Uh-huh-huh-thnyuveymurchhhh

So off we went to Rustic Stomp on the weekend at the height of the English summer - mid-July and it was blowing an absolute hoolie and many significant festivals had decided to bale their entire weekend but not the Rustic Stomp. Nooo, these hardy folk didn't fold just because of a bit of gale force wind and a few hurricane/typhoon type situations. Anyway, it was Sunday and we were due on one of the stages at two o'clock-ish. It was an Elvis theme all day, obviously, so we donned our brand new Elvis wigs and headed for Dorset. We found the site by following the dodgily hand-painted signs and drove into what looked like a post-apocalyptic scene from one of those straight-to-TV films on the Sci-Fi channel. Stuff strewn everywhere, random bits of tarpaulin looking like they were covering mass-graves but actually it was once a stage. At least the makeshift urinals were still standing, albeit a little precarious. These people were three days into a massive bender and even though it was the sabbath they were not about to rest.

However, due to the catastrophic weather the schedules had all gone in the bin (along with a couple of the stages!) and the organisers were having to improvise on the hoof. It was all rather awkward because as we turned up in our full Elvis ensemble (the only ones who had made the bleedin effort, thnyuveymch) we were told that actually there was no room for Ribble in the new schedule. But it was such a surreal atmosphere that even if Ribble were the diva-ish types we wouldn't have spat the dummy. We just pulled a couple of wet, wind-blown chairs out of a hedge, sat down next to the chip van, and chilled to the chirpy chunes of the Swamp Stomp String Band.

As luck would have it, the organisers took pity on us and fate shined upon us. A space was cleared for us at 4pm on the big spooky Dark Holler stage. The legendary soundman from the Ragwormers festival in 2021 recognised us under the wigs and set us up with the most amazing sound, and we got to work. Initially to an empty tent but within 10 minutes it started filling up and after half an hour the tent was rammed, everyone was getting a sweat on and doing the most ridiculous moves and suddenly from out of a despairing afternoon we ended up having the best time ever.

And we're booked for opening the festival next year!

Proper Job

So we were recommended to the organisers of the New Forest Folk Festival by the lovely Helen who saw us busking in Salisbury as things were coming out of lockdown. For some reason they agreed to give us a slot, and so we were due to appear at 3pm on Thursday, the Fringe day.

We weren't sure what to expect, but we spent a few minutes in the artist tent and the rather delightful artist garden, and observed the calibre of the other acts appearing before us on the huge beautiful stage, and we realised that this was a proper job.
Peeking out from behind the stage we could see hundreds and hundreds of people scattered across the field on their camping chairs listening intently to every gorgeous note the other acts were playing. We weren't sure how our unsophisticated racket would be received.
Everything sounded and felt fabulous to us on that stage, but what would all these folkies think? After crashing through a few tunes, we finally dared to look up, and people were getting out of their seats and... not leaving... no... they were getting up to have a little jig!! Loads of them! Maybe they were drunk? Maybe, but drunk on booze or drunk on Ribble?!?

From the ridiculous to the sublime...

Another Ribble first - a real dressing room with ensuite shower and toilet! Cups of tea brought to the room!

At showtime we emerged from the back of the stage to see our instruments in the spotlight, and beyond the stage, shrouded in dark, a decent sized audience in tiered seating... who applauded loudly as we approached our places... It was nerve-shredding and exhilarating in equal measure. Despite the fact we were in an environment that maybe should have made us feel out of our depth, we played as well as we'd ever done, crashing through our tunes with a gusto and abandon that might have made us look like we knew what we were doing. Perhaps not being able to see the audience made everything so much easier. And to hear them whoop and holler and react exactly as you'd hope was obviously a massive confidence boost.

Suddenly our 40 minutes had whizzed by and we were exiting the same way we came in, with an even more enthusiastic round of applause ringing out! In the bar at the interval there were multitudes of positive comments, including one lady who said she'd been "Ribbled", and the verb was born.

So that was the ridiculous, after which came the sublime. Mr Andy Cutting, three times winner of the BBC Folk Musician of the Year, took to the stage in his understated way and coaxed the most beautiful sounds from his button accordions for the next hour and a bit.

What an evening. What a privilege.

Wow.

And I mean... wow. The Great Dorset Steam Fair is better than Great, they really need to rename it to The Ridiculously Good Steam Fair or something. It's bigger than Glastonbury, folks! And Ribble were all over the bill.

We played 7 gigs across the 4 days on 3 different stages and it was all brilliant. We also managed to enjoy lots of the fair: the traction engines, monster trucks, sheep-shearing, tractors, ferret-racing, the largest collection of fairground organs in the world (a hotly contested record that one), and of course the many food and drink retailers, and we finished the whole thing off with a go on the Magic Mouse rollercoaster - Pete nearly lost his lunch which would have been a shame because it was delicious.