For the next four days, an undulating melody of adrenaline charged screaming will render a disturbing background music in my head. The accompanying rhythm of synthesized carnival music penetrating the single pain window in my bedroom will be equally impossible to ignore. The Goose Fair has arrived in Nottingham. It is an exorbitant event, over 700 years old in tradition, that inhabits the open field park just down the street from my house. With the curtains closed flashing carnival lights still manage to catch the corner of my eye. In a way, it is mesmerizing. Overstimulating. Too much coffee too late. The colourful carpets and cling clang of casino coins. Money Pit.
Departing from my exhausted senses, I meander into the chaos of lights and sounds and 'chavs,' if you will, within the safety net of my three housemates. A childish excitement overwhelms me as we reach the depths of carny land. I'm waiting for this all to disappear so that I can find the deserted ticket booth and make a wish that I could be Big.
But for the moment I am happy to revert to being small. Or acting a few years younger anyhow. We settled on tickets for an aggressively torqued, topsy turvy, hold-on-to-that-sausage-you-just-downed sorta ride: The Space Roller.Fortunately I am harbouring an empty stomach. Mouth wide open, I let out nothing more than a guttural scream, joining the polluting choir of noisemakers, only I've reached a heightened pitch, like the glass-shattering mermaid.After a long wait for my appetite to return, I succumb to the enduring craving for something vile and greasy. Overcooked sausage on a bun, extra onions.
Back in my bedroom I may as well be Sleepless in Seattle. Or Nottingham. Geography doesn't matter anymore. I'm still lost, senseless but for the muted sound of carny music and colourful lights. The whirlwind of Goose Fair Land.
