Burning barrels, hare-pie scrambles, bottle kicking and horn dances: no one does eccentric quite like the English. Harry Pearson explores our weird, wonderful and sometimes distinctly dangerous folk festivals.
A Burly, bearded man rumbles through the winding streets of the little Devon town. His face is streaked with soot and sweat. On his shoulders, an 18-gallon sherry cask soaked with tar crackles, spits and flares. ‘Uppard! Uppard!’ the man bellows as the crowd…
