SATIRE: Drunk as a … Fish
Teigh-Anne Toast’s Postcard from St Leonards
“Welcome to the Hastings Juicy Fist Festival!” I looked at my friend, Crystalle de Canta, in disbelief. The compère continued; “Ah, ha, ha, ha! Where’s your sense of humour? You’re at the Hastings Woozy
Flesh Festival!” Crystalle gasped. We were horrified but the diatribe wasn’t over. “Oh I can’t stop joking, me. This is the Hastings Blousy Dish… Ah, shuddup, I’m only having a laugh…”
In fact, we were at the Hastings Boozy Fish Festival. And this really was how we were greeted by the MC. It was a day that had promised so much. Food, music and lashings of alcohol; a classic outing in Hastings. Walking into the arena at The Stade, a sign declared there would be ‘Fun For All The Family!’ And right next to it, another sign trumpeted ‘TWO Defibrillators!’ Since one thing so often leads to another…
CREDIT: Ba Kode
There were stalls laden with local seafood, wine and fishy delicacies. The stage was set for musical entertainment. We quickly found some potted mackerel and bought a large portion each. We spotted a cocktail bar offering its very own ‘Hastings Zinger’. Intrigued, we approached the stall-holder. “Yesssss..?” she asked. “Madame,” I said. “Please may we have two of your finest Zingers?” “Yesssss..?” she replied, and began preparing our drinks. This was a tricky manoeuvre, as she needed both hands to remain upright. “Yesssss..?” she repeated, and presented us with our cocktails. My finished libation combined a pint of tequila with a memory of orange juice. Crystalle was given a mug of vodka and a glacé cherry.
We found a seat and hunkered down for the performance. We were near two large tables of festival-goers wearing colour-coordinated outerwear. We sensed a rivalry between these groups. Which was odd, because they were all sporting the same crackdry® towel-lined coatigans. “What’s going on? Are they in a cult?” demanded Crystalle. But I was knowledgeable on this subject. “You wear them to change your togs on the beach”, I informed her. And to stem further questions, I added, “Crystalle, not everyone owns a kaftan!”
Amongst others on the playbill were two local ukulele bands; The Ukuladies and The Dirty Old Pluckers. Little did we know that rock and roll carnage had erupted backstage. Tanked up on Kent cider (Rotten Apples 10% proof), they’d got into a huge fight over the size of their instruments. Battered ukes and tangled strings littered the scene. Members of the Anarchist’s Choir trembled tearfully, their punk hairdos wilting in the heat. Any remaining acts had fled.
Oblivious, the MC was still onstage, antagonising the patrons. “Seriously folks, it’s time for some music now… so up yours… ha ha, I mean down your hatch! Alright Doris, keep your hair on!” But just at that moment, one of the brightly-clad festival-goers made a booming declaration that the Margate Boozy Fish Festival was far superior to the Hastings Boozy Fish Festival. Oh dear! Who could say when the first vegan scratching was thrown? Retaliation was instant. Food flew in every direction. A heel of stale sourdough hit the MC between the eyes, and he staggered backwards. Most satisfying! And soon enough, oodles of nut-free, gluten-free, organic and locally-sourced produce sloshed down and slathered over everything in sight. It was bourgois-mageddon!
Crystalle and I did what any sensible ladies would have done in our position. We took cover under one of the tables and enjoyed our mackerel and massive drinks in peace. And we both agreed that TWO defibrillators really were better than one, after all. What a marvellous afternoon it turned into. Cin cin!
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