A few weeks ago, I was just starting my walk home from the museum when I suddenly found myself on the sidewalk on my right knee. I have no idea what happened, but I suppose I must've tripped. I don't recall any such thing, but there I was. I didn't stumble or anything--just went down. I gathered up my bag and was thinking, 'Well now I have to get up.' There were probably some cars passing by but no other pedestrians, so I shifted to my left knee, already damaged from previous falls, and stood up, surprised at how easily I was able to do this, considering there was nothing to grab onto. I checked my pants, assuming they were ripped. They weren't, but when I got home I discovered that my knee was. I limped home, washed off my knee, put some antiseptic cream on it, and plunked myself down and my leg up. That was how I spent the next several days, pretty much--thank goodness for books and yarn! Sleeping was not coming easy because I had to stay on my back all the time, so I was having trouble falling asleep and then waking up after a few hours in pain. My leg was puffy and all kinds of colours. Still, I was moving better after a few days and able to do necessary tasks, although stairs aggravated things. Mainly, I wanted to sleep more.
A couple weeks later, we had some summery weather and it was hot and uncomfortable. I was still having to sleep on my back. Not a good combination, so I got even less sleep. That was a shame because I'd really wanted to get some good sleep before last weekend when the dreaded Harvest Fair Festival began--or as I call it, the Annual Mega Noise Pollution Event. I knew that I would get very little sleep for the 5 days this crappy thing was going on so wanted to go into it rested. Oh well.
It was as bad as I expected. Last year was our first here and we were appalled at what it turned out to be. On the last day, they close Main St and vendors line either side. The street is crammed with people walking around. We thought there would be artists and craftspeople, but there were only a handful--mostly it was people with cheap plastic junk. Once I got home from that, I knew I wouldn't be going ever again and this year, I didn't.
Worst of all though is the noise. This year they put speakers on Main St. We don't live on Main St, but off of it and we were located between speakers, so we heard the bad music all day and then when they had live performances on Main St (also bad music) we heard that, too. The biggest disruption came from a nearby bar with a 'beer garden.' Music there was supposed to start at 9, but of course they were always late so sometimes didn't start until 10. The same songs were being repeated over and over again on the same night and on consecutive nights. If I have to hear Sweet Caroline complete with drunk Irish people singing, 'So good, so good, so good' and 'whoa-oh-oh' I think I will scream. Also some maudlin song about how 'this is my homeland, the place I was born in...' They seem to wait until everyone is good and toasted before they sing that one for the first time. Sometimes the singers clearly get drunk along with the audience because they start slurring their words when they scream into the microphone. When the gigs were done after 3 or 4 hours, the drunk people would hang around outside and yell (they think they're singing), laugh, and scream. Since it was hot, we had to keep the windows open so we heard everything--against our will. We would hear it even with the windows closed, but it is worse with them open. On Sunday, I heard one of the stragglers say, 'It's 5:02' before the group broke up. I didn't get to sleep until 4 or 5 in the morning each of the 5 nights of the 'festival.' We have nights like this through the summer, but they're usually more spread out. When they're concentrated into one long period of time, it gets on my last nerve even more. There is a wee bit of humor--I find it funny how some of these people, who are country-western singers, have their little twang. I wonder if they practice as they pretend to be from Alabama or someplace. The laughter never lasts long--I can't stand country western music. Whatever the genre, the music is so loud that it disrupts our life. A friend sent me ear plugs, which do almost drown out the drunks, but not the music. I can sometimes add my large headphones, which cover my ears, and turn up certain things to the max, but sometimes even that doesn't work and all I can hear is the cacophony from the beer garden. Wandering drunk people in the middle of the night is a very Irish thing. We've heard them in every place we've lived, but this place is the worst for that.
Publicans are always whining about things--taxes, drink driving laws, outdoor smoking--and saying their business will fail. It's true that many pubs have closed, but there are still plenty left. The market was clearly over-saturated. This is a village of 800 people. There are 4 standalone pubs, a bar inside a hotel, and another inside a restaurant on Main St alone. I am told there used to be 14 pubs in town.
Anyway, I woke up yesterday to the first day post-fair. It was chilly and raining. I was thrilled. Last night I slept well. I hope there's plenty more of that kind of thing in my near future!
