September 22, 2025

Last of The Summer Cider – Myncen Farm (Sep 25)

With my 60th birthday looming large, and the English summer fast disappearing, we decided to squeeze in a weekend doing what we love best – a spot of camping.

Our destination, a corner of a small field in Dorset.

Well, specifically, a field in Myncen Farm; a place known for its delicious Cranborne Chase Cider and, in more recent years, a micro-festival created to help punters eke out the last of the summer with a pint of the good stuff.

We had no set agenda, beyond taking each moment as it came, having fun and celebrating my birthday (albeit a few days early). We stuck this date in the diary a long time ago when we knew we could all make it.

Emma and I arrived a few hours early, in time to set up camp before the kids arrived from Bristol, Aylesbury and Southampton.

The weather was perfect for the “get-in”, so we took our time pitching the tents before grabbing the first of many ciders.

Cranborne Chase has been running these gatherings for a few years, but this was our first visit.

We love camping, and when you throw in cider and live music, it doesn’t get much better.

A few hours later, and as if choreographed by the Google Maps gods, everyone rolled in within minutes of each other.

Loz and Andy were first to show, pulling up in Loz’s white Ducato van, lovingly converted into a mobile home a few years back. She bought it before Covid sent camper prices sky high when lots of people scrambled to buy one. It gets good use, with Loz having just returned from a five week solo trip across Eastern Germany and Czech Republic via Belgium and the Netherlands.

Sarah rocked up within minutes. She had taken a short (ish) detour via Southampton in order to pick up Natty on the way. Sarah too is heading off on a road trip in Croatia next week with a friend. I think travelling is in our blood.

It was the first time all the kids had been together since my parents’ 60th wedding anniversary bash in the Spring; so lovely to see them together.

Oh and excuse me for lumping Andy in with “the kids” but….

We headed down to the main (and only) stage to watch a few bands and sample more of the estate’s ciders.

After an evening full of entertainment, we retired to the bell tent, threw a few logs on the burner, cracked open some cans and caught up for hours.

Saturday

A late start, and with the sun shining we spent a few hours by the tents, simply chilling out before heading into the main site area to watch some ferret racing! And to drink more cider…

Natty reacquainted himself with juggling balls and Diablo.

Andy, meanwhile, had built a kite in the shape of a love heart, and with the wind strength starting to pick up to the speed of a tornado in Kansas, it actually flew.

One of the event marquees wasn’t so lucky — the wind was so strong it got lifted off the ground and ended up in the next field, but that’s another story. No one was hurt, just a wee bit unfortunate. The wind was much stronger than predicted.

As the day progressed, the clouds rolled in and the high winds continued for a few hours. But we were lucky, the only heavy shower of the day hit just as we were outside the main tent, so we dashed in, straight into the arms (metaphorically at least) of performers I’d seen twice before: The Antipoets.

Their witty, ouch-inducing poems always take a few minutes to tune into, but with a packed house, mostly thanks to the weather, they nailed it.

The last time I saw The Antipoets was at Larmer Tree, a venue they lampooned today given the number of middle class “Tarquins” who attend that event. Oh and there was a poem about bald folk, AND people who wear polo necks.

It didn’t do my paranoia any good – perhaps they really are out to get me!

Beyond the stage, there was plenty more to see — from blacksmithing and cider-making to steam engines and ferret racing. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but I love seeing these old traditions being celebrated first hand. Long may they continue.

Sunday – The Exit

Packing up didn’t begin until after 11am, thanks to plenty of faffing. Eventually, we hit the road, though didn’t travel far – just ten minutes down the lane where we stopped at the Anvil Inn for Sunday lunch. This was a recommendation from Bill, one of the guys who runs Myncen Farm and this event.