Blustery Busfest: The Premier Experience

Brooding skies

With the horrendous news footage of Hurricane Irma fresh in our minds and a pretty iffy UK forecast in prospect, I was feeling quite relieved that we had taken the decision to book into Malvern’s Premier Inn for the weekend of Busfest.  

After the school run on Friday, we headed over to Malvern to join Gaz.  Thankfully, we dodged any thunder and lightning.  I must have been really awful in a previous life.  I hate driving when there is lightning.  I duck every time there is a flash, just as though I am anticipating being struck down by a thunder bolt.  Not the best approach when in charge of a moving vehicle.

Makeshift Flag

Under any other circumstances, it’s hard not to relax, driving along the Worcester Road - the vantage point being the stunning peaks of the Malvern hills.  However, Busfest is the world’s biggest VW Transporter show and attracts visitors from all over the globe.  You usually hit the ground running, fueled by adrenaline, conversation and coffee, until it’s time to pack away and then the wave of tiredness hits...  

Fortunately for Gaz, Friday had been a slow and steady day for trade, as the masses were busy arriving on site and keen to set up before the weather turned moody.

I had a walk around and caught up with Anna (IseaSurf).  We talked screen printing, coastal living and sinus infections (hope you’re feeling better Anna!)  

Of course, I didn’t leave empty handed and purchased a pair of funky mermaid leggings (third from right).  That’s the beauty of the festival season.  Even if you forget your suitcase, you can always pull together an individual outfit for a reasonable price.  

We spent the evening catching up with friends, but this time, when the air temperature became distinctly autumnal, we headed off to our luxury hideaway – a trading estate in Malvern.  Doesn’t sound very glam does it?  But it was quiet and the beds really are as comfy as Lenny Henry says in the adverts. 

Malvern digs

So, somewhat refreshed and distinctly perkier that we might usually be early on a Saturday morning, we headed back to the showground for an exceptional day’s trading.  Our neighbours, Retro Classic Clothing, had kept an eye on our stand during our brief morning absence as we were en route to the site.  It also gave them chance to exact revenge on Gaz (more on that later) after he initiated what I can only describe as “Sticker Slap Guerilla Warfare.”  In short, Gaz was slowly but surely re-branding their stand as Voodoo Street by covering every available surface with our promotional stickers.

We met the hardcore VW festival-goers and regular Voodoo Street visitors (always a pleasure), but also, being Busfest, encountered people from all over the world.  One of my favourite moments was during an unintentional music-off with the stand opposite.  We had Joy Division’s Love Will Tear Us Apart blasting our of our BruteBox; the opposition something very different.  They cranked up their volume a little more than was necessary, much to the irritation of one German visitor, who was clearly enjoying our song choice.  He was moved to poke his head through our gazebo to announce, in heavily accented English: “I love ze Joy Division!” and like the scene out of Sparticus, prompted several other voices to echo his sentiment. 

The Invisible Man

Gaz also had a bizarre exchange with a Mexican, who promised him that when he returned to Mexico, “You and I will do good things with Voodoo Street.”

By Saturday evening, we were fit to drop.  Gaz doesn't sleep well at the best of times (I on the other hand am usually out as soon as my head hits the pillow).  A visit to our neighbours camping pitch (complete with inflatable sofas) and another quick catch up with friends and we were off to enjoy the spoils of our visit to Morrisons (wine, cheese, vintage cider, crisps, brownies) and sit back for a night of terrible Saturday night TV in our hotel room.  How rock and roll are we?  If I could have, I would have thrown the TV out of the window, but we were on the ground floor, and the windows don't open.

Sunday morning was slow to start, a lot of day visitors being put off by the weather.  Caleb and I bailed at around 2 pm, personally escorted off site by one of the stewards.  Gaz held the fort until closing time. 

After we’d caught up on online orders and enquiries, we were enjoying a couple of drinks, when, in the midst of a conversation about the weekend, Gaz spotted that Retro Classic Clothing had sticker slapped his trainers.  He was so dog tired, he only spotted their handywork after he’d paraded around our local supermarket in them.  You guys!!!

Next weekend it’s Vdubs in the Valley and we are praying to the sun gods that the weather improves.  I’m hoping that it’s not a bad omen that Gaz’s offer of a fresh, hot pasty to a homeless person today was met with: “I can’t eat steak and ale.”  Until next time!

