I’ve often wondered where this biosphere ends and the gates of purgatory begin. It turns out it’s quite simply by walking into the media room, I jest. No, those who walk the astral planes would unquestionably be quieter with vastly improved sanity.
Venturing out of this husk of magnolia paint, blue tac and spread sheets can seem quite terrifying. Yesterday I sauntered through the Fringe and was accosted by a large hill, the Kraken, tales of ethereal dreams and three girls from the 1920s resurrected from the dead.
However, the Kraken served me drinks, the ethereal dreams turned to serine mumblings of better days and the wartime gals sang with such beautiful harmonics that my mind felt at ease once more.
So in the end all was well in the world and I had myself a lovely time.
Moving onto the evening, ah yes the Carnival, the deafening sounds of samba and marching bands still ringing in my ears. An array of flamboyant figures danced their way around the traffic-free streets on Ventnor. This year this 126 year old Carnival was joined by the Shakespearian actors of Scena Mundi and our Heretic Historians. Characters that seemed out of place walking the avenues just an hour before became part of the rich tapestry Ventnor has worked so hard to create.
Well done Ventnor.