner really knows his onions.
How sensational is his display!
We weren't too sure.
Outside Himself was having a lovely time ogling old cars and chatting to the owners.
In another marquee we looked at ducks. We used to keep Khaki Campbells. I love ducks, they are so sweet tempered.
'Only third place,' said this Indian Runner, 'What a disgrace, I can hardly show my face.'
'On second thoughts it's quite good, I could have been last. I'll just sit it out and smile.'
(I've heard Indian Runners being described as hock bottles on legs!)
Outside in the ring it was time for the driving pairs. Every aspect of the driving event was a pleasure to watch; the people, the horses, the rigs, the driving skills and not least the very particular judge.
Driver and groom going by,
and back again.
We thought that this very fine lady would be the winner, and we were right. She and her horse came round the ring in great style. Each time she went by everyone applauded and received a very gracious "thank you."
Horses were clipping the fences as we left, too nerve-wracking for me!The car was parked in a distant field. We could hear the Wurzels singing behind us in the distance as we bumped over the meadow, heading for home before the rush.