Westfest 2009

[Sanctuary Festival 2007]

just to let you know that the ticket price for Westfest increases on Friday, so if you want to get them at £25 you need to be quick... you can get them at http://www.slamminvinyl.com

Limited VIP tickets are also available.

you can also check out the full line up and all event details here...

[JessPear]

i went to uni in bath and never went to west fest (hangs head in shame) might have to rectify that this year

[Sanctuary Festival 2007]

the next ticket price break is up on the 31st August, so order your tickets now to save £5!

[Sanctuary Festival 2007]

all the VIP tickets for this event have now sold out so only standard tickets remain - if you want those do get them in advance as this event has sold out for the last 4 years running...

[forx123]

My wife called, 'How long will you be with that newspaper? Will you come here and make your darling daughter eat her food?

I tossed the paper away and rushed to the scene. My only daughter, Sindu, looked frightened; tears were welling up in her eyes. In front of her was a bowl filled to its brim with curd rice. Sindu is a nice child, quite intelligent for her age.

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I cleared my throat and picked up the bowl. 'Sindu, darling, why don't you take a few mouthful of this curd rice? Just for Dad's sake, dear'.

Sindu softened a bit and wiped her tears with the back of her hands. 'Ok, Dad. I will eat - not just a few mouthfuls, but the whole lot of this. But, you should...' Sindu hesitated. 'Dad, if I eat this entire curd Rice, will you give me whatever I ask for?'

'Promise'. I covered the pink soft hand extended by my daughter with mine, and clinched the deal. Now I became a bit anxious. 'Sindu, dear, you shouldn't insist on getting a computer or any such expensive items. Dad does not have that kind of money right now. Ok?'

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'No, Dad. I do not want anything expensive'. Slowly and painfully, she finished eating the whole quantity. I was silently angry with my wife and my mother for forcing my child to eat something that she detested. After the ordeal was through, Sindu came to me with her eyes wide with expectation. All our attention was on her. 'Dad, I want to have my head shaved off, this Sunday!' was her demand.

'Atrocious!' shouted my wife, 'A girl child having her head shaved off? Impossible!'

'Never in our family!' My mother rasped. 'She has been watching too much of television. Our culture is getting totally spoiled with these TV programs!'

'Sindu, darling, why don't you ask for something else? We will be sad seeing you with a clean-shaven head.'

'Please, Sindu, why don't you try to understand our feelings?' I tried to plead with her.

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'Dad, you saw how difficult it was for me to eat that Curd Rice'. Sindu was in tears. 'And you promised to grant me whatever I ask for. Now, you are going back on your words. Was it not you who told me the story of King Harishchandra, and its moral that we should honor our promises no matter what?'

It was time for me to call the shots. 'Our promise must be kept.'

'Are you out of your mind?' chorused my mother and wife.

'No. If we go back on our promises, she will never learn to honour her own. Sindu, your wish will be fulfilled.'

With her head clean-shaven, Sindu had a round-face, and her eyes looked big and beautiful.

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On Monday morning, I dropped her at her school. It was a sight to watch my hairless Sindu walking towards her classroom. She turned around and waved. I waved back with a smile. Just then, a boy alighted from a car, and shouted, 'Sinduja, please wait for me!' What struck me was the hairless head of that boy. 'May be, that is the in-stuff', I thought.

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'Sir, your daughter Sinduja is great indeed!' Without introducing herself, a lady got out of the car, and continued, 'that boy who is walking along with your daughter is my son Harish. He is suffering from... leukemia'. She paused to muffle her sobs. 'Harish could not attend the school for the whole of the last month. He lost all his hair due to the side effects of the chemotherapy. He refused to come back to school fearing the unintentional but cruel teasing of the schoolmates. Sinduja visited him last week, and promised him that she will take care of the teasing issue. But, I never imagined she would sacrifice her lovely hair for the sake of my son!

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Sir, you and your wife are blessed to have such a noble soul as your daughter.'

I stood transfixed and then, I wept. 'My little Angel, you are teaching me how selfless real love is!'

The happiest people on this planet are not those who live on their own terms but are those who change their terms for the ones whom they love !!

[lookme875]

My friend Peggy and I had both been to Paris before, but always as chaperones for youth groups or part of adult groups,

seeing all the usual tourist sites and hearing the same tour guide recitations. This would be the first time on our own --

without responsibilities and free to go anywhere and try anything.

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On previous trips we had seen all the famous monuments and "tourist sights." The guidebooks claimed that locals were rude

and indifferent to visitors but there had to be more to the people of Paris than that. This time we wanted to find the real

Parisians.

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We spent some time exploring small shops and lesser-known museums and churches. We walked along canals and down narrow

lanes, seeing a different Paris, but still not making any real contact with the people of this magnificent city.

One evening, with the help of the night clerk at our quaint hotel, we found a tiny cafe known only to locals. Nestled inside

a dark passage, its unlit sign read, "Chez Maurice." We peeked in the small window on the door to see a small room with half

a dozen tables, each with enough chairs for eight patrons. We opened the heavy door and went inside.

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We were greeted by a burly proprietor, whose smile faded when he discovered we were foreigners with a limited command of the

French language. He turned his back and retreated to the kitchen, muttering under his breath and slowly shaking his head

from side to side. Not a good start.

A moment passed and a young woman led us to our seats at the other end of a table already occupied by an elderly couple. She

gave us two menus.

For a few minutes we struggled to recall a few French words, but discovered that the descriptions of each dish were too much

for us.

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Our table mates noticed our dilemma. The old man leaned over and began explaining each dish, one at a time. Since he spoke

very little English, his translations took the form of elaborate gestures and animal sounds. A fish entree was depicted as a

fish swimming upstream, jumping and splashing in the water. For the beef dish, he pretended that his hands were horns on the

side of his head, accompanied by a 'mooing' sound.

When the young waitress returned, we placed our order and our new 'friends' gave her explicit instructions on how to prepare

the food and what side dishes we should have. Despite our limited ability to speak the other's language, we continued our

lively conversation throughout the meal. We discovered that they were in their seventies and had been sweethearts for about

ten years. She lived nearby in Paris, while he lived in the country. They met here once a week to share a pleasant dinner.

Frankly, I have no idea how we understood each other, but we talked about the beauty of Paris, our lives and families, and

of course, our other travels.

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Near the end of the evening, a flower vendor made her way through the cafe. We watched as the old gentleman purchased a

bouquet. Artfully, he plucked two flowers from the bunch, presented the bouquet to his lady, and gave her a kiss. Then,

bowing smartly in our direction, he held out a rose, one for each of us.

We had found our Paris.