In conclusion, the blood game was better.

Yesterday I had the honour of attending a public carnival.



Where is the honour in that, you say?

It was so badly advertised that I was one of ten people not actively participating in the event that got to see it.

You see, York Council gets so much money from tourism that they can decide at any given point to throw a celebration in honour of the residents, but by this point we are bored and disinterested so it's always a blow.

My sister had been invited (as part of the local youth club where they tame the thugs of tomorrow) to join the carnival so my mum and I got some peace whilst contemplating what the hell had happened on the street the night before. It became a game, follow the trail of blood, five points for every ten metres you follow and fifty for any bodies. Sadly, I never found one. That would have been the icing on the cake.

When the carnival started it was a bust of four-year-olds screaming and banging drums. The 'carnival' started to stream past The York Minster but then... Nothing. It stopped. The whole procession was all of ten metres long.

We still followed it. We followed it all the way around as it got stuck in traffic and shouted at for making too much noise on a Sunday morning. After almost an hour of hearing the same repetitive BOOM BOOM WOOT WOOT, we wound up in the city centre, at which point I sank to my knees and yelled THANK YOU SUPERMAN.



It really was terrible. I cannot even begin to describe how bad it was, so instead I'll leave you with a pictorial demonstration.



I later heard that they gave pole dancing lessons on stage in the city centre.

The little quirks really make up this city.