Last weekend saw the return of our annual event, Farm Fest. I posted about it last year, but to recap here is the eloquent description written by my brother for the Facebook event page.
'It is that time of year again where anyone who knows a Reynolds may come over and get drunk. Hopefully containing such highlights as a heck of a lot of meat, stupid amounts of booze, someone falling in the pond, a deer carcass in a bin bag, beer pong, fire pit and casual sexism towards Abbie.'
(As far as I know no sexism, casual or otherwise, occurred).We basically take advantage of the fact we live on a farm (I live next door to my brothers) and have a BBQ and piss up in the garden.
The weather was touted as being amazing, as the Met Office confirmed.
The meat arrived and was promptly guarded by Lucy and Ruby.
The garden was set up to look suitably farmy and festy.
And we got ready to welcome our guests from the excellent addition to the garden- the paddling pool!
There was bbq, so so much booze, and some amazing cake efforts.
|I didn't twig at the time, but this is not only an accurate representation of farmer Sam, but also of the three pigs!|
(I can't find the photo of the centre of this, but it's red velvet with brownie layers. Made by my friend Cat who is a genius).
After a fairly civilized beginning things began to go as they often do at parties, so I'll leave it up to your imagination. Some highlights included my friend diving into the Manitou bucket that my brother had filled with water and ice to keep the beer cool, playing some hilarious games of beer pong, racing each other around the house, hanging in the pool with my friends, music, frigging hothot weather, a fez, and other such weird things.
There were some lowlights towards the end of the day, which is inevitable when you've been drinking since 12, but you live and learn.
Sunday was recovery central. We had some brekkie, tidied up and then sat with our feet in the pool reliving hazy memories.
I make it sound so simple. I had a raging hangover. I hardly ever drink and seemed to regress to being a 16 year old who had no idea of their limits. It's the pressures of entertaining!
When the last guests went around 2 I crashed in front of Wimbledon then pottered about until bedtime.
Wham! Now the pain is fading, bring on next year!