There are fairies at the bottom of the garden...

A quick round-up of our final few events...

Ian McMillan and Luke Carver Goss at Rook Lane: the boy peaked too soon. Less poetry reading with music than stand-up-meets-primary school, the first half-hour was utterly, utterly hilarious. Based mainly on signs McMillan had er, "acquired" from various venues around the country, he spun a web of side-splitting comedy around just a handful of sheets of paper. But after this uproarious start, there was nowhere else for him to go. There was surprisingly little poetry and the so-called interactive finale (where the audience contributed to the composition of an instant verse) looked to have been lifted from one of the poet's school visits rather than something designed for a more grown-up audience. McMillan is a great entertainer, but he badly needs a director.

Also, a quick thought for promoters putting on speech events at Rook Lane - when Ian left the mic to wander the stage or the auditorium (as he did frequently), he could not be heard from under the balcony. Something to do with the building's unique interior/acoustics. A lapel/radio mic would have solved this problem.

The North Sea Radio Orchestra at Rook Lane: too cool for their own good? Having heard some examples of their recorded material, I was rather intrigued by the "chamber pop" of this eight-piece which the Festival programme described as "like Kate Bush meeting Vaughan Williams". Mrs W wasn't keen and had to be dragged, kicking and screaming up Bath Street. Well, surprise, surprise, she loved them, and I was left rather cold. Their settings of poetry by the likes of Yeats, Tennyson and Blake were somewhat uncomfortable, and while the more recent songs that featured their own lyrics were much more effective, their on-stage aloofness was alienating. True, they were somewhat cramped on Rook Lane's tiny platform which may have contributed to their unease, but I took it to be a more calculated kind of cool - which turned out to be profoundly "uncool". Curiously, singer Sharon Fortnam was the exception, wrapped up in the emotion of it all, gripping her skirt in both hands and swaying in a sort of semi-orgasmic reverie, completely at odds with what was going on around her. I shall return to their latest album where their attractive, whimsical fusions are attitude-free.

Laurence Parnell at Holy Trinity: a charming guitar recital of (mostly) self-penned compositions, gently melancholic with Celtic touches. A little more light and shade and variation in tempi would not have gone amiss, but Laurence is a likeable and talented performer (who also makes guitars). The accompanying poetry readings on the theme of music were a little superfluous. However, they were well-performed, although microphone technique was somewhat lacking. Overall a delightful way to spend a lunchtime.

"I'm a fairy, get me out of here"

Nunney Players - A Midsummer Night's Dream in the grounds of Rockfield House, Nunney: let's just say that visiting the extremely posh mobile loos (complete with piped music) on our way out at the interval was the highlight of the evening. I don't like admitting defeat at the theatre, as you never know what might be just around the corner in Act II that could save the day. And I really am sympathetic to the particular challenges faced by amateur companies. But this was not good - the main problem being that it was the most anaemic production of one of the Bard's sexiest plays. Mind you, the actors cast as the lovers were so young that the merest hint of any physical attraction might have led to an arrest by the Vice Squad. The chap playing Puck managed to capture the spirit of the play, but sadly one fairy does not a Dream make...

So a rather unsatisfactory end to what had been a very good week of festival-going. But at least it had stopped raining.