'We always come here at this time, every year,' said the traveller as he unhitched the rope holding the cob from the heavy metal stake in the ground. This was not Appleby Fair but Hexham. It is two months to go until the fair begins.
9 o'clock in the morning on the main thoroughfare into town and all the grass verges are covered with ponies chomping at the new spring grass. It was a peaceful scene. Though the Rowing Club, where the travellers had parked their ragtag procession of caravans, may not have been quite so peaceful about the situation.
When I came back, two hours later, they were back. The procession of caravans had been replaced by a procession of aggressive motorists and passengers racing to the town's superstores in search of a Bank Holiday bargain.
Give me the life of a traveller any day.
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