For some inexplicable reason I never made it along
to Swingamajig when I lived in Birmingham and now I’m 160 miles away in Devon
it seems unlikely that I’ll make it this year. Ahhhh the evil pang of regret.
Ouch. I say inexplicable because Swingamajig seems pretty much designed for me,
a lover of all things vintage (hell, once you turn 40 you ARE vintage), gypsy
punk and decadent (yep, I always got for the Old Rosie in Spoonies...it's how I roll...or fall over in some cases). It’s been going a few years now, developing the kind of fervent
following that marks out the truly great festivals from the corporate ball sucking chaff and this year’s
instalment (May 1st, Digbeth) looks better than ever. Tickets right here, right now...who knows maybe I will make it after all...hmmmm.
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