Steamfair nostalgia Trip

Rather than re-start my blog with anecdotes of the beginnings of my life at University (to sum it all up - awesome) I thought I could start with something a bit more interesting. Last night, me and my friends decided to brave the increasingly cold weather to visit a local funfair on Englefield Green. If you don't know the area I'm living in, its simply like old countryside England. There is a green with cricketers, and a pub overlooking it. I'm sure if I got up early enough I could go out there in the morning and find merry old people cycling past on flimsy bicylces, wishing everyone a good morrow. Anyway, suffice to say it is extremely idyllic.

So to then find tucked into the green, a lit up tiny funfair, pretty much explodes the stereotype-o-meter. For it to get even better is beyond expectations. And yet...

It was a Steam-Fair.

This means that rather than the usual rickety dangerous looking rides, countless stalls full of greasy undefined meat and squealing children, we are instead greeted with rickety, really dangerous looking rides, covered in paint and decoration, heavy oiled steel chugging out plumes of steam to keep it going. Colourful stalls full of undefined meat and sweets. It was fantastic. Even the squealing children were bearable. Everything is put into such proximity together, everything is covered in a glow, the slightly dull and warm yellow of old gas lamps and light bulbs. Old music blared out from unseen crackly speakers. The effect was such that it felt as if you had just walked calmly through time into another age. My sense of direction was shot to hell within seconds, as far as I was concerned there was nothing outside of this bubble of nostalgia. We bought tokens to use on machines that must be over double our own ages, not to win anything but instead for the sheer novelty. I fished for a duck, and in turn won a penguin named Albert. Or Alfred. It doesn't really matter, I got a bloody penguin.

The friendliness around the carnival was infectious, except for one situation. My friend, on losing the fishing duck game, tried to fish for another duck. The man literally leaped over the fencing, grabbed the rod out of my friends hands and yelled "ONE DUCK ONLY!" into his face. We took the tiny rubbish frog and moved on. Quite clearly my friend had broken a cardinal carnie rule, and probably deserved what he got. I don't care, I won a penguin.

The other wondrous thing was seeing the small aforementioned squealing children. The looks of complete joy on their face bought a stark realisation that what they were experiencing would form the memories that would make it such a special experience when they returned at my age. I'm almost jealous that my memories were not of such a brilliant, surreal standard.

We stepped outside of our Victorian paradise only slightly, to view the fireworks. Me and my girlfriend then left and headed back to the halls, as it started to lightly drizzle with rain. The glow from the fair seemed to follow us all the way back, because now as I remember it, everything last night had that sepia-yellow tinge of warmth.

If the reason of coming to university is to prepare for the real world, I can't help feeling I have missed the point utterly.