At the crossroads at the top of ‘Badby Road West’, before it became plain old ‘Badby Road’ where the stench of piss from the Evelyn Wright care home and deep fried frozen food from our child minder, Sheila ‘Mystery’ Green’s house bombarded you from either side, there used to be a small, hand painted sign nailed to a tree, above a little concrete bench which would appear some time in the middle of May each year. The sign read: “Carnival – June 13th – Daventry Recreation Ground” and was the signal that we were in for another wet weekend in June, surrounded by crap floats, scummy kids in face paint, the bastard pipe band from hell (well Corby – close enough) and the stench of burning flesh, courtesy of the round table pig roast. The floats would travel around the town’s various estates at snails pace for about 2 hours in the morning, ending the parade at ‘The Rec’, otherwise known as the ‘Train Park’ due to the old train engine used as a climbing frame (which was useful as there were at least 2 other parks known as ‘The Rec’ in the town… imaginative I know). Then the real festivities would begin, probably compered by someone from the Round Table or the Town Council. The Mayor would swan around in his Mr T costume followed by a few majorettes dropping batons, the St Johns Ambulance, a few unfortunates from the girl’s brigade and the brass band. Everyone would be holding their breath, dreading the moment the bastard pipe band, comprising depressed ex steel workers from the slums of Glasgow via Corby, would be released onto Daventry Carnival to screech their way around the park amidst a mild drizzle to really push home to miserable tone of the day. It wasn’t all bad, I remember it being sunny one year I think. Also, there were always a few highlights: the radio Northampton roadshow blasting out Rick Astley and Black Box giving away free pens and those paper hats that you have to pop out from the middle; the joke shop stall which provided us with our annual opportunity to buy fart gas, whoopee cushions and bangers to see us through another year; and the afore mentioned hot pork sandwiches with extra stuffing if Robbo’s Mum or Dad was serving. However, it never quite lived up to expectations and the fact it rained every year really killed it off, and I think the last carnival was held in about 1995 which I guess is a shame. I don’t suppose the town has an equivalent event these days and the poor old Corby pipers are probably out of a weekend job too now.
Having witnessed the Gabrovo Carnival this weekend, I’m starting to realize why I feel so at home here. Despite being coined as the Manchester of Bulgaria, it probably has more in common with the town I grew up in than the vibrant, gay capital of northern England. Yesterdays’s carnival being a case in point. Although the carnival here is infinitely better organized and higher profile than those of my youth, it is no less shit around the edges or less entertaining for all the wrong reasons. The carnival is held each year to celebrate the town and in particular it’s reputation as the most tight fisted town in Bulgaria. There are lots of ‘hilarious’ jokes which do the rounds including the one about the man who asks the taxi driver how much it would be for a ride home? “5 Leva” comes the reply, at which point, the man says that the price sounds reasonable and then walks off. “Hey” shouts the driver, “don’t you want a taxi home?” “No thanks says the man, I just wanted to see how much I was saving by walking”. Funny see? You get the idea. Anyway, for years, Gabrovians have been nationally ridiculed for being the most frugal and stingiest people in the country (like the scots at home), but rather than sit around whinging about it (like the scots at home) they have embraced this element of their local culture and now revel in all the jokes that have been invented, to the extent of building the national museum for humour and satire in the centre of the town to celebrate the fact. The carnival is therefore based around the story of a cat from Gabrovo who had it’s tail chopped off by it’s owner, for the simple reason that he could close the door behind it quicker if it had no tail, therefore saving heat in the winter which would save a bit of cash in the long term – nice – I’m pleased to say that with the exception of the giant cat puppet, no cats were hurt during the making of the carnival or this blog. So yesterday we sat drinking beer, watching Gabrovo’s big day. First up there is a huge street parade including floats depicting ‘humorous’ political moments mixed with people dressed in traditional clothing, rare cars (i.e. ones that actually work) and men dressed as bears – see:
It’s very loud, really busy and mildly exciting at times, particularly when they let the full size, real life cannon off in the middle of the street. Following the parade, they cut the tail off the cat and then have a mass party – cool. On stage last night were some karaoke style singers, quite a few leather clad women squirming around to bon jovi, some old session musician who apparently played with Deep Purple and Whitesnake (they love a bit of 70’s rock here) and a magician who I have to say was absolutely crap – it was genius – he kept getting his face caught up in his ‘magic’ cape as he pulled it around to Jean Michael Jarre style spooky music and the trap doors in the stage failed, wait for it, twice, cos he had wheeled the woman in a box to wrong place! Everyone else loved it, and I was scowled at for laughing, so we just sat back, drank some more beer, starred at the candy floss machines (which are magic) and ate more waffles and pizza. So in many ways, I guess it was similar to the dav carnival. Floats, kids in face paint, crap music, funny moments and the occasional saving grace. That said, I don’t remember seeing a man dressed in a green and pink latex spiderman costume climb and scamper around the walls of Daventry’s council offices, which was one of the highlights of the finale:
There was of course one key difference, one thing that really spoiled it – not one drop of rain – I have the sun burn to prove it. Maybe if there had been, I might have been able to complete my regression, back to the soggy train park, dressed in my ‘ghouls and ghosts themed’ warewolf outfit (for the cubs float) chasing after free pens and another quid for my fifth pork and stuffing roll?
Ps: went looking for a yellow suit yesterday and unfortunately only found the jacket. Will keep looking, unless the poll results indicate otherwise.
Ciao ciao za sega e fsichko hubavo
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