Dungeons and Dragons

Why is it when we have a packed calendar, we get the fear and yet the prospect of free weekends seems exciting but also daunting?  With freedom of choice comes indecision.  How will we fill our time?  Where will we go?  Somehow, passing the time doing anything short of amazing feels like wasted time, when so many weekends have been accounted for. Panic sets in. 

I call it “the comedown.”  Regularly engaging with our supporters/friends galvanises the feeling that we are on the right track with Voodoo Street, but take away that dialogue; the festival vibes and suddenly we feel cut adrift.  Out of touch. 

Processing orders online is anonymous.  As grateful as we are for them, it’s just not the same as engaging with a friendly face. 

T-shirts are T-shirts at the end of the day, or so you might think, but once you have been privy to a man’s 20 minute deliberation about whether the large or extra large tee “hangs” better from his neck, you realise that:

a)      It’s a myth that women are a nightmare to shop with and;

b)      Buying a standard fit T-shirt is obviously a more exact science than either of us ever realised!

So whilst receiving an online clothing order still offers the usual thrill of having been chosen, it’s now also filled with the trepidation of sending it out there and wondering if the neck will be ok! 

Touch wood, we’ve never had any issues with clothing sold online and love it when people take time out to photograph their purchases and tag us in them.  It makes it worthwhile.  Here are a few recent ones.

Photo courtesy of official_jr_skating

Thank god for Instagram and Facebook!  Those who choose to interact with us on social media may not realise it, but they are like co-workers – our own little cyber office.  By day, we’re beavering away in our dungeon, at Voodoo Towers and this contact with the outside world gives us a buzz.  (There’s only so long you can spend chatting to the postman without coming off as creepy J)

Lee Foulkes in his Voodoo Street Urban Army Cap

At this point, we’ve sold one of our stickers to nearly every corner of the globe at some point and have encountered some pretty “out there” surnames.  However, on Friday night a particularly familiar name popped up on an order of stickers.  After a little Internet research, we discovered that it was indeed the son of a certain Cypriot born member of BBC’s Dragon’s Den.  Not necessarily worthy of champagne popping, but definitely a talking point.  Another swiftly followed this order, from one Martin Kemp, although we’re doubtful that it was Spandau Ballet’s bassist.

Photo Courtesy of Steve and Cat Bath

Vespa Love

So, back to our free weekend.  What did we do?  Well, after a week of stock taking, updating our online store, washing rain battered odds and sods and reconciling a mountain of receipts, we were kept busy with family birthday celebrations on Friday. Saturday’s torrential rain and consequent flooding also made us grateful that we weren’t standing in the middle of a field somewhere, although the enforced time indoors did result in the beginnings of a new little project for Voodoo Street.  We also spent a little time on a design that we periodically tinker with.  (Hopefully we’ll be able to share these new bits and pieces with you very soon). We rounded off Saturday with a curry and beers with friends.

Can you buy grey jelly?

In other news, our favourite time of year - Halloween - is fast approaching and already, ghoulish Chinese tat is creeping into our house.  So far, we have some tea light holders, a jelly mould in the shape of a brain and 2 pumpkins.  There will be more.  This year we seriously need to up our game on the pumpkin front.  Both of last year’s gourds were hurriedly carved on Halloween and in all honesty would probably have looked better if we had taken a machete to them blindfolded!

Incidentally, in an update to my last blog, we discovered this sign nailed to a tree in the woods.  Our familiar outlook of tall woodland pines at the end of our garden (a view we fell in love with when we first looked at the house, which looks like a location from a Stephen King novel) is clearly not going to be around for much longer.  It looks as though their days are numbered.  Very sad.

Today marks the fourth sunny day in a row, which makes it hard to focus when I have a day of admin ahead of me.  Warm as it is by day, the temperatures seem to be plummeting at night in these parts and as we all know, the drop in evening autumn temperature marks the arrival of my nemesis – the spider.  I can handle zombies, ghosts and anything else Halloween throws at me, but I find these creatures truly terrifying.  I’m not a fan of insects in general; anything bigger than an aphid increases my heart rate and not in a good way.  We have had some roasters in our house: unnaturally hairy, too many legs, muscles ffs!  Gaz has to carry out a night time “sweep” before I go upstairs.  Maybe I should consider hypnosis.

An accurate artist's impression of a typical spider found in our house with frightening regularity

Anyway, onwards and upwards!  Til next time!