It's somehow reassuring that there are so many groups of enthusiasts in this country. We have lots of U3A parties (university of the 3rd age) who are either archeology folks, or garden peeps or architecture bods.
Last year we had a huge group of touring caravaners.
We have mystery tours run by coach companies - last week two men arrived a little late but ahead of the main group: "We're on a mystery tour," they said, "so it took us a while to realise the driver was lost".
Today through the sound of the rain came the revving of engines.
Twenty vintage motorcycle enthusiasts from all over the country arrived for lunch and for a talk in the Church. They were drenched. One middle aged woman announced she was soaked through to her knickers. A man begged us not to take the napkin from the table we were clearing as it was the only dry thing he had.
They hung up their helmets and coats and gloves in the conservatory in the hope that they might dry. All they did was steam up the windows.
They left in their heavy wet clothes to ride back to their campsite.
Yes. Camping. From wet leathers to wet canvas.
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