The Midland History Festival

What do you get when you see old friends for the first time in over a decade?  When you find yourself back in the arms of your family, in a place that your heart never really left?

What do you get if you throw in the regular ‘fives’ rhythm of training steel, the sounds of the smith’s forge, the smell of woodsmoke at night and new grass in the early morning?  The familiar rollercoaster of beer and combat, music and dancing, the fine meads of the Troll’s Bottom (you know what I mean) and the fast bodran of Greenman Rising.

Throw in being cleavaged by the Troll’s curvy wenches (don’t ask), a little woad, a lot of grease, and an excessively well-timed thunderstorm – and it seems that I’m back in the Vike.

There’s an old saying – you know who your friends are, because when you see them, no time has passed. It may be a dozen years, you may be a little greyer round the temples and wider through the middle, but you can pick up exactly where you left off. After that first wide-eyed moment of absolute culture shock, nothing had changed.

As we discovered in the car, insanity has bandwidth – you’ll know where it is, because it’s where your friends live.

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