We many of us know about the deep gloom that possesses our souls on a Sunday night with the realisation that Monday is just a few hours away and therefore we must bid farewell to the careless rapture of the weekend and say hello again to our desk, boss and in-tray. For me, this is magnified 100 times in September where, except for the occasional blip on the radar screen, the long, hot (or miserable and rainy) summer of festivals draws to a close. Winter holds nothing but cold, dark music-less days and the world is a dimmer and sadder place.

I have a suggested cure and it involves a couple of fields in Dorset, an indefinite number of like-minded loonies, several marquees and a pig. Yes, honestly guys, a pig. It won't banish winter but, if you are anything like me, it will put a smile on your face for a couple of weeks as you recall the glorious harmonies, the lunacy of the medieval banquet and the energy, enthusiasm and friendliness of the participants.

Wareham Wail in Verwood, Dorset takes place this year from 31st August to 2nd September. It is held down a dirt track, in a couple of fields surprisingly well furnished with the necessaries ( loos and showers) as well as a kitchen turning out breakfasts, dinners and a fantastic, freshly made cream tea on Saturday afternoon for those of us who are sick of our camping stoves by then... which is pretty much everyone, right?

The unaccompanied singing takes place in any one of the three marquees that take your fancy or, if you like, you can drift between the three, you faithless hussy, you! We have the Shanty or any other big, boisterous songs you care to sing tent. There is the Folk Club tent, which tends toward the quieter, more reflective singers and songs, beautifully managed by experienced organisers and witness to some of the loveliest songs and sounds I have heard anywhere. Somewhere in the middle there's a singaround, usually managed by a twig or similar, being passed around so everyone gets a turn. All three marquees have a bar and all have real, and usually very good, ale, rum and shrub and other essential ingredients to a good sing.

Sometime on or around Saturday morning there is a medieval costume workshop, all materials supplied for a small donation to charity, in preparation for the marginally managed chaos that is the Banquet.

About midnight on Saturday we all solemnly file into the biggest marquee, now softly lit and hung with banners and bejewelled with long banqueting tables set for the fabulous 4 course meal that is to come. The top table has its benevolent King, Queen and Courtiers,freshly chosen that day for their charm, talent and ability to shout very loudly when necessary. The other tables hold the rabble, peasants and proles set on shenanigans and, generally, getting outside of as much wine as possible (bring your own bottle(s)).

How to describe the songs sung by the assembled company, to accompany the rich fare, or the majesty of the occasion when the pig's head is brought before the company, apple ensconced between it's molars and a rather surprised expression on it's face? Or perhaps I could try and describe the appallingly undignified and increasingly desperate attempts to kidnap said pig's head, the sheer effrontery of the supposedly good and gentle burghers of our temporary village and the ribald songs and jokes that are an inevitable part of this process?

Perhaps not though; perhaps you should come along and check it out for yourself? It's the best cure for the end of the summertime/end of the festivals blues that I know.

http://www.wail.org.uk/