So anyhoo, how do you like the pixie wings in the pic above? No self-respecting girl can go to a festival and not wear wings, apparently... I resisted the urge, but I did spend rather a large amount of time in my wellies, which are yellow - does that count?
Now, rather than try to summarise what's been going on over the past week or so, which frankly would take me about three days, I'm just going to share with you three stories on a similar theme.
1) The dressThis incident occurred at the Just So festival and it made me chuckle to myself because it seemed to sum up the whole thing so well (well, that and the fact that I was hideously sleep deprived at the time, which might have had something to do with my hilarity). Anyway, I was waiting outside one of the toilet blocks when a little girl came down the steps to her mum, who was waiting next to me. 'Oooh' said the mum 'do you want to take your dress out of your knickers, darling?' 'No'. 'Uh, okay then.'
2) PizzaThis again took place at the festival. Picture the scene: Mr N and middle are in the 'foodie' part of the festival, ordering a pizza for our dinner. Once they placed the order, the woman serving said that there was about a 20 minute wait and so she'd call them when their pizza was ready. She then asked them what name she should put on the ticket so that she'd know who to call when it was done; to which middle replied: 'Maloney. Knickers Maloney.'
3) The toll bridgeThe journey home from my mum's in Dorset involves a rather scenic trip through a gorgeous village called Bathampton, which has a tiny toll bridge that we need to cross in order to get to the M4. For reasons best known only to himself, and probably mainly because he's an eight-year-old boy, big had decided to take his trousers off in the car when we left my mum's house. As we approached the toll bridge he became a bit concerned that the man collecting the money would see that he was sitting there in his pants, so after a big old fuss he put a pillow over his legs to protect his modesty. Mr N, hilarious wag that he is, pretended to shout out of the window that 'my son's not wearing any trousers. He's sitting here in his underwear. Come and see my son in his undercrackers etc etc.' To which big calmly wound down his window, stuck his head out, looked at the man collecting the toll money and said 'my dad's wearing knickers today'. I'm still not sure how I managed not to crash the car.
I'd like to pretend that the subject of bottoms and underwear gets less hilarious the older you get, but actually, I don't really think it does, does it?