The Bedford Street Shrek

I was walking along the High Street in Exeter, turning the corner into Bedford Street to go to the Post Office, when I saw at my feet … a monster. It was just past mid-day.

I stopped, hesitated, unsure whether to run away or stop and stare in disbelief. A hideous, dwarf-like creature with a one hundred year old face, pasty, bony, wrinkled, shrivelled skin masking a tiny head and a bizarre mohican hair cut, along with mule-like, goofy, gappy teeth and giant, rubbery hands. What on earth is it?

There were now fifty people alongside me, all forming a semi-circle around this mysterious beast, sat down against the wall at the corner, cornered. It was trapped. I withdrew several yards and turned to see for myself what it was. It was talking, all in a low-pitched, husky, gravely and incomprehensible mutter, like the missing link from the Amazon. Or a Peruvian, human Shrek pygmie, a miniature John Mills' village idiot in Ryan's Daughter. Think of a skinny Quasimodo without the hunchback.

There were some children there, too – a few looked enchanted, utterly amazed at the spectacle before them; most looked away in timid horror, burying their faces in their guardian’s chest. The beast just carried on muttering, its rasping, guttural tones sending a shudder down the spine. Then it made a sudden move towards some people, a group of teenage girls, at the far side; they scattered, shrieking. But it stayed put, stuck on a square rucksack, its tartan trousers looking suspiciously big for the torso.

It was, of course… a street entertainer (hidden somewhere inside the rucksack). I gave 'it' 50p.

It played the flute and had a nice line in hand gestures, dabbing its hollow forehead now and then, even tapping it hard with its juggler's baton. But then the show stopped, after five minutes, and a big man slowly appeared from inside the square ruck sack. He climbed out and thanked the audience. Whoever this man was - and he was at least six feet, quiet stocky - he needed the dexterity of Frankie Dettori and the escapology of Harry Houdini to shrink himself to such a small shape. No wonder his legs were in agony as he stood up.

This man was at least as good as any of the brilliant clowns and street performers at the Sidmouth International Festival, last summer. Outside the old market place, in Fore Street, several clowns performed in front of audiences up to three hundred and you never thought that the next could possibly be as good as the last - but they always were. There was one who looked just like David Hemmings, only twenty years younger, dressed in black trousers and waistcoat, white shirt, sweating, and cycling around on an eight feet tall unicycle. Superb. Add a few flaming, juggling batons and you get the picture.

Just like the incredible busking, multi-coloured, folk banjo, ukelele and mouth-organ combo-duo I saw in the high street in Barnstaple last summer, as well. Imagine a man sitting down, arms and legs attached to five musical instruments - including a large, multi-coloured drum with stage name painted on front - and mouth attached to a harmonica; and then playing everything simultaneously.

The Sidmouth Festival, of course, has an incredible line-up of folk music acts, as well, including some traditional English music that just takes you back to a different, bygone age and a simpler life. The free, ensemble music in the bar of the Anchor Inn was pure brilliance; also the larger, concert-style performances in their stage outside at the back. Don't forget the slick Marine Inn on the sea-front, a delight in summer when there is a blue sky outside and football on the ten screens inside.



Sidmouth International Festival:
http://www.sidmouthfestival.com/

http://www.bbc.co.uk/devon/music/2003/sidmouth.shtml

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio2/r2music/folk/sidmouth2004/