As a youngster, in my household, early Saturday evening programming often featured the fulfillment of dreams as Jimmy Saville, the BBC Radio One disc jockey, made the wildest wishes of children come true, for the entertainment and contentment of the nation. Just imagine: an aging white-haired hipster, covered in the bling of the time, with a magical chair and a cigar smokescreen arranges for you to meet your idol or sing on stage or lift the cup. And then he gives you a medal for living out your fantasy!
Sadly, such was the popularity of the show, that it was virtually impossible to have your dreams realised. So, I never got to meet Fatima, and Richie Sambora never came to tea. In the many years since Jim'll Fix It, the hopeful "over the rainbow" notion that dreams came come true has been somewhat dulled in me. The general malaise of accepting the same old routines has surely had a bearing alongside, of course, the demise of Sir Jimmy. Yet, now, I have discovered a means of having my dreams fixed for me. There is a place, hidden in the forest, a throwback to ancient dwellings, with music and dancing and art and film and revelry. For one weekend a year in this place, the good part of humanity appears. For that weekend - no matter who you are - friendship is a given. It sounds too good to be true. Like a dream.
This dream is fulfilled not by Jimmy Saville, but by dedicated individuals whose determination, company and humour make Dragonfly Festival the magical experience it is. To the five of you responsible, I offer my most profound thanks. You Fixed It For Me. My time with you and the rest of Dragonfly makes me as happy as I've ever been.
Speaking of happy, two people at the festival experienced what I imagine is their happiest ever day, as Dragonfly hosted its first-ever wedding. Bex and Neil tied the knot in what I can only describe as the perfect setting at what I can only describe as the perfect moment. The remnants of gray morning clouds parted to light the ceremony with dappled sunshine, at precisely the right minute. Congratulations both, it was an honour to be there.
In other news, there is such a thing as a singer-songwriter. Under generalisation, the modern consciousness sees this as a person, with a guitar, on stage, singing and playing their own creations. There are a great many singer-songwriters, so distinguishing them is no easy feat.
However, at Dragonfly we have the singer-songwriter John Smith. The most unassuming of names, yet the conversations after his set were quite the opposite. People were unwavering in their conviction that John Smith is the best they have encountered. Ever. By all accounts, John Smith is singer-songwriter perfection.
I can't argue with this. His writing, his guitar-play, his vocals and his stage presence, all are individually spectacular, and combined they are something mesmerising, captivating, a thing of utter beauty. And, then, he lays his instrument skywards in his lap, and starts to drum upon its' body as he plays...
...such stuff as dreams are made on.
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