Wyndstock

June 27, 2013
On Saturday I went straight from Royal Ascot and embarked on what I can describe as a bit of a mission. An hour and half from Ascot to London Waterloo followed by a half hour tube journey to King's Cross (no Nothern line service, we're ready for the weekend!), and an hour train ride to Stevenage later I was picked up in a car by a very nice young man who I was meeting for the first time. (We were introduced on Facebook by a mutual friend)

And then we went on a three hour drive---shortened to 2 hours thanks to my insisting on singing Disney songs the whole way---to the grounds of Houghton Hall, Norfolk, for a midsummer party of sorts.




It was of course, Wyndstock. We were there by kind invitation of the ever gracious and accommodating Viktor Wynd.


Granted, by the time we got there we had missed the smorgasbord of fun and games---yoga! rounders! fox hunts! My heart doth break---but our spirits weren't going to sink with the sunset.



I had no time for a change of clothes, so I simply swapped my Royal Enclosure badge and hat for one of Theo's jackets. 








It was all very country-chic; white tents with pretty bunting, bales of hay, rope swings, an enormous bonfire, and a medley of swinging tunes.

Viktor was more conservatively dressed than usual, although no less difficult to spot...



"May I stroke your snake, Viktor?" 


Me: "Oh Viktor, she's charming. What's her name? How long have you had her for?"
Viktor: "Delilah. I've had her for two hours...and I'm bored of her already."


Shortly before supper a crowd gathered to watch the lighting of the bonfire, of which the effigies were rumoured to represent members of Parliament. 




I shouted "Do you want to borrow my lighter?" "No thank you, we're covered!"










We danced  the night away in tents, to swinging jazz and half of The Great Gatsby soundtrack...





The night took a surreal turn shortly after I saw Viktor walking around sans Delilah the python. "Viktor", I asked nervously, "You're missing a snake. There wouldn't happen to be one slithering around on the grounds would there?" He nonchalantly shrugged "Hundreds of them!"

That was when I decided I wasn't camping that night. 

We partied till dawn and drove the three hours back to London right after.

But not before witnessing saucy hot tub shenanigans that nearly descended into an orgy...  



...naked life drawing---I felt so bad for the model, he must have been freezing!...

...and then, the most surreal scene to come...

Imagine, a large country house looming in the distance, surrounded by acres of woods. 
Everything is dark. Slivers of countryside are illuminated by a large full moon,  her face seductively hiding behind clouds that glide back and forth like an burlesque dancer playing with her ostrich-feather fan. In the distance, jazz and swing music plays, revellers shriek in delight and the sounds of debauchery fill the air like a dizzying scent. Somewhere in the distance someone is plucking at the banjo. The sound carries away from the din of the party and toward the quiet settlements of campers and glampers settling down for the night. One looks to their right and sees rows of white tents lit from the inside with lanterns like a glow worm's belly. One looks to their left, toward the rows of neatly parked cars, and...what is that sound? Are those...moans of pleasure? Is that a man's naked bottom bobbing up and down and in every direction imaginable?! And those legs in the air...do they belong to a man or woman?

The strangeness of it all wasn't so much the sex in a car in a field, it was witnessing the whole thing to banjo music that made me giggled.

Oh dear.

I laughed all the way home to London.

x

No comments:

Post a Comment