It was another frenzied shell battering, newspaper shredding, egg whacking day on April 1st. As usual I found many reasons not to win: the field was too cramped, my newspaper roll was not firm enough, my egg was overcooked, the ground was crumbly, my ankle was sore. So, I came last. Never mind, there's always next year.
Those who were not brave enough to race eggs settled for cheering on their favourite egg jockeys, or retired to eat cake in the church.
Between shoving ha'pennies (or 50p coins), tossing balls in flower pots, spooning marbles into flower pots (what is it with the flower pots anyway?), picking straws, pinning tails on donkeys and so forth, a fun day was had by all.
Here are some of the fierce and less fierce competitors, stall runners and spectators.