What
follows is a frank and truthful account of the day’s proceedings at
Martinborough fair: I do solemnly declare.
The
plan, on this fateful day, was for an early rise in order to reach
Martinborough town before 7am. But the best-laid plans..... Anyway, all
involved developed an unusual affinity with their beds that early
morn and therefore we awoke from our slumber way past the time
originally planned. Luckily we had prepared and stocked our transport
the night before and we were soon on our way to sunny Martinborough,
hurray!
We
managed to arrive in the centre of town at about 7.45am. Already the
environs were a seething mass of humanity and it occurred to us that
we might struggle to find our way through the writhing crowd.
Luckily, our pitch was situated in a car park and therefore we were
able to traverse the area without too much trouble. By this time the
other stall holders were in position and hawking their wares with gay
abandon. Within 20 minutes we had managed to raise the awning,
position the trestle tables and place our bows, arrows, assorted arm
guards and slingshots for critical inspection. Our knife selection
was carefully arrayed in the perspex box allotted for their
confinement: Health and Safety is always our main concern, except
when it isn’t.
Within
a minute of arranging our goods we were approached by two young men
of the parish: stout burghers, tall as trees and strong as oak. They
expressed an interest in our knife selection and promptly purchased
two of our finest ‘bush knives’. More knife orders were to follow
and a distinct pattern of purchase was soon to emerge: the knives and
slingshots were hot sellers and were whisked from the stall as if
caught in a maelstrom of doom. The bows on display elicited much
interest and my son and I grew increasingly hoarse as the day
progressed as groups coalesced on our stall frontage demanding to
hear of tales of daring-do of a time long past....... My ancestors in
serried/arrayed ranks swam before my beautiful blue eyes. Stalwart
yeomen bedecked in gambeson and kettle hat marched past clutching poles of
mighty yew. Strained sinews send forth feathered shafts of ash,
finally to rest and lay low the finest chivalry of the French nation.....
Tears did upwell and roll like a babbling brook down my fair cheeks.
I blame the French onion vendor in the adjacent stall. Damn
syn-propanethial-S-oxide! I considered charging my son with the task
of dispatching the Gallic offender responsible for assaulting my lachrymose faculties, with a
yard shaft, but on second thoughts I considered the action ill-advised. I’ve digressed.
As
the day progressed our supply of quality knives and slingshots became
exhausted. Although many expressed an interest in our bows it became
clear that none were prepared to put forth the significant outlay to purchase a quality bow and associated accessories.
This was as predicted so we were not overly discouraged. The plan was
to promote our brand to as many folks as possible and the large
Martinborough venue amply provided for this. In the end, we made a
shade under 500 dollars. A reasonable return for a day’s toil. The
only glitch: some light-fingered nerk managed to steal a single
arrow. Not a catastrophic loss but underscores the need for eternal
vigilance.
After
a long day of hawking our wares and explaining the arcane mysteries
of the archer’s craft, we finally packed up and placed our goods on
my son in law’s pick up truck. To end our arduous day of toiling
under the hot New Zealand sun, we stopped off at the local hostelry
to imbibe a couple of fine ales.
The
whole procedure will be repeated on the 7th March and we
have made plans to replenish our stock. Hopefully, the weather will be
glorious and the day will unwind as before. We may try to promote one
of cheaper entry-level bows. Although relatively cheap, the bow is a
sturdy and consistent ‘shooter’ and a great introduction to the
sport. Anyway, I will pen a progress report of the coming day unless I become terminally bored with the whole thing or am distracted by the latest shiny thing. Arse.
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