I’m off to a festival! It’s the first time that I’ve been let loose for a while so I decide to splash out on a taxi to get to the racecourse. Unfortunately, I’ve got Doncaster mixed up with Dorchester, and I’m at the latter where they’ve never held such an event. I’ve hired an Uber but I’ve gone for the cheapest option not realising that there’s no decimal in the quoted fare, and he’s actually taking me down south. After dozing off in the back of the cab, we near our destination and I tell the driver that the event’s at the main grandstand. Unfortunately, he decides to take a shortcut across the track where a wedding fare is taking place. We drive through marquee after marquee, ripping canvas out of the ground as we pass through a corridor of white and crash table after table full of cakes and gifts.
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