Euro Militaire 2009

DSCF2307Euro Militaire is upon us again and of the five shows the residents of 6 mil mansions visited this year it’s the one we least looked forward to, with half the usual posse actually crying off rather than go through it again. It’s a luckness combination of not being good value for money, slowly getting worse year on year and the dominant life form being a middle aged version of the denizens of a Games Workshop store being free of both deodourant and love, acrid virgins blind to the simplest of common manners.

It started well with a grinning woman seated behind a desk unable to sell us tickets but also unable to communicate beyond a constant Cheshire cat grin and vague pointing away from herself when asked where tickets might be bought. Obviously she mistook me for one of the acrid virgins, and speaking would have meant breathing and inhaling more of the deadly fumes. Having two children with me should have been clue enough. Next was a woman who could talk, but only because she was eating, what she was eating I don’t know but it may have been boiled sweets judging from the slurping suckious smacking way she pronounced the few syllables she shared in extracting £23 for me, an adult, and two children to gain tickets. I swear she licked her fingers before taking our cash. Twelve paces later, past the Cheshire Cat, our tickets were inspected, torn, our hands stamped and we were indicted into the mass.

The heat inside was sweltering, punctured only by the sharp rasp of the overloud PA system. Found Mr Models stall, an oasis of Brummy charm from which we were able to gain a discount on a Jerry halftrack kit for the boy Slug, and then surely by divine guidance another Brummy charmer who sold him an animated set of panzer grenadier crew for said model, again with a discount. The major find for me was Realistic Modelling Services, based in nearby Dover who had as wide a selection of flocks as any human could hope for.

Next it was downstairs to look at the models in the various competitions. The quality of these is usually stunning and as such is the saving grace of the show, our descent into the modelling arena was marked by yet another announcement; “The air conditioning in the competition rooms isn’t working if one of the venue staff could address this situation we would be grateful.”. Now I can smell a trap, so we tore through the competition rooms, a few photos of which can be seen below, and left feeling ripped off. It could have been so much worse though had we succumbed to their furnace like heating breaking us into a deodourant busting sweat marked by the bulk of the visitors slowly and quietly chanting… “One of us, one of us.”

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