Do you know how much fluid I had in my lung?

And I thought I was bad at conversation topics, many a chat has been about laundry or what's your favourite type of pen to write with. But the table next to ours at the pub on Friday night took the biscuit with a lung fluid conversation. 

It all started with going to the village hall to see a production of Alan Bennet's Talking Heads. We arrived (Leanne and my niece Alex and me) at the village hall - half an hour early to allow for pre-show drinks, and to get a good seat. Although previous experience of the village hall seats forewarned me that none of the seats are good as they all turn into instruments of torture after half an hour. We arrive, drive into a boss parking space (no other cars in the carpark) and sit in the car for a bit. Then another car arrives and they park opposite. Eventually we have the wit to check the notice on the door informing us of the cancellation due to ill-health. Off we all drive.

What to do now? The local was the obvious choice. The nearest pub had a sign saying they welcome customers old and new. Sounds like the place for us. The car park had a promising amount of cars in it - it must be open at least. In we troop. To a welcoming reception? Well, not exactly. More like when the stranger in a western walks into the saloon. All was quiet, all eyes were on us, and it was obvious we had just brought the average age of the clientele down significantly. At least the sign was half right, old customers we welcome.

Leanne and Alex ran the gauntlet of the other customers standing round the bar to get through to a free table. There was someone else making their way towards it, but he was easily out run. It was down to me to make the drink orders, which actually went fairly smoothly, helped I think by me recognising one of the customers. I wan't an outsider after all. 

Back to the table to enjoy the neighbouring tables' conversations. See above. Goodness knows what they thought of our Lady Gaga conversation and Leanne updating her Facebook status on one of them new fangled phones. At least the chairs were comfy.

Let's twist again

Well, it's that time of the year again, Chatsworth Horse Trials. This year we went on Saturday, less international stars, but more local talent and less people. This year we brought the dog which proved to be a major advantage when it came to meeting other dogs and their owners.

A big attraction was one of Maisie's friends little sister being involved with the Maypole dance - or pole dancing as she described it to her grandmother. Leanne hadn't witnessed this great tradition previously which I was surprised to learn. To summarise, Maypole dancing involves children clinging to a ribbon that's attached to a giant pole. Then they skip around the pole to some folk music (today's tune was the Floral Dance), occasionally weaving around each other to create a patten with the ribbons - a bit like giant macramé. The idea is not to run into each other, after a patten is made on the centre pole, or a web effect, the dancers have to do everything in reverse, which I guess prevents dizziness.

Then it was off to watch a French horse whisperer and his troupe of highly trained horses. He was actually amazing - he had moved in with the horses or something, and created a special bond with them, and they would do whatever he asked. Just like our dog (not). 

After lunch, the cross country was calling. I love it and hate it. I get all anxious when I see the size of the jumps, and the horse approaching at great speed. We held our breath, we oohed and clapped, and took a few photographs. 

It's the bomb!

Well, the 4th of May is usually star wars day, so we went to look at some unidentified water bombing objects (UWBOs), which seemed like a fitting event. This is actually the name of the university of Sheffield library's actual water bombing team. Yes, I managed to get my self a job where actual world champions work.

We arrive at Ponds Forge swimming pool for the World Championship Water Bombing Competition, and are struck by, no not the grandeur of the occasion, but the heat. It was like a sauna at the poolside. As we took out seats in the stands, I was hopeful we would loose at least a couple of pounds in sweat. Something needs to happen after all the tapas and San Miguel in Ibiza! Anyway...

On reading through the program, we discover it really is a world championship, a team had travelled from as far away as Coventry. But mainly all the teams are Sheffield and surrounding areas based. The Championships are in fact, an excellent fundraising event for Macmillan Cancer Research.

After a small sweltering wait, the games were underway. The teams paraded out to the side of the pool, and we had a taster of what was in store for the evening. There were fully grown adults in nappies (Water babies), the predictable men in nurses uniforms (The defending champions), a few school girl outfits (clearly trying to get the adult male vote), a school teacher and an odd looking Morris Dancing troupe (maybe they had turned up at the wrong community event). Our team, the UWBO had outfits designed by local school kids and got the biggest cheer. They were dressed as various odd looking space creatures in full body suits with space related accessories. 

One member from each team had a jump, made a splash, got a score from the judging panel, and tried to get out the pool in the most dignified way, whist carrying bits of their outfit they had become separated from during the bomb. It was very exciting, we loved the splashes, loved watching the various bits of lost outfit sink to to the bottom of the pool (mainly the Morris dancers' hats), and cheered very loudly for our team and help up giant 10 scores.

At the end, our team were silver medal winners, the nurses retained their title. But, the UWBOs proudly stepped up to first place for the team that raised the most money for Macmillan Cancer Research (£2700). Yay for the UWBOs. 

All in all a good evening, and I can safely say I never want to see a grown man squeezing out pool water from his nappy again, and I wasn't impressed with the practicality of water bombing in a mankini, it didn't seem to be covering much when the bloke got out the water. It gave Maisie something to talk about on the school bus though!