Scarecrows interrupt plotting...

Monumentally distracted from writing today by the extraordinary Durrow Scarecrow Festival. I'd meant to go for a few years now and never quite made it, so I was determined to do so this year. I also have a project (half-academic, half-creative) percolating in my brain to do with Irish Folk Gothic, and I rather thought the trip could be classified under - and therefore justified as - fieldwork.

The festival is nothing short of amazing. There's an official 'contained' scarecrow village in the small town centre and some truly astonishing scarecrows - Jurassic Park, Father Ted and Star (Straw) Wars set-pieces that are wonderfully constructed...

But the real joy was to come. We happened upon an off-brand version of the 'official' village. Run by an enterprising farmer who stood in wellies at the entrance, smoking fags and charging visitors the princely sum of one euro.