The Vole Returns!

You have all signally failed to improve this benighted country in my absence. Though you did get rid of Baroness Warsi and a government minister who insisted that he just couldn't live on his £125,000 salary + expenses. Good work, all! To be fair, I have a little respect for Warsi now: she was elevated as a kind of Judas Goat to persuade ethnic minority voters that Tories aren't racists any more, but she turned out to have opinions too, clearly not what the hierarchy wanted from a Northern Muslim woman. Anyway, having slightly damaged her party, let's hope she carries on doing that but otherwise withdraws from public life.

What did I do on my holidays, I hear you ask? I read a lot of newspapers and books, including Williams's sleeper hit Stoner, about a failed academic. It's a wonderful book but desolatingly sad. Academics reading it are committing a form of self-harm, I couldn't help feeling. I also read a book on Foucault and TJ Bass's The Godwhale, which was rather good. I also took a lot of photographs. See the whole lot via that link or click on these to enlarge them.

Otherwise, I went swimming in the Atlantic near Killorglin in Co. Kerry, Ireland:

where my lithe body attracted a crowd of salivating photographers:

Though they may have been wearing beer goggles rather than swimming ones:

I was stung by jellyfish at Rossbeigh, so moved to another wonderful beach, Dooks for the rest of the holiday. The weather was wonderful: here's the sun setting over Killorglin town

The main event of the year is Puck Fair: a wild goat goes up on a stand to preside over 3 days of carousing, merry-making, horse-trading (literally), music and dancing. I love it, especially wandering around with a camera in-between daytime scoops. I particularly love the dodgems:

and the mini-car ride which I enjoyed very much:

and fairground neon

but after a day or two I was looking slightly haggard, though still dapper:

Though after a stroll through the horse-fair I got back on my horse and felt a new man:

before shopping around for some stupid pocket-size dogs:

I even found the time to get myself some new togs:

and a feed of buns:

before setting off purposefully to the Mr Puck competition

Though the crowd of people chanting 'get 'em off' at me was slightly disconcerting

and not everyone was impressed by my rendition of Voulez-vous…

Ingrates. King Puck was a magnificent specimen this year. 

So much so that he even inspired some lookalikes:

And then came the rain. Being County Kerry, I was never without (and sometimes simultaneously using) a waterproof and sunglasses:

And the band (Fanfare Piston, a French engineering students' brass outfit) played on:

and in-between the showers there was dancing:

Although there was a sinister side to the festivities:

One of the lovely things about Puck is that all buskers are invited to play - no permits, auditions or (as you can see) minimum ages or height tests: I made a fortune.

The sweet strains of the melodeon made a pleasant accompaniment to the gentle shower of small change and vomit from the funfair:

While outside the bustling metropolis that is Killorglin, bucolia awaited:

Until it was time for me to fly* sadly home, fatter but not necessarily wiser.

*Metaphorically. I actually got the train and ferry. 

How was your summer